Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (11 page)

“That’s
not their normal safe house. Kingdom set up there specifically for this drop. It
was a secret location.” Red swore. “But whoever killed them did it to fuck with
this deal. Don’t you get it? If they think they’re missing a material fucking witness
to the crime—”

“I
didn’t see it happen.”

“You
saw a pile of corpses. An empty house.”

“No
one knows we made it here but you.”

“And
Noir.”

“Yeah...and
him. But he didn’t kill them. He was with me the whole night.”

Red
snorted. “Christ, Martini, you know how to pick them.”

“Nothing
happened.”

“Yeah,
sure.”

“Fuck
you, Red. I called you for help!”

He
sighed. Thinking. Always thinking, but never doing anything that would help
himself. Sure, he cleaned up after others, but he used his education and
experience to fix everyone else.

But
I recognized the catch in his voice. I had heard it ever since we were kids—when
we ran around the neighborhood terrorizing the other children and mortifying
our parents when they faced the angry mothers at Sunday Mass.

“Get
the hell out of there,” he said.

“And
go where? Home? Back to Goliath? Christ, he’ll kill me for not being there when
it went down. He’ll take this out on me.”

“You
can’t stay there. Not until we figure out why Kingdom got chopped to bits.”

“Where
am I supposed to go?” I ran a hand through my hair. “My only ride is Noir.”

The
thought hit us at once. The best and worst ideas come to life in a single split
decision that would either fuck me over or save my ass, depending on which side
of the gun I landed.

“Make
a break for it?” I asked. “For good?”

“What
choice do you have?”

“There’s
always a choice,” I said. “It’s the options that suck.”

“You
can’t stay. Kingdom’s gonna be looking for blood. They’ll burn down this side
of the state. And Goliath—”

“Noir
won’t take me anywhere, not with Temple on his ass. He was dropping me here and
offering Kingdom ten grand not to touch me.”

Red’s
voice hardened. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you tell him. I’ve heard enough
about Noir. He’s just as fucking dangerous as whoever killed Kingdom. And those
Temple assholes are chasing him for a reason. If you get him on your side,
you’ll be safe. Get out of there, out of the state, away from our territories.”

“And
I’m supposed to do…what? Ask him nicely for a ride? Because he was so amenable
to that before.”

He
snickered. “Don’t play fucking coy. You know how to get what you want. Always
did. You sigh and giggle and bat your goddamned eyelashes, and you
make
him want to help you!”

“It
won’t work on him.”

“He’s
a man, right?”

A
perfect example of one. “Yeah.”

“He’s
not gay?”

Pinning
me to the bed while his hardness pressing into my leg in pure, feral aggression
disproved that. “No. He’s not.”

“Then
do your fucking magic. Flirt. Cry. Sleep with him. Who cares! Make him promise
to protect you until we figure out what the hell happened.”

“I’ll
try.”

“Get
on his bike and ride as far as he is willing to take you. I’ll tell you when
it’s safe to come back.”

It
was my turn to laugh. “You think it’ll ever be safe?”

He
hesitated. “Not with that psycho running things. Goliath will murder you if he
thinks you’re trying to leave him. And that’s if you’re lucky.”

“Yeah.”
The thought sobered me. I stuffed my fear deep down, coiled into a tight ball
where I’d deal with it later, once I was warm and far from the nightmare of
blood. “He’s not going to let me go.”

“Better
to ask forgiveness.” Red sighed. “Start practicing your apology now. It’ll take
a lot more than a few smiles to sort him out.”

“Fuck
me.”

“Yeah.
You’ll probably have to do that too.”

“You’re
not helping.”

“Just
be glad you’re still alive to be helped.”

A
twig cracked somewhere beyond the trees. I stiffened, my hand coiled over the
phone. Red spoke, but my pulse roared the blood through my ears. I reached to
my side and curled my fingers over the first decent rock I found. It wouldn’t
do much against a gun, but ten years of fast-pitch softball was worth more than
a trip to the state finals. My grip tightened, but the gun cocked before I had
a chance to get away.

Brew
leaned over me. Nudged me with the barrel. I swallowed.

“Red,”
I whispered. “I’ll have to call you back.”

The
girl ran, but she couldn’t escape.

I
was bigger. Faster. I caught her even with a headache that throbbed like I
poured motor oil in my skull and lit it on fire.

I
tracked Martini into the woods, crept up behind her, and had her in my grasp
before she defended herself.

The
thought might have once gotten me hard enough to split the seams in my pants.
Now, the motor oil dripped down my throat, coated my guts, roiled with fear.

If
she couldn’t even get away in acres of uninhabited woods, she’d never elude the
men who murdered an entire crew of Kingdom’s officers. They were probably
hunting her already. The three Temple fucks sure as hell got a good look at her
while she rode with me.

