Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (2 page)

She
wasn’t older than twenty. What the hell was she doing here?

“You
want?” She pulled a tiny baggie from her pocket. The crystal was low-quality. That
didn’t surprise me, but she shook it like the contents would entice me. “I
don’t mind sharing.”

“No.”

Her
fingers dug into the plastic. “Whatever.”

“If
you’re gonna do that, get the fuck out.”

“What?”

“I
don’t want that shit in here.”

“What’s
your problem?”

I
wasn’t giving an explanation, not to a small town skank who was lucky her teeth
weren’t rotted out by the crank.

“That
drug will kill you,” I said.

“Hasn’t
yet.”

I
reached for the door. It crashed against the wall as I pointed outside. “Be my
guest.”

She
still had some sense about her. She needed to earn before she wasted what
little escapism she had. She rolled her eyes and tucked the baggie in her
pocket. I shut the door.

“Figured
you’d like to party.” She pouted. It wasn’t as cute as she thought it was.

“I’ve
seen what it does to people. I’m doing you a favor.”

“I
never asked for any,” she teased. “I’ve met a lot of guys like you. Tell me
what you want. I’m good at what I do. Promise.”

How
hard could it be? And how long had she been doing it? She was just a kid.

I
didn’t step away as she approached. She kept her eyes where they belonged—low
and at my belt. That was an admirable quality in a biker bunny.

So
why did my stomach turn?

“How
old are you?” I asked.

“Old
enough to make you feel good.” She reached for my belt. I grabbed her wrist.
She sighed. “Twenty-one.”

Christ.
She was a baby. I ran my hand over my chin. Three months ago I’d have counted
my blessings. But this close, in the light, I saw why she wore such heavy
makeup. Her face was bruised. Good too. Someone got in a solid smack. He was
probably why she was out trolling on a Thursday night, and why she needed the
drugs so bad. She hid it well.

A
lot of girls hid it well. Even when they didn’t need to. When they shouldn’t
have.

Even
when I would have helped.

Christ,
three months of guilt felt like two hundred pounds of cement poured over my
shoulders.

“What’s
your name?” I asked.

“Pick
one for me.”

“Tell
me your name, or get the hell out.”

The
girl stepped away. “Do you want your dick sucked, or do you want my life
story?”

The
blow job was easier. I swore and reached to unfasten my belt. I didn’t expect
her gasped apology. She flinched away, protecting her face.

I’d
take the belt and make a noose for myself.

“Easy,”
I said. “I’m not gonna hit you.”

Her
hands trembled as she tucked her hair behind her ears. It didn’t matter if it
was the withdrawal or if she was legitimately scared. My blood still laced with
ice.

I
wished I hadn’t thought it, but my mind darkened all the same.

Had
Rose ever felt that way?

Of
course she did.

I
saw it. The rest of the family saw it. All of the Anathema MC saw it.

But
no one ever did a goddamned thing about it. My family was loyal to each other,
but my brother and I honored our father over Rose’s safety. And now? She shared
the bed of my former president, and her fear was the only reason he let me
live. Carrying that burden was worse than coming to God with a face full of
dirt and a bullet to my head.

“Sorry.”
I rummaged through a fistful of twenties from my pocket. I counted out a
hundred and change. “Take it and go.”

“What?”

“Just
take the money.”

“But
I didn’t suck you off.”

As
if I didn’t feel dirty enough. I shook my head.

“I
changed my mind. Take that for wasting your time.”

She
was tired. Grateful, but tired. She ran a hand through her frizzy hair and
dared to meet my gaze. She didn’t like what she found and looked away almost
immediately.

“Why
are you doing this?”

She
asked a lot of questions for a whore who got a bonus for doing nothing. That
wouldn’t get her far in this business.

“You’re
too young for this life. I’d hate to see someone I loved forced into doing
this.”

She
smirked. Genuine. Her front tooth was crooked, only slightly, what you’d expect
from the awkward high school senior who missed her enrollment at a community
college and signed up for a far different life.

“What.
You have a daughter or something?”

She
overstayed her welcome. I crashed the door against the wall and pointed into
the night.

“Get
out.”

“Sorry?”
She flinched when I repeated myself. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I
slammed the door behind her. There wasn’t just one thing wrong with me. Hell.
Only a few things were right.

But
that would change. The past three months served as my purgatory. I only needed
to survive until I had the opportunity to avenge what had been wronged. I was
alive because I was the only one who could welcome justice into an unjust
world.

I
betrayed the Anathema MC, destroyed my family, and lived in exile—all because
of one man.

My
revenge would become my redemption. With one bullet, I’d end his corruption, finally
protect my family, and absolve my traitorous name.

I
waited for the opportunity to kill my father.

The
minutes didn’t pass fast enough.

Two
types of people existed in the world—those who drank gin, and people with
taste.

I
prided myself on my superior taste.

Except,
as a bartender, I probably should’ve liked gin. Or tolerated it. It was a
popular alcohol served in endless cocktails. Plus, it was one of those classy spirits
that didn’t belong in the Steel Tavern. The MC didn’t order it much, so at
least the bottles displayed nice on the shelf behind me.

