Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (18 page)

“Why
would you help me?” The bastard in me still imagined what she hid under her
clothes, the lovely curve of her hip and the raspberry pink tip of her nipples.
I had a perfection I never deserved and destroyed a woman I had no right to
touch.

“Because
someone has to prove to you that you aren’t anything like your father,” she
said. “And someone has to keep me safe when I refuse to get on that bus
tomorrow morning. The man who bought that ticket is going to be mad, and I need
someone to defend me.”

“Darling—”

“Save
it.” She silenced me with a smile—genuine and beautiful and nothing I thought
I’d ever see again. “You are not your father. You’ll keep me safe.”

“That’s
a big mistake.”

“So
I’ve heard.” She tipped her glass, watching the droplets of vodka swirl against
the side. “I should probably confess something too.”

I
snorted. “What could you possibly have to confess?”

Her
expression twisted, the gentleness stole from her lips. She sucked in a breath,
her eyes hardening. A moment passed before she decided against speaking about whatever
hung over her head.

“I’m
much more a fuzzy navel girl.”

I cut
around the corner at a full sprint, pushing past the teenagers poking through a
jewelry kiosk. My bags rustled behind me and slammed into the packages laying
at their feet. Two pairs of boots, a makeup case, and half a dozen bottles of
nail polish went flying.

I
swore instead of apologizing. The teenagers squealed. I was pretty sure most of
their purchases sailed over the second-story railing and onto the mall shoppers
below, but I didn’t stop to check. I pitched my milkshake into a garbage bin
and ducked inside a Field and Stream store to lose my tail.

One
of  these days, I wasn’t going to make such horrible decisions.

Like
practically begging to stay with Brew instead of taking his offer and running
home. He gave me the money, the gun, and the ticket. I might have hopped the
bus and been halfway to somewhere warm and tropical, far from my bar and all
the trouble it caused.

Staying
on the road was more dangerous than facing Goliath.

That
wouldn’t be a problem for much longer. We didn’t have many places left to hide.

The
store wasn’t big. It also wasn’t populated, especially at this time of night. I
aimed for the clothing section and ducked between the stands of flannel shirts
and coveralls.

This
so wasn’t my store.

It
didn’t have any leather, it didn’t have any alcohol, and anything woodsy reminded
me of the lake cottage I tried to forget.

My
hand rattled over my phone. I typed a quick message without looking at the
screen, staring only at the two bikers who chased after me. The older man with
grey hair and a pistol tattooed on his cheek separated from his partner and
searched in the fishing section for me. The other, a man about Brew’s age,
stalked to the registers, glancing over the exit to the parking lot and the
widened door leading into the mall. I snapped the picture of their insignia,
sending the blurry text to Brew.

He
responded immediately.

Kingdom

All
the hours spent running from Temple, and we were caught by the men hunting for
me. Their collateral. Their only way to find Brew and exact their revenge for a
crime he didn’t commit.

It
was a bad time to go shopping. My phone buzzed again.

Get
out of there

Like
the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I squeezed between two clothing racks and
eyed a precariously stacked display of fishing poles. Both bikers rushed
between the aisles, searching for me in a quick jog that slammed their boots
against the linoleum like the crack of a hammer against a skull.

East
parking lot, by the theater

Brew
was close, but not close enough. The men circled like wolves and, Christ, I
didn’t want to be around when they attacked.

A
stray shopping cart tucked near me. I took my chance and grabbed the buggy,
wheeling it into the aisle and launching into the display of fishing poles. I
didn’t stick around to watch the crash. I sprinted to the exit just as the
chaos struck. The men swore and shouted, but the diversion worked. I avoided
the main exit and hit an emergency door instead.

Every
alarm in the store screamed as soon as it burst open. I spilled into the
parking lot.

A
hand seized me by my hair and pulled me to my feet.

I
didn’t recognize the man, but the patch on his jacket matched the emblems my
other stalkers. The bandana covering his head stained with old blood. A fresh
bruising scraped his knuckles.

I
shouted. His backhand was quicker than my cry. I coughed in surprise, but his
grip tightened on my hair.

“We’ve
been looking for you, little girl,” he said. “You’re a week late on your club’s
payment, and I don’t think you’ll like how we collect the interest.”

Neither
would he. I kicked quick, slamming my foot between his legs. He grunted,
reflexively releasing my hair. I beat him with two of my bags, breaking the
handles and losing my new pair of jeans and helmet.

The
man stumbled, and it was enough of an escape. I bolted across the sidewalk,
ducking into the rows of cars as he yelled for his two counterparts to chase
me.

I
burst toward the theater, diving between the traffic and families heading to
the cinema. The rumble of a bike turned my stomach, but I recognized the rider.
He sped to me, slowing only to let me leap on the back and wrap my arms and one
remaining bag over his waist.

The
bike peeled out and darted onto the road, cutting through the parking lot of
two retirement communities, a Best Buy, and a Catholic church. We dumped out on
a five-way intersection that clusterfucked traffic but let us escape into the potholed
confusion of roads that were the suburbs south of Pittsburgh.

He
crossed through a neighborhood of split-entry homes built in the fifties and
hooked onto Route 51, swearing at me the whole way into the city.

“Jesus
Christ, you
had
to get clothes.” He yelled over the wind. “You okay?”

My
cheek hurt, but it was a familiar pain. I leaned closer to him, tightening my
grip over his body and flushing when I realized I wanted to rest my head on him.
I tucked the panic deep into my belly and nodded.

“Fine.”

He
shifted, almost like he considered reaching for me. I didn’t move. Neither did
he.

It
had been that way for two days.

