Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (15 page)

He
never acknowledged the pain or the poorly-healed gunshot wound. I figured
enough of it out myself. A man had only one reason he’d tattoo something
beautiful over something so painful. The blossom and calligraphic name etched
into his skin symbolized why he suffered with the injury.

Brew
must have defended her. He took the shot for her.

Rose
lived, but he acted like she died. I had no idea how to fix that. It wasn’t
even my place to fix. And, with a bus ticket in my hand, he obviously didn’t
want any part of my help.

“You’ve
gotta go back.” Brew didn’t meet my gaze. I stared at him anyway, trying not to
curl my fingers over the crisp ticket. I didn’t show how badly the thought
horrified me. “It’s not safe on the road with me.”

“I
think you’re wrong,” I said.

“I
imagined you would.”

“I’ll
tell you why too.” I wagged my phone. “Just talked to Red.”

“I’m
sure he was as helpful as always.”

I
picked my words carefully, treading over the vile orders that wouldn’t help matters.

It
didn’t matter what I did, what I said, or how I convinced him, he wasn’t taking
me home. Not when everyone was out to kill him, and not when Goliath would kill
me in a blind rage anyway.

Without
Brew, I wouldn’t survive, and I wasn’t giving up. Not yet.

“Sacrilege
is gonna start getting heat from Kingdom,” I said. “I don’t want to be anywhere
near home when they lay the blame on Sam and his crew.”

“Kingdom
won’t hurt you,” Brew said. “You’re just a gash to them.”

“Thanks.”

“But
Temple?” His voice layered with a frightening truth. “They would hurt you. They
find you with me, and they won’t have any mercy.”

He
frowned. The thought rattled him.
Really
rattled him.

I
had no idea what caused his shudder. Something pained his expression with guilt—as
if Temple already destroyed me in front of him. A memory cracked in his mind. A
crime he saw before. He didn’t want it to happen to me too.

I
hated myself for what I had to do. My fingers tangled in the pink silk scarf
around my neck. I never liked to reveal the tattooed skin beneath, but it was
the only way to play him. No matter how many men chased us, I couldn’t leave.

Even
if it meant I had to use the truth to manipulate him.

“Brew.”
I dropped the smile and the winks, the little shimmy of my hips and even the
sweet touch of a giggle from my voice. “I can’t go home. Be reasonable.”

“This
ain’t up for discussion, Darling.”

“He’ll
kill me if I go back.”

Brew
stiffened, only for a moment, just long enough for the water in his bottle to
slosh before he took another sip.

“No
one’s gonna hurt you for getting kidnapped. Goliath will be so pissed at me
I’ll need a hundred mile head-start to outrun the bullets.”

“You
don’t know Goliath,” I said. “He’ll kill you for sure. But he’s not rational.
He’ll blame me for the murders and the kidnapping.”

“Break
up with him.”

The
thought was so ludicrous, so utterly ignorant, I didn’t even hide my laugh. My
voice hardened though, crushed by my own honesty.

“The
last time I broke up with him...” I forced him to hold my gaze. “He didn’t give
me a pillow to bite when he stole me back. You understand?”

Brew’s
jaw tensed, the strength mirrored in his fist. The bottle cracked in his hand.

“Why
the fuck did you stay then?” He spat his words. “Why the hell don’t you
leave
him?”

“And
go where?” I waved around the hotel room. “On the road? I have savings from my
tips, but it’s only enough to feed me, not get me shelter.”

“You’re
clever. You’d figure it out.”

“I’d
have to leave my family. My job. My life.” I shrugged. “Look, I’m trying to buy
into a game with the hand I was dealt. I’m not able to bluff anymore.”

“So
it’s my problem now?” Brew stepped closer. I didn’t retreat, though every
instinct in my head told me to back off and let him have his victory. “Suddenly
I’m responsible for keeping you safe, for getting us out of a murder scene, for
keeping us alive while Temple swarms the streets and Kingdom MC calls in every
goddamned member on the eastern seaboard?”

The
anger bit at me. I flushed. “I am
not
your problem. I’m just asking for
a little fucking help.”

“I
gave up my right to help anyone long ago.”

It
was my turn to step into him. “You’re too scared to help anyone now. Because
you think you’ll hurt me. Or you’ll fail me. Or you won’t be able to save me—”

“Jesus
Christ. Grab your things. You’re taking the bus tonight. That’s fucking final.”

He
towered over me, his every muscle flexed, fighting an urge to either bolt or
toss me through the damned wall. I knew the posture. I recognized the edge of
danger, the forsaken civility of a man who prided himself on becoming a member
of the 1%. He wasn’t a gentleman. He had no obligation to help me. He needed
nothing from me except what my mouth offered or how hard I bounced against his cock.

But
I had him. He’d help because he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t.

All
I had to do was tug on the right strings.

Or
untangle the right knot.

I
reached for the scarf. The pink silk became my only protection, the only symbol
of independence I had left. The scarf fluttered to the ground. The scrawled,
black, frightening writing etched into my neck. The words spelled GOLIATH, but
they meant something far more dangerous.

“Goliath
doesn’t like property patches,” I said. Brew’s eyes darkened, flaring like raked
coals. “He figures they’re no good since I’ll strip anyway if I screw around on
him.”

“He
branded
you?”

“He
made it a special date. Grabbed me from the bar in the middle of my shift,
drunk off his ass and high. Held a gun to my head and ordered the tattoo artist
to work or he’d hurt me. Goliath raped me in the chair before the ink was even
done.”

I
didn’t like the shade in my words. The panic I usually suppressed burst into my
chest. I took a breath. It didn’t help.

“Goliath
will never, ever let me go.” I stepped closer to Brew, but I didn’t mean to
tremble. “Right now, I’m beyond his reach, and that is the safest place for
me.”