My
nails rapped on the bar, tickling their way to the tumbler. I shot cough syrup
easier than this stuff, but I wasn’t getting off easy this time. It was a slow
night, and I didn’t have any excuses or people to serve. Most of Sacrilege was
on a run—their second of the week. That left a taste in my mouth as bad as the drink.

I
washed the bar while the two cherry-cheeked prospects paid more attention to
the Penguin-Flyers game than their beer. They were no help. Neither of them
understood nuances or flavors or why anyone would drink something that tasted
like a whipping by a pine tree.

I
liked a flogging, but gin was one strand of twinkling lights and an angel away
from ringing in the Yuletide. Good thing the bar’s clientele rarely ordered anything
beyond what was on tap or whatever had the highest grain. It got them drunk and
sterilized their wounds. We prized efficiency.

The
tavern door scraped open as I shuffled empty bottles along the mirrored wall.
The flash of leather sat at the bar, laughing at me before he even sat down.

“You
still can’t drink it?”

I
didn’t need Red’s attitude. I passed the tumbler to my cousin. He grinned as he
downed the gin and licked his lips.

“Refreshing,”
he said.

I’d
smack the dimples from his cheeks. “Thought you were with the guys on the run?”

“I
came back early. Wanted to talk.”

“Get
you a beer?”

“Better
get me two.”

I twisted
the cap off an Iron City for him and poured another ounce of the gin. He
searched over his shoulder, running a hand through our shared blonde hair to
smooth the spikes his helmet had matted. I didn’t like his scowl. Red was only
twenty-six, only a year older than me, and already his time in Sacrilege MC
bled his expression into the same grimace as the fifty-year old grey-haired,
pot-bellied bikers. He didn’t belong in the MC, but he never believed me.

“Things
go well?” I stomped a foot as I took a swig of the gin.

Red
shrugged. “Didn’t ask me to clean up.”

My
stomach twisted. I never knew what to say when he talked about his skills. “That’s
a relief.”

“Yeah.”

He
grinned as the prospects hooted in front of the television. The Pens hadn’t
scored, but the right-hook into a Flyer’s defenseman was as good as a goal. At
least, for people who didn’t know how it felt to get hit. I forced myself
through another sip. Red wove his fingers through the peanuts in a nearby bowl.
I batted his hand away.

“What’s
wrong?” I asked.

He
frowned. “You’re done.”

I
pushed the peanuts at him, but the bribe didn’t work. “Done?”

“You’re
not poking around Sacrilege’s business anymore.”

“You
didn’t say
please
.”

“Something
came up. It’s too dangerous now. Just keep your mouth shut and we’ll try and
survive this together.”

I
laughed. “Are you serious? Did you hear something?”

“Whatever
crawled up Harbinger and Goliath’s asses? It’s big. And I’m not getting you
involved.”

“I’m
not involved.” I flashed a smile that never worked on him before but was too
pretty to waste. “I’m just…interested. I’m only asking a few questions, seeing why
our boys suddenly have all this extra money floating around.”

“This
is bigger than some new score.”

I
leaned in closer. My eyes probably widened too curious—a silver spark I never
hid from Red.

“Drugs?”

“I
don’t know.” Red rubbed his face. “I saw guns.”

My
mind blitzed with possibilities. Guns. More money. Sacrilege’s scrambled meetings
late at night. The second run this week. Whatever was happening in the club was
major. We weren’t big enough to earn much or attract the attention of the
larger clubs, and we weren’t powerful enough to piss away the extra money suddenly
stuffing our wallets.

Something
was up, but I didn’t have a clue what it was.

And
neither did Red.

So
it was up to us to find out. Not just to satisfy my curiosity—though it burned
like an inferno fueled by the fat stacks of cash Goliath and Harbinger stowed
away. Red was just as obsessed with their newfound secrecy.

Except
I wasn’t a member. Red was. But he didn’t have an officer patch on his cut, despite
how badly Sacrilege needed him. Red kept everything…clean. That was probably
why they didn’t completely trust him. A man with his education and specific talents
could get away with murder and make it look like the blood never spilled.

“I
don’t trust this, Martini,” Red said. “You gotta stay out of it.”

“You
asked for my help.”

“That’s
when I thought Harbinger and Goliath stole extra electronics or made a deal for
protection money. Whatever they’ve organized isn’t little or easy. And it’s not
safe for you.”

“But
I can do this,” I said. “How else do we figure it out? I’ll talk to the guys
and Goliath. Liquor them up. Wink and flirt. They’ll tell me a few secrets, and
we’ll work from there.”

“Too
risky.”

I
pitched the rest of the gin in the sink. Without a little red cloak and a
picnic basket, the drink’s woodsy beat-down just wasn’t worth it.

“If
Sacrilege gets in trouble, you’re gonna be the one cleaning it up,” I said. He
knew I was right. “I don’t think they can handle anything big, and I don’t
trust them to do anything right. If you get caught fixing their mess, you’ll be
the one they sell out. And I’m not going to let my cousin get the blame for any
crazy-ass scheme they’ve concocted. You’re better than this world.”

