Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (24 page)

“Are
you coming back?” Red asked.

“Maybe.
This shit with his sister is bad. Real bad. He has to make sure she’s okay.”

“Never
imagined a tough guy like him would be so fucked up by a baby sister.”

“Yeah.
Just my luck.”

The
door slammed behind me.

Every
bone in my body fractured as if I was trapped between the door and the frame.

I
didn’t look up.

I
didn’t have to.

I
knew he was there.

And
he heard everything.

My
heart ceased to pound, fearing any strike against my ribs would crumble me to
dust. I ended the call without saying goodbye, but I didn’t move from the desk.

A
chill rolled from the doorway, a menacing cold as quick as a bullet and as final
as a grave.

“Please
let me explain.” The whisper wasn’t me begging. I asked for a permission I
didn’t deserve.

Brew’s
voice changed. A summoned strength pierced the anger he lost to three months of
grief. His threatening growl returned, the guarded warning he wielded before he
let me close.

It
wasn’t Brew’s deep rumble. He spoke with Noir’s callous bite.

“Not
much to explain, Darling,” he said.

“Let
me try.”

“No.”

The
word stung like a blow to the cheek. I stood anyway. The chair tipped over
behind me, but Brew ignored everything but the packed bag waiting for him near
the door.

“It
wasn’t what it sounded like!” I held my hands out. “Please.”

His
eyes darkened into the heavy threat of every hatred he reserved for himself.

Only
this time, it aimed for me.

“I
trusted you. I told you about Rose.”

I
nodded. I knew better than to rush to him. Years of experience kept me out of
arm’s reach, beyond the swipe of a palm or the threat of a fist. “But you don’t
understand. I had to tell Red
something
.”

“All
your talk about protection and trust?” He didn’t raise his voice, but I felt
every syllable crash into my gut. “You fucked me to get me to help you.”

“Brew,
that wasn’t why we...” I groaned and covered my eyes with my hands. It did
nothing. When I looked up, everything was still there. Broken. Ruined. “I
do
trust you. And I do need your help. Let me explain, and then we can leave and
go find Rose—”

“Don’t.”
The word was a knife to my throat. “Don’t you say her fucking name.”

Brew
reached into his vest, crumpling an envelope of money and slamming it onto the
table. He didn’t look at me.

“That’s
a couple thousand. It’ll get you home.”

“I
can’t go home.”

“Not
my problem.” His stare pierced through me with all the violence of his words.
“Why don’t you twist your cousin around your finger? Get him to help you?”

Christ,
he didn’t understand. He didn’t
want
to understand.

My
greatest fear welled within my chest, bursting though through every bruised
part of me he exposed. I ached and shivered and wound so tight against panic my
breath shuddered over the words. I crumbled as he reached for the door.

“They
want me to kill you!”

Brew
stopped. Took a breath. When he turned, the hardened lines in his face and grey
in his hair shadowed with a new revulsion, something fresh and vibrant that
cloaked him in rage.

“
Who
wants you to kill me?”

“Sacrilege.”

His
fury terrified me. The edge in his stare. The hardness of his jaw. The strength
surging through his fists. Goliath menaced and hurt, but he threw a punch to
prove what a big man he was. Brew didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. If
he struck, it was for his own revenge.

The
panic attack squeezed too tight. My vision tunneled, and I held my head to ease
the pressure. It didn’t help.

“I
was supposed to kill you,” I said. “It was meant to appease Kingdom. If I
murdered you, it’d prove Sacrilege’s alliance. They wouldn’t hurt me.”

“You
didn’t do it.”

“I
couldn’t hurt you.” I left it unsaid why I refused the order. It didn’t matter.
His cold stare shattered my last confidence.

“Seems
like I’m more useful dead than alive,” Brew said.

“That’s
not true.”

“Gotta
be dead to kill my father.” He dropped his bag only to rip the coat from his
shoulders. The jacket landed on the table next to the money. “Gotta be dead so
no one fucks with you anymore.”

“I
understand you’re upset, but I didn’t mean what I said to Red.”

“Every
word you fucking say is a manipulation.”

He
wasn’t wrong, but the truth hurt more than if he had hit me.