Brew
stared at me. “Goliath is only one man, Darling. Imagine an entire MC all
aiming to brand you in their own way.”

“You
won’t let that happen.”

He
laughed. I wasn’t joking.

“You
wouldn’t let Temple hurt me, and you won’t force me back to Goliath. You’re not
a monster, Brew. You
know
what he’ll do if you send me home.”

The
hardness in his body never eased. He shifted away, ran a hand through his wavy
hair, and swore. Even in frustration he stayed strong. Resilient. All the world
turned against him, but nothing had broken him. Not yet.

“I’m
not a good man,” Brew said. “I’m no hero.”

“But
you could be if you wanted to.” I whispered because I stood too close and
trapped myself within his reach. “I trust you.”

“You
shouldn’t.”

“I’m
a girl who doesn’t learn from her mistakes.”

“I’m
your biggest fucking mistake yet.”

The
understatement of the year. Except I didn’t care. Brew stared at me without the
scarf, without the cheap flirting or the teasing wink I promised.

No
one saw me like this. Not the MC. Not Goliath. Hell, even Red got a tamer show.
I kept him under my thumb to prevent him from going after Goliath and getting
killed.

But
I was supposed to expose
Brew
. I meant to twist the knife in him, force
him into the darkness of his memories and make him help me.

Instead,
I fucked us both.

Whatever
knife I pulled, he slashed at me. We bled together, shuddering with the same
repentant honesty and damned confessions. We waited for the other to break.

It
wouldn’t be me.

And
it sure as hell wouldn’t be him.

I
changed without my scarf. My tattoo wasn’t like Brew’s ink or the dozens of
battle scars marring his flesh. What hardened Brew, softened me. What gave him
an edge, weakened me. My tattoo represented a part of me I denied. Everything I
convinced myself I wasn’t, and what I worked so hard to hide.

Except
when I needed to make myself vulnerable, it worked too well.

Brew
was on me before I made a sound. His arms penned me against him with a strength
I should have feared. I gasped only when my back stuck the wall. He ground me
into the solid, unyielding trap and I grabbed his hand closest to my neck. Dug
my fingers in.

Parted
my lips.

He
didn’t kiss me. Our desperation wasn’t the soft brush of lip against trembling
lip.

He
mauled me. Brew seized my mouth with such brutal and unforgiveable possession I
moaned against his power and prayed the teeth he bared were only a threat and
not the promise of a vicious bite. Like a fool, I offered my neck anyway. The
dangerous thrill shivered me from my head to my toes and sliced through every
delicate place in between.

My
back struck the wall again. I had leaned too far into the kiss, presuming too
much and attempting to return his touch. His grip tightened, but he didn’t
hurt. He needed only one arm to keep me still. The second pinned me for his own
thrill.

His
lips tore over mine. He tasted my every gasping shudder. I had no air to call
his name. He didn’t care. His body pressed into me. His wasn’t a lover’s touch
but a force of sheer muscle and size that served only to remind me of my
precarious situation.

I
tempted a man teetering on a blade’s edge of violence and regret.

One
slip of his arm and he’d break my neck.

One
murmur of pain from me, and I’d be the bullet that finally fired into his
brain.

Temple
hunted him, Kingdom stalked us both, but it was our fevered, frantic kiss that
threatened our lives.

Every
repressed ounce of our control crumbled away as his tongue ravished mine.

His
growl excited me. His touch thrilled me. His punishing, crippling grip hauled
me from the wall and threw me onto the bed.

He
didn’t hesitate, and he didn’t give me the opportunity to escape. His lips
crushed me once more, and his aggressive weight pinned me under someone bigger,
stronger, and in absolute control. I didn’t know whether to hope for mercy or
grip the blankets and just hang on.

He
was everything I
ever
wanted, and that made him the most dangerous man
in the world.

My
every violent mistake came in
that
moment—when my breath caught between lust
and fear. My body softened in the presence of the dominating man who knew what
he liked and possessed the strength to make it happen.

Brew
wasn’t a gentle man. He’d be an even less gentle lover. He’d take what he
wanted, shove me where he needed me, and use my body to get himself off. I’d
have nothing to hold onto but my own damning lust.

He
gripped my shirt. He didn’t have to ask. I pushed my arms up, over my head, and
presented myself to him.

He
didn’t strip me.

He
ripped the material from my chest, shredding the shirt down the middle.

My
insides clenched so hard it hurt. He grabbed my breast and squeezed, claiming
what I offered as my body shuddered with imagined possibilities. I arched and
tempted him to squeeze harder, to force the little mew of surprise from my
lips. He liked it, but he demanded something better than a timid squeak.

“Roll
over.”

The
darkness in his voice might have frightened me, but I had fantasized about that
roughness since the day we crashed and he forced me to the bed under him. Every
rough rasp captured me once more. The hardened, threaded violence fueled his
desire and controlled me with the simplest of his commands.

I
rolled onto my belly, stretching to offer what my jeans still concealed. My bra
unhooked with such haste he didn’t push the straps off my shoulders. The cold
air bit against my nipples. I hoped Brew would bite much harder.

He
reached under my body, ripping the button apart from the denim and gripping the
edges of the jeans. I hissed, pressing my hips into the perfect cradle of his
legs and waist, into the excitement that strained just as hard to get to me.

My
excited hum encouraged him, breathing his name. I shivered as he pulled down
more than the denim. My panties tangled in my jeans and shoved down to my
knees.

The
exposure should have terrified me. Instead, I wondered why I hadn’t offered
myself sooner.

I
peeked over my shoulder as Brew’s breath shuddered into a rumbled profanity, so
vulgar and perfect I knew exactly what he was thinking and exactly how I would
end up within moments.