Martini
was cute, and she might have ruled the Sacrilege MC with a smirk, but in the
real world? Where drugs and trafficking meant five men were beheaded for
setting up camp in a formally uncontested territory? She was the very definition
of collateral.

Collateral
for what her pussy was worth.

Collateral
damage when her hulking lover and his jerkoff president pissed on the wrong
contacts.

Collateral
to her MC’s needs, the business that would ultimately bleed her dry.

I
saw it happen again and again, to women just as innocent, just as trapped as
her. Difference was, then? I hadn’t thought to help. I was obsessed with
profit, the club, and my own fucking pleasure. I didn’t see what was happening.
I didn’t think anyone got hurt except the assholes I beat with my own fists to
secure a future for everyone but the girl who deserved it the most.

Not
this time.

It
wouldn’t fucking happen again.

I
hauled Martini up by the arm, and she came willingly. I shook her wrist to drop
the rock in her hand. The phone tucked into her pocket.

She
called someone.

Mistake.

“Who
were you talking to?” I didn’t soften my voice. It was time she understood who
I was and why it was a bad fucking idea to run from me. “
Martini
!”

“My
cousin. Red.”

“What
the hell did you do that for?”

“Red
was going to help,” she said. “I had to make sure he wasn’t in that...pile.”

Her
words faded into a rasped whisper. She had two options. Panic and get slapped
out of her hysteria, or focus on me and keep her head on her shoulders.

Her
color returned. She swallowed and faced me with the flash of forged steel in
her eyes.

Good
girl.

“Red
is my family and my oldest friend. I told him what we found.”

We
were as screwed now as we were without him hearing about the massacre. “And?”

“He
had no idea this happened.”

“Yeah.
I figured.”

I
didn’t let go of her wrist. Martini stumbled as I pulled her toward the
cottage.

“What
do we do?”

She
tried to steady her voice. She hid a whimper, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. I
admired her for trying. Some women might have just broken down.

Rose
would have broken down, but that was my fault. I never taught her how to be
brave.

“You’re
going to wait by the bike this time.” The old me might have accompanied the order
with a slap across her ass to reinforce the message. The man I had become
sickened at the thought. “I’m gonna take another look. See if I can’t figure
out who did this.”

“I’m
not staying out here alone.”

I
tugged her through the woods and considered leaving her hidden in the trees and
brush. But cowering in soggy, dying leaves and thick mud wouldn’t make her feel
any safer. I pulled the bowie knife from my boot and pushed it at her.

“Can
you use one of these?”

She
shrugged. “Yeah, but the guy who chopped up all those men is more proficient
than me.”

“I
don’t want you seeing what’s inside the house.”

She
shook her head. I didn’t free her hand from my grasp, and she tugged me
forward. Dedicated. Resolved. Absolutely terrified, but she thought she’d hide
it with an attitude and a sway of her hips.

Whatever.
As long as she wasn’t screaming.

As
long as she would stay near me.

As
long as she was safe.

The
cottage didn’t look as quaint now. Peeling paint and a rotten porch framed the
discolored windows and hid the brutality inside. It was still a better resting
place for the murdered men. Most of us figured we’d bleed out on a patch of
road with a mouthful of dirt and the dignity of our cuts as funeral shrouds.
Ruffled curtains, cherry furniture, and little doilies under brass lamps were
beyond our class, especially since the room hadn’t been smashed to hell in a
brawl before the end came.

I
pointed to my bike parked in the gravel. Martini refused, and I didn’t have the
balls to toss her where she belonged. She followed me into hell with only a
knife to shield her from a murder scene that fit a Mexican border town, not
Pennsylvania.

She
kept her mouth shut. I respected her for that. She also knew to stay behind me
and not react to the overturned coffee table, pervading silence, or faint
stench of death lingering in the cottage.

I
didn’t let her enter the dining room. She didn’t fight me on that.

The
heads were just as stomach-turning as they were when I first visited. Worse,
now that I saw what was stashed as fertilizer in the garden. Each man greeted
me with the same shocked expression, the same scarred pain frozen in time.

They
stared toward the center of the table, at the envelope served between them.

The
envelope was fattened with fifties and scrawled with quick writing over the
bloodied paper.

Brew
Darnell
.

I
clenched my profanity between my teeth, along with every last question
desecrating my soul in grime and hatred.

How
the
fuck
did they know I would be here?

Not
Noir
. Not the persona I adopted to survive beyond Anathema’s
president—the man who would probably kill me the instant my job was done and
Rose wasn’t around to see. Noir was the name I invented riding coast to coast,
border to border, transporting drugs, weapons, and other people’s crimes. I hid
behind it, cowering from my own guilt as I summoned the courage to finally end
the life of the man who created me, molded me, and made me into the monster I
was.