“You
wink and dance. You flirt and fuck. And you get your way every goddamned time.”

“Only
because I had to—”

“Did
you ever mean anything you ever said to me?”

“Brew.”

“Lie
to me, and I’ll hogtie you to the bike and deliver you to Goliath on a silver fucking
platter.”

I
believed him. My stomach tightened, but I had nothing in me to lose. All my
fears and insecurities already scattered before him. He didn’t care.

“I
had to get away from Goliath.” I hesitated. “At first…I said anything to get
you to help. I knew you didn’t want to take me to Kingdom. And I saw through
you. You were so sad. I…I did what I had to.”

“God
damn it.”

“But
I swear to you, Brew, I haven’t lied to you. I do trust you. I do need your help.
And what we did last night—”

“Was
another one of your fucking tricks.”

“No!”

“The
saddest part is that I saw how you worked. I watched you do it. You tamed
Goliath. You got your club eating out of your hand. You even convinced Red to
get you the laptop. Lies and manipulation. You use people to fix your own
damned problems.”

“You’re
right.” I wasn’t going to argue with the truth, but I wasn’t letting him leave
without a fight. “I admit it. I get into trouble, and that’s how I escape it.
But you’re different. I swear.”

He
ignored me. “Take the jacket with you when you crawl to Goliath. Tell them you
stabbed me in the fucking back or ate my heart or whatever the hell you think
you’re most capable of.”

“Don’t
leave.”

“I
got work to do,” Brew said. “Take the jacket and tell them I’m dead. It’ll buy
you some time until you find another blind asshole to save you.”

“Please,
listen to me!”

“You
got nothin’ good to say, Darling.” His words broke me. “Nothing I want to
listen to anymore.”

The
door closed behind him. My heart broke quicker than my fear.

Everything
I tried to say silenced on my lips.

Everything
I tensed to do stilled my movements.

Nothing
I did would bring him back. No quick smile. No sway of my hips. I could call
his name as sweet as candy, with sultry desire, or in absolute terror, and the
throttle of his bike would muffle my every apology.

I
was on my own.

And
I had a lot of work to do if I wanted to survive the night alone.

It
wasn’t enough to be hunted and wanted for murder. I had to hold the gun to my
own head.

Three
bikes parked outside a once abandoned factory. The faded ivory decals were as recognizable
now as they were chasing me and Martini through the back-ass roads in
Pennsylvania. The inverted crucifix shaped by two crossed spears glared at me.

The
line between Temple and Anathema territory shifted as the years passed. If
Thorne wanted, he might’ve pushed and earned some of the surrounding
district—an isolated desert with more than enough space to conduct unsavory
business beyond the eyes of the town.

But
Anathema and Temple retained an unsteady alliance. Borders were fluid. Anathema
supported Temple, and Temple needed Cherrywood Valley for a path. Pushing drugs
was a lot easier with mules. Mule an entire town, and Temple earned a cozy
foothold away from the Feds. As a result, Anathema thrived in proximity to a
much stronger club, all thanks to the alliance forged by Blade Darnell.

The
MCs weren’t supposed to meet at the old factory situated on the border. The
crumbling building sat too close to the city, highway, and law for the clubs to
meet without raising alarm. But what had been an Anathema property changed
hands. The Coup claimed ownership of the factory after the split. And the lone
blue bike that pulled into the lot solved my mystery.

Luke
“Knight” Halley.

Now
there was a son of a bitch who would stroke out if he knew I was alive.

The
last time Anathema and The Coup fought in the street, Thorne killed the usurper
president. Anathema’s truce with The Coup ended with that one shot, and my
betrayal sealed the coffin on any chance for peace. Thorne no longer trusted
Temple, but Knight was still trying to salvage the alliance.

And
it must have worked. The only reason my father was out of jail was because
Knight and I spent every waking moment betraying both factions of Anathema to
earn the necessary money. My father was free, and Temple hadn’t killed Knight.

I
guessed the new plan. Expand the business. Move out East. Encroach on Kingdom’s
territory and take the Great Lakes and their borders for Temple’s new routes.

