Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (17 page)

Anathema
stood in Temple’s way once before, but losing me wasn’t as important as keeping
the trade viable and letting my father call the shots from his protected cell.

Whoever
claimed business wasn’t personal only dealt in money and drugs, not stolen
innocence and fear. Killing my father was the only reason I breathed, and the
only way to ensure Rose finally had peace. Nothing would take that second
chance from her.

Nothing
.

And
that meant making sure Martini’s ass would be on that bus traveling back where
she belonged.

But
the thought festered in my head.

I
had to keep Rose safe. I had to right a wrong twenty-one years in the making.

But
Martini? I’d protect her from Temple, but sending her home was as bad as giving
Rose to my father.

No.

It
wasn’t just as bad.

It
was worse. Because now I
knew
.

“Jesus
Christ.” I regretted not stealing one of Martini’s flasks, though the gun in my
pocket would go down smoother. I headed toward the hotel.

I’d
change the ticket. Send her to New York or D.C. Somewhere Goliath couldn’t find
her.

Somewhere…I
might be able to find her again.

Once
I redeemed myself for Rose, I’d need to beg Martini for forgiveness too. It was
easier to plead my sincerity in blood than it was to face them with just my
remorse.

I
didn’t make it to the lobby. The lone figure with swaying hips and a bag cast
over her shoulder met me first. She took one look at me in the shadows before fleeing
the opposite way in a dead run.

Not
this shit again.

I
bolted after Martini, catching her just as she crossed into the parking lot.
She fought against me, but my hand squeezed above her elbow, striking a nerve
and dropping her bag to the ground.

“Let
go of me.” Martini hissed, though she didn’t meet my eyes. “Don’t touch me.”

“Where
the hell are you going?”

“Away.”

“Away
where
?”

“What
does it matter?” She shook her arm free. “I’m leaving. Problem solved.”

“You
aren’t going anywhere.”

“Oh
right because you want to send me
home
.” She hoisted the bag over her
shoulder. “Yeah, thanks, but I don’t do buses. They freak me out.”

She
tensed to move. I didn’t let her run.

“Let’s
go inside,” I whispered. “Now.”

The
dim parking lot hid her gaze, but I imagined her eyes crashing with silver,
molten and ready to burn.

“Screw
you, Brew. I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

“
Why?
”
She pushed away from me. “Look, I’ve made some really fucked up mistakes in my
life, and my taste in men is the reason I’m in this mess, but I will not stick
around while you judge me.”

“Martini—”

“You
hurt me.”

She
said it. I was ready for it. But my betrayal ran through me like a rusted
blade, tearing me open even when I was already sliced up for repentance.
Martini’s voice wavered, but she didn’t let me see her cry. That was good. I’d watched
enough women cry. I couldn’t handle any more tears.

And
I couldn’t let her leave.

Not
without apologizing.

Rose’s
voice echoed in my head. She might have been mad at me—hell, she should have
hated me for what I did—but she sounded...happy. Thorne was a bastard, but he
treated her well.

She
was in school. Making money with her music. She was laughing again. She was in
love. It felt like she was finally forgetting all the shit that happened to
her.

But
I wouldn’t forget it.

The
truth no longer burrowed inside. It eroded through and infected everyone around
me. My guilt struck my own conscience, and now it lashed at Martini.

I
couldn’t let her leave. Not without explaining.

She’d
be the only one who would understand.

I seized
her, hard enough to bruise. Her words hardened even as she ceased struggling.

“If
you force me inside, it’ll be a real kidnapping,” she warned. “Can you handle
that?”

No.

But
that was my own problem.

I
hauled her into the hotel, aiming for the bar instead of the elevators to the
room. No good would come from the tight quarters and the messed up bed that taunted
me with the memory of her body, arched and ready.

I
forced her on a bar stool and slammed my hand over her wrist to prevent her
from bolting. The bartender said nothing and kept his mouth shut as I slipped
him a hundred dollar bill.

“Dirty
vodka martini for the lady,” I said. “Whiskey for me. Leave the bottle.”

Martini
huffed, but the bartender worked quick, setting the drinks in front of us and
splitting when I tossed him another hundred. I don’t know why he gave me a beer
too. Some Pittsburgh thing. I pushed her drink toward her. She tensed.

“I’m
not going anywhere,” she said. “I’d rather not be pinned down.”

And
she thought I was the bad liar.

I
let her go, regretting the bruise staining her skin. A shot of the whiskey
chased away that guilt, but I had twenty-one years of remorse and only five
ounces of alcohol. I’d need a new liver before I’d cleared my soul.

The
martini touched to her lips. She took a sip and rolled her eyes.

“Too
much brine,” she said.

“Want
another?”

“I
want to leave.”

I
pushed the whiskey toward her. “Here.”

“I’m
not in the mood to drink.”

“Neither
am I.” I took the shot and wished it fired out of a .45. “But we’re going to
need it.”

“For
what?”

It
wasn’t the burn of the alcohol heating me. It was probably brimstone, my own
personal ride into hell that made room for two.

I
didn’t expect her to forgive me, but I had to keep her safe. We had bared more
than our bodies to each other. She deserved to know the truth.

Or
maybe I couldn’t keep it in anymore.

Hell
if I knew.

I
took another shot. Black out drunk wasn’t good enough. I’d poison myself. Speak
the truth once and then burn away the brain cells that made the memories replay
in my mind.

Martini
tried her drink again. She’d order something stronger when she realized how
lucky she was to be sitting on a barstool and not grinding my cock.