He
met my gaze. “The guns they have? The money they’re talking? This isn’t a
normal operation. You can’t interfere. If they think you’re trying to stop them
or sabotage them—”

“I’m
not! I just want to know what they’re doing.”

“Doesn’t
matter. You gotta be ready to run.”

I
didn’t like how that sounded. “Leave my home? My job? You?”

“Leave
Goliath.”

I
stole his beer, taking a swig. Leaving Goliath was easier said than done. Back
when we first started dating, before his obsession, I might have gotten out.
Now? Goliath dropped the charm and presents and sexy promises and tied an
invisible noose around my neck.

“I’ll
find out what’s happening here. And then maybe we can stop it before they get
in over their heads.”

The
door swung open. A bearded man stuffed into leather pants a size too small
hollered from the doorway.

“I
want the dirtiest Martini in the house!”

Red
hid his concern in another gulp of beer. Conversation apparently over.

I
waved at Harbinger and winked. “You and every other horny old bastard in this
club, Sam.”

He
cackled and shed a dusty jacket somewhere between the entry and the tables. The
prospects stood as their president waddled past the television. He saddled up
against the bar, slammed a crisp one hundred dollar bill down, and ordered a
round for his men.

I
didn’t ask where the money came from. Red didn’t let his eyes linger on the
bill. If the cash didn’t come from the run, God only knew what couch cushion
Sam dug through to earn it. He smoothed his chest-length beard with a grin and
twirled the edges of his mustache for me. I gave my best too-cute-for-the-club
giggle and offered him a beer.

“Make
yourself something,” he said. “Double the olives.”

My
eyebrow perked. “Please. There’s only one good olive in this place.”

Sam
laughed and wagged a finger. “You’re trouble, Olivia. You listen here, Red. Never
trust a gal who can drink you under the table. Little advice that served me
well for fifty-eight years.”

Red
snickered. “And that’s why you haven’t gotten laid in five.”

Sam
pitched a handful of peanuts at Red and threatened to stuff the men who laughed
into the empty bowl. Red ducked behind the bar to refill the snacks. I scooped
the ice into the shaker and chased him away as he stole a bag of pretzels.

Sacrilege’s
aging club president stayed at the bar for the show as I shook the ice and
wiggled every good part of me with it. I poured the vodka martini into a
chilled glass, decorated it with one perfect olive, and toasted him. Sam got
his beer, I sipped my house drink and namesake, and not a drop of gin threatened
the sanctity of my bar.

The
prospects cheered as the hockey game turned violent. Sam joined in the
festivities, spilling most of his beer on the floor. He twisted and ordered
another, plopping a second hundred down as the players separated and the game
went to commercial.

“I’ll
need a lot more of these,” he said.

“Celebrating
something?” I earned his wink. I wrinkled my nose like a little bunny and
ignored Red’s rolling eyes. “What’s so exciting?”

“Just
you wait, Martini. Got some good things planned for us.”

“Oh
yeah?” I opened the other beer, but I didn’t pass it beyond the counter. I
leaned over, letting my chest press against the bottle. “Like what?”

“Can’t
jinx it yet,” he said. He took the beer with a slow hand. “But good things are
happening. You keep these coming for my men, hear me? Black me out, and one of those
hundreds will be for you.”

“Sam,
you make my job too easy.”

“Yeah,
well.” His patience faded as the door slammed again. Not the excited bang of
more returning members looking for a quick drink and quicker buzz. The crash
jostled the televisions and silenced the prospects. “You might decide to black
out too.”

So
it’d be that kind of night.

Red
tensed and swore, chugging his beer. It might have been a good idea, relaxing
him a bit and taking the edge off. Then again, alcohol made Red chattier than usual,
and Goliath wasn’t fond of the blue-eyed heartbreaker from Ambridge when he was
silent and sober.

“Goliath
already started celebrating,” Sam said. “Might be best to let him keep
drinking.”

Red
snorted. He drank from a bottle as it was easier to crack into an impromptu
weapon, but Goliath didn’t need glass to hurt. I wasn’t about to spend my
hundred dollar tip on first-aid supplies to clean shards of glass out of my
boyfriend’s skull and stitch my cousin’s lip. Again.

The
prospects stood as Goliath stomped over them. I sighed as he tossed a chair.
The shell shattered against the wall. The TV flickered, but it was safe for
now.

I
stared at my drink. The olive peeked back. It definitely wasn’t strong enough
for tonight.

“Where’s
my money?”

Goliath
was a man of few words—most of them as short as his temper and every bit as
profane. The prospect didn’t get out of the way. Horse-collared and pinned
against the table, Goliath asked again, not nearly as nicely as before.

“Where’s
my
fucking
money?”

“Tomorrow!”
The prospect pointed to the TV. “I got money on the game. I’ll pay you with
interest.”

“Yeah,
you will.” He hauled the kid up by the neck. He’d serve as Goliath’s dart board
before the end of the night. “But first you’re gonna bleed.”

Red
swore and slammed his beer on the bar. I hauled him back before Goliath used
his tibia for a pool cue. No one stopped Goliath when he was raging.

No
one except for me.

And
it wasn’t a talent I was thrilled to have.