I
studied the factory. The bikes parked outside belonged to high ranking members,
but Knight probably facilitated most of the deal. He was smart. Too smart for
this business. If he got caught, he wouldn’t get gunned down in the street like
a common criminal.

But
that didn’t mean he didn’t deserve it.

Because
of him, The Coup targeted Rose. They drew her in to my betrayal and nearly
killed her.

Or
worse.

I
had a shot on Knight.

No
one knew I was alive. Temple and Knight were too preoccupied with sucking their
own cocks and counting their money to assume somebody watched with a clean shot
and no conscience. My legacy to Anathema was already tarnished, but what better
way to punish the traitors than by one of their own dragging them down to the
innermost circle of Hell?

The
gun wasn’t good enough. The pain that Knight caused Rose wasn’t a sin forgiven
with a quick flash and burrowing slug of metal. But it was selfish of me to want
to end his life. Especially when I caused just as much pain.

The
gun chilled my hand.

Would
spilling more blood protect her?

The
endless civil war drew too much attention from the Feds and the police. Blade’s
death wouldn’t seem suspicious. He was an old biker with more enemies than hair
on his head. He got off easy on a sentence that should have killed him. With
his connections and history, no agency would bother investigating a long-overdue
vendetta.

But
Knight? The president of an illicit club with illegal origins and more enemies
than members? Taking him out would right a wrong, but risking that backlash put
everyone in danger. Without Luke, The Coup would dissolve, but not before every
renegade and bloodthirsty member satisfied their own petty business with
Anathema and put us in the federal spotlight. It wasn’t worth it.

I returned
to keep Rose safe.

And
that was what I planned to do.

I
rode into town with the sun at my back. I replaced my lost jacket but nothing
fit right, not with my phone constantly buzzing in my pocket. For three days,
Martini tried to contact me, but the phone was silent now, as if she realized
where I was. At least she had a little fucking decency.

I
didn’t let myself think about her. Not after I pushed my body to the breaking
point of exhaustion riding cross-country.

Except
Martini was alone, and that thought threatened to sink me to my knees. I wasn’t
ready for that.

Not
now. My only responsibility was to Rose.

I
didn’t know Rose’s schedule. Hell, I didn’t even know what classes she was
taking. I parked at the campus and took a chance outside the auditorium that housed
the music department. It took an hour, but a flood of coeds bolted from the
stairs and scattered to their dorms and classes.

One
girl stayed behind, waiting for her ride. She tangled in books, backpacks, and
an unwieldy guitar case that finally cracked under the pressure and dropped her
instrument onto the cement.

She
dove after it, wincing as the guitar clanged. She shushed it with a wave of her
hand before falling to her knees and inspecting the wood for damage. Her thick,
curly hair fell in front of her face. She wove it into a ponytail. Her scowl
intimidated no one, it never would. She wasn’t a flirt like Martini, and she
wasn’t a hard-ass like the strippers who acted as surrogate girlfriends for
Anathema.

She
was Rose.

She
was perfect.

I
hopped off the bike, but I didn’t help her with her things. Two of Anathema’s
prospects launched themselves at the department stairs to collect her straying
music. She thanked them, but she didn’t let them hold the guitar. They loaded
her in one of the club’s trucks. She didn’t like it, but at least Anathema was
keeping her safe.

They
left the campus and dropped her off at a little house—white picket fence and
flowers in the yard. Her new home. Something stable and real and pretty, all
paid for by the blood money Thorne earned smuggling cigarettes, trafficking
drugs, and assaulting those who disobeyed him.

Once,
she demanded to be free of the club’s shadow. Now she was halfway there, living
in a nice home in the suburbs instead of the cramped apartment or my family’s
drug den.

But
appearances weren’t everything. Rose was as much Anathema as any of us.

My
father didn’t give me an inheritance. No college funds or investments. He gave
me a name.
Darnell
. And that name was more powerful than anything I
could’ve achieved with a normal life, earning an honest living. I never wanted
that. When I was younger, I prided myself on the open road and a weapon at my
side.

Now
I knew better.

Now
I
survived by the road and my weapon, and my
name was the reason I ran. And the life I never wanted was the only stability I
could give to Rose.

The prospects left her at home and drove off. I crossed to
the door, but I stopped before my fist pounded on the wood.