“I’m
supposed to be dead.” I talked into the shot glass. It was easier than looking
at the beautiful woman with tear-stained cheeks who flinched at the anger in my
voice. “I should be dead.”

“Because
you betrayed Anathema?”

She
spoke it so easily, like tearing my club apart was the same as missing Church
or knocking a prospect out cold.

“No,”
I said. “Because I betrayed Rose.”

That
shut her up. The glass clinked onto the bar. The bartender slipped into the hotel,
and the other patrons in the corner were more preoccupied with their phones
than us.

Revealing
the truth in a dingy bar three thousand miles from home wasn’t any better than
Rose confessing to us, scared and huddled in the basement of a strip club while
The Coup torched the building. It didn’t matter where we said it. The words
should never have been spoken aloud.

It
should never have happened to her.

“My
father molested Rose when she was a child.”

Martini’s
gaze snapped up. “
What
?”

“He
sold pictures of her when she was young. He used to beat on her. Abuse her.”

She
hadn’t expected that. No one would have thought it.

“Brew—”

“He
raped her when she was a teenager. More than once, until he was thrown in jail for
murder.”

Martini
paled. She reached for her drink but stopped to cover her mouth instead.

“Jesus,
Brew. I’m so sorry.”

“I
didn’t know.”

It
sounded pathetic. Like it was an excuse or a reason for it to happen. That only
made me angrier.

Sadder.

“I
had no
fucking
idea it happened,” I said again. Harder now. Like it
would matter. “Rose was terrified of my father. But she never said anything to
me. I…didn’t know.”

“Of
course you didn’t.” Martini’s bag dropped to the floor. She took my hand
without hesitation. “Brew, you never would have let anything happen to her if
you knew.”

Like
hell. “But I knew something was wrong. She was quiet and scared and she despised
everything about Anathema.” I poured another shot. It went untasted. “It was
never about the club though. She hated
him
. She wanted to get away from Blade.
She just…couldn’t. My brother and I forbid her to leave the city. She blamed me
for being trapped. She says she doesn’t, but I know the truth.”

Martini
spoke too softly for the torment I deserved. “That’s not fair. You said it—you
didn’t know.”

“Because
I wasn’t
watching
. I didn’t think. I didn’t
want
to think.”

My
hand trembled. I needed another drink, but the bottle wouldn’t steady in my
hands. Martini took it from me and served the whiskey. I didn’t throw it back.

“I’m
just like him.”

She
frowned. “Like who?”

“My
father.”

Martini
sucked in a breath. “You aren’t. You’d never do something that horrible.”

“We
treat women the same. Disposable. Something to toss around, fuck, and slap
until they leave or we get bored.”

“No.”
She shook her head. “That’s not you at all.”

“It’s
true. I can feel it. I
want
the same things he did. That dominance over
someone? The power. It gets me off, Darling.” I dared to meet her gaze. The
silver shimmered, gentle. Too gentle for me. “I never forced a woman before,
but I’m capable of it because of him. His blood is mine. It’s why Temple dealt
with me, it’s why I won’t...”

“Won’t…?”

“Let
myself hurt you.”

Her
eyes widened. She flushed and turned to the bar. “You...wouldn’t have hurt me.”

“I
don’t trust myself.”

Her
smirk came and went. “I do. Did. Still probably do, but that’s my own shit to
work through.”

“I
can’t handle that temptation. I’ve already fucked up Rose’s life. I’m not going
to risk destroying another.”

“Brew,
you are nothing like your father. What he did was wrong and vile, but you’re
worried about
hurting
me. That is something your father never would have
thought about. You care, and so you’ll never be like him.”

“I’m
not taking the chance.” I poured the last of the whiskey into my glass. “I’m
going to kill him.”

Martini
choked on her drink. “You’re
what
?”

“When
Knight, the VP of The Coup, contacted me to make that deal with Temple, we knew
it would only work because they trusted me as Blade’s son. But the deal went
bad when Anathema outted me as a traitor. My president planned to kill me. Rose
intervened. She thinks Thorne spared my life because she begged.” I snorted.
“That’s not true.”

“Why
then?”

“They
pretend I’m dead because I’m the only one who can end it. Thorne can’t kill
Blade. He’s part of Anathema, and the club would disintegrate with more
bloodshed. But a ghost can’t cause a war.”

“Except
Temple might realize you’re alive.” Martini’s whisper didn’t belong in such a
dark conversation. She crossed her arms, shielding herself against the
implication. “What happens then?”

“Nothing.
I’ve been biding my time, waiting for my father to get out of jail. I can’t die
yet. Not when I’m so close. Not when I can give Rose a life free of fear.”

She
shrugged. “What about me?”

“I
can’t risk them hurting you.”

“But
you can’t do this alone.” Martini stilled, her eyes narrowing over the drinks.
Her voice strengthened. “There’s more to all this. Temple and Kingdom and what
Sacrilege was doing messing with men like them. Brew, there’s a reason Temple
is here, and it isn’t
you
.”

“It
doesn’t matter why they’re here.”

“It
does to me,” she said. “We’ve gotta figure this out. Stay one step ahead of
them. You can’t keep running until the jail sets him free. Not when there’s
five headless bodies in a cottage and men searching every hotel from Philly to
Pittsburgh for us. This is bigger than you, Brew. Bigger than Rose. But the
only way you can stay alive to help her is if we deal with it.”

She
sipped her drink, downing most of the contents with a wink. “And I’m going to
help you.”