They
wrote my
real
name on the envelope.

I
took the package and thumbed through the couple grand tucked inside. It was a
sick trick. The asshole playing me probably thought I’d dump Martini in the
center of the bloodbath and ride away.

I
shouldn’t have taken it, but the money weighed good in my hand. It was enough
to pay for a semester of Rose’s college. Or I’d buy her a new guitar and amp.
Maybe rent her time in a real recording studios to make a quality demo for
venues. Or maybe a laptop was a better gift?

I
had no idea. Our conversations lasted only as long as I could stand before I
had to make up an excuse, break her heart, and hang up so I wouldn’t slit my
wrists.

I
jammed the envelope in my jacket.

Someone
knew I was alive.

And
that put everyone in danger. Me. Martini. The Anathema MC.

Rose.

I edged
out of the room. Martini waited in the kitchen, two steps ahead of me. She took
a swig of one of her flasks and jiggled it at me.

“I
didn’t pack enough.” She watched me drink. “I should have brought the good
stuff.”

“You
don’t drink the good stuff now.” The burn did its job. It had enough of a kick
to clear my head and make a plan. “You guzzle the cheap stuff until you can’t
feel the pain.”

“Been
through this a lot?” Martini rubbed her face. Even her hands were bruised and
cut, tore up where my best intentions dumped her on the pavement. “Sacrilege
has their
after-fight
shots,
get-out-of-jail shots
, and
lost-all-our-money-on-dumbass-ideas
shots. But not...
headless
shots.”

The
alcohol kept burning, set aflame by the brimstone weighing down my gut. When I
left Anathema I bought one drink after another and tried to drown myself in
whatever proof I could find. Whiskey never dulled it. Only blood would fix me.

But
my name on that envelope meant I was running out of time. Thorne didn’t offer
anyone evidence of my bullet-riddled body. Rose clung to his arm like he was a
fucking Disney prince. My own brother still served as Anathema’s secretary.

My
death wasn’t a ruse. It was a plot with more unplugged holes than a goddamned
whore house.

I
handed the flask to Martini. “Let’s get out of here.”

She
eyed the entrance to the dining room. “Did you...find what you were looking
for?”

“Yeah.”

“Do
you know who killed them?”

“An
enemy.”

She
waited. “…Who?”

The
money padded my jacket. “Doesn’t matter who. They find us, they’ll kill us.”

“
Us
?”
Her voice hardened. “Why are these men dead, Brew?”

I hoped
it wasn’t because of me. I didn’t need another five deaths looming in my shadow.
They made their decisions, and they chose that way of life, just like every one
of us lucky to ride sun up to sundown without a bullet in our skull or crashed
bike.

First
Temple’s three scouts. Then Kingdom’s slaughter. I wasn’t a genius. I left most
of the planning for my betrayal of Anathema to Knight, the man who promised to
make the deal of a lifetime and solve everyone’s problems. But I felt anarchy
in my bones, breathed treachery, and endured every act of contrition for my own
sins.

Sacrilege
wandered into an unspoken territory war when Temple MC infringed on Kingdom’s
land. Kingdom sacrificed the first blood. It wouldn’t be the last.

It
wasn’t safe here—for me or Martini.

Martini
flinched as her phone buzzed in her pocket. A series of furious text messages
furrowed her brow. Her eyes widened, the spark of silver lost to a flash of
moonlit terror.

“Oh,
God. It’s Red.” The phone rumbled in her hands. “They’re almost here.”

“Who?”

“
Sacrilege
.”

The
tremor in her voice was the sort of complication that would fuck us. “So what?
Let them come. You can go back with them. Stay safe and cozy in your bed
tonight.”

Martini
shoved me out of the way and hoisted herself over the counter to see out the
kitchen window. “You don’t understand!
God damn it
! This is all wrong!”

“What?”

She
spun around, her fingers clenched white against the sink. “They think
you
did it!”

“What?”

“They
think you killed all these men!”

I scowled.
“You said Red didn’t know what happened here.”

“He
didn’t.”

“Then
he fucking squealed and pegged me.”

“They
called
him
, Brew.” Martini searched the house again with wide eyes.
“Someone told Sam what happened. Sam already knew.”

“But
who tipped off Sam?”

“It
wasn’t Red. It doesn’t fucking matter. They think it was
you
.” She
gnawed on her lip. “God. They’ll kill us.”

“Us?”

“Goliath
flies into a rage when he loses his keys or spills his drink. With the amount
of money riding on the deal?” She grabbed the knife again. “We’re gonna need
something bigger than this.”

Martini’s
fear sliced through me like she came at me with the blade.

Three
months ago, I died.

The
bullet might have missed my heart, but that didn’t mean everything inside of me
didn’t fester, rot, or flake away.