My
grip over his waist was the closest he let me get to him and the most intimate
I let myself be in his presence. We slept in separate beds, talked only if we
had the buffer of alcohol between us, and avoided any mention of our fight, or
the reason for our fight, or the burning frustration luring us both to thinking
of how close we came to making an absolutely perfect mistake.

I
wanted him. And I knew how dangerous that was. Brew was the bad boy I thought I
needed, the strength I used to get off. His aggression didn’t seduce me as much
as his power forced me to lust.

I
had to drop that part of me. The only way I could be safe again was if I denied
those desires. Even if it was normal or a deviancy or just some sort of thrill
I got from putting myself at risk, it was time to face the truth. Brew was
right.

It
was my fault for getting into these situations.

So
how the hell was I supposed to get out?

I
held onto him as he sped through the city and over bridges. His body wound
tight. His shoulder hurt him, but he said nothing, guiding the bike from the
clutches of our enemies and to the safety of the hotel without even a grimace.

It
was like he denied the pain’s hold over him. Now I understood why.

The
guilt crushing his soul was more than any man should have endured. He did his
jobs and earned his money and waited for the day he could restore his honor and
redeem his sister. And he did it all in solitude.

But
then he revealed himself to me, completely bared his heart with every painful
consequence. He hated himself—not for his failure, but for a man he imagined
he’d become.

His
rejection wasn’t meant to shame me. He meant it to protect me.

Even
if it was to protect him from himself.

It
was painful. The secrets we kept and the lies we whispered rendered us raw and
exhausted. I felt exposed, like the honesty after sex, but we denied each other
its pleasure.

I
never thought I had any pride until he stole it from me. What few fragments
remained were too wounded to offer again. He didn’t hurt me. I did it all to
myself, again and again, looking for a reason to crave that hand over my neck,
slap to my ass, and ferocious mounting that once made me feel trapped and
alive.

I
wouldn’t feel that way now.

At
least, I didn’t think I would.

I
doubted we’d stay at the hotel much longer. Two days was too many, especially
with Kingdom suddenly closer than ever. I had no idea where we’d go. It really
didn’t matter. We lived in frustration late at night while we both stared at
the ceiling. I couldn’t even look in his eyes, but I didn’t leave. Not with
Goliath searching for me. Not with Kingdom lurking. Not with Red’s constant texting
begging me to pull a trigger and destroy a part of me I’d never reclaim.

I
trusted Brew. He didn’t want me to put any faith in him. But I was right. No
safer place existed than on his bike. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I
was his second chance.

As
long as I had him believing that, he’d keep me alive.

The
hotel’s parking lot was dark, but Brew hid the bike away from street lights and
the prying eyes of the ground floor windows. I hopped off. He saw the mark on
my cheek before I could duck. But why try to hide it? It wouldn’t do any good.
Instead I pawed through the bag that survived the chase and swore. The lackey
panties in the Victoria Secret packaging peeked at me.

“I
guess I’ll only be wearing underwear for a few days.”

Both
of us liked the implication, but we dreaded the images my stupid flirting
conjured. It was hard enough sharing a room, even if it was safer that way. Brew
kept me where he could watch me.

Close
enough to touch.

Close
enough to take back to bed and untangle the twisting heat driving us insane.

“I’ll
get you more clothes,” he promised.

I
nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t think Kingdom would be hanging around the mall.”

“Someone
saw us.”

“Guess
so.”

“I
can’t keep putting you in danger.”

I had
a pounding headache, too exhausted to flirt. But I had to. I couldn’t let him
change his mind.

“You’re
the one getting me out of it,” I said. “Probably the only one.”

He
didn’t like that. He pulled on my arm, his fingers burning through my jacket
and knifing my skin with every memory of our broken embrace. I followed him
into the hotel lobby, casting one last glance over the still parking lot and
the darkness that didn’t conceal our location nearly as well as I hoped. We
took the elevator.

Mistake.

The
air thickened as Brew finally looked me over in decent lighting. The elevator’s
mirrored walls didn’t spare me any sympathy. The backhand left a darkening
bruise against my cheek. Brew bristled. The rage trembled his hands.

“It’s
fine,” I said.

“It’s
not
fine
.” His repentant tone was shadowed by a growl of hatred. “They
hit you.”

“I
got away.”

“Never
should have happened.” He stepped toward me. I tried to avoid him, but the
elevator trapped me in the tight corner.

I glanced
down. Instinctual, one that usually prevented black eyes. I shifted as he
reached for my chin. If he saw my flinch, he ignored it. His fingers brushed my
jaw. He studied the bruise, letting the pad of his thumb rub over the ugly
welt. The touch hurt, but I didn’t protest.

It
had taken him two days to even look at me. A touch was miraculous.

I
shuddered as he stroked my cheek. He felt it, but I didn’t know what to say or
how to apologize or if it was even my turn to apologize. The smoky darkness of
his eyes hid everything from me. The heat of his fingers sliced through me. The
bump of his hand against my chin caught my breath.

He
never needed to grab me by the throat or pin me against a wall. Everything he
did demanded my attention. Trapped within the elevator, subdued before the
solid strength of his body, the black leather of his jacket, I surrendered.

Every
nerve in my body sizzled in his shadow. My thoughts bound themselves, my hands
pressed behind me. He didn’t ask for my obedience. He didn’t beat it out of me.
I just gave it to him.

Why
did something so
natural
destroy me?

His
touch caressed my cheek, and I fought the goose bumps as his uncharacteristic
gentleness healed every part of me it brushed. He stared at me with such
concentration, like he tried to understand how to embrace me, treat me,
have
me, without letting himself taste what we started before.