The guilt suffocated me. My f
ists did a lot of damage. Drugs.
Fights. Theft. Everything that scared Rose and the only way I tried to take
care of her.

I
wasn’t a good man. I only had one baptism that ever cleansed the blood from my
hands.

The
first time I held Rose.

My
mother pushed the squirming four year old into my arms and told me to watch
her. She needed a break. Had to go get high. I bitched, but Rose stared at me
with eyes baby-bunny brown and curls so thick I couldn’t see her rosy cheeks.
One look and I was lost.

So
I clung to that child—the only pure thing I ever held in my arms. With her, I
was clean. Washed of the sins that put me in jail and left her without a
protector for four long years. She only sat still long enough to throw a piece
of tin-foil over my head and declare me a princess. I played along until she
decided I was supposed to be an astronaut and whined for a cookie.

I had
no fucking idea what to do, so I took her to the store and bought her every
sweet she asked for with the money I earned from doing a job for my father. The
blood was still under my fingernails as I comforted her through the tummy-ache
a handful of Oreos and chocolate milk did to a kid who hadn’t had a full meal
in two days.

The
baptism didn’t last long. Neither did Rose’s smile.

I
knocked. Too softly, but I didn’t want to scare her by beating down her house.
A minute passed, and the door opened. She launched herself at me, a baseball
bat in one hand, her cell phone in the other. Both dropped as she wrapped her
arms over my neck.

She
was still just a kid. Freckles and tears dotted her cheeks, and her fists
gripped my jacket. She didn’t realize nothing could drag me away from her.

It
was dangerous enough coming to see her. I wasn’t going to let her bawl in the
front yard. I pushed her inside, closing the door behind us and waiting until
her sniffling stopped.

It
didn’t happen.

Rose
cried strained, angry, bitter tears. She swore at me in a whimper and held me
closer when I tried to part us. I deserved it. Ignoring phone calls was just
cruel. I held her too tight and whispered for her to stop crying—an order
instead of a comfort.

Christ.
It was like I had no idea how to interact with Rose. When she was growing up, I
ruled her life. I thought controlling who she was and where she wanted to go and
what she needed to do was the same as love. But it didn’t keep her out of
trouble. And it didn’t keep her from harm.

I
really fucked her up. It was a wonder she was still standing.

“You
okay?” I asked, as if twenty-one years of abuse, neglect, and destruction could
be acknowledged in a simple yes or no answer.

Rose
wiped away her tears and nodded, but she always did cry first and deny it later.

“You’re
here,” she said.

“You
called me.”

“Yeah,
but I didn’t think you’d come home.”

If
the tears hadn’t done it, her honesty destroyed the last bit of my pride. I
grabbed her arms, shaking her just so she’d look up at me. Her eyes widened.

Fuck.
Even when I tried to help I menaced her.

“If
you need me, I’m here. No questions asked.”

She
bit her lip. Not the tease of Martini, but genuine anxiety. “They’ll kill you
if they find you.”

“That
doesn’t matter.”

“It’s
so dangerous—”

I
squeezed her. “Tell me what happened.”

I
let her go only because she squirmed. Like she always did when she talked about
him. Her voice tried to steady. She was a good singer but a shitty actress.

“Dad’s
out of jail.”

I
got that much, but she didn’t offer any more. I wished her cheeks hadn’t turned
crimson. She looked away from me when I just wanted to see her face.

“Did
he try to find you?” I asked.

“Yeah.”
She nodded. “He came to my gig.”

She
perched on the arm of the couch. The house was perfect for her, but no
leather-bound men from Anathema would ever sit on the white leather, all
gathered around the pretty little cobblestone table in front of the cozy
fireplace. Thorne set the house up nice for her. Someplace normal. Safe.

“It
was a good gig too. I wasn’t at Sorceress. It was a nightclub like…” She didn’t
mean to say it. Hesitated. “Like the one I played at when The Coup…”

When
The Coup kidnapped her and threatened her life if she didn’t betray Anathema and
traffic the drugs to pay for Dad’s bribes.

“I
get it,” I said.

“I
was in the middle of a set.” Her eyebrow twitched. “My
own
music, not
even covers.”