Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (25 page)

“Did
you sound good?”

“Very
good. Except...then he walked in.”

The
sunny little living room was built for tea-parties, not for the vulgarity of my
father. I kept silent. Rose forced through the story with a mock bravery that
would have made Martini envious.

“I
never,
ever
expected to see him…not there.” Rose fiddled with her hair,
dark curls that matched mine if I let it get too long. “I froze. Played nothing.
Totally bombed it. Forgot my accidentals. Messed up the verses. It was
horrible.”

She
had a bad habit of obsessing over music when life got too real and Dad got too
close. She’d focus on the gig instead of him. It was for the best. No Darnell
had the luxury of sorting through our shit like normal people. The music obsession
wasn’t healthy, but it gave her something to control.

“Where’s
Thorne?” I asked.

She
checked her phone. “He’s out with Scotch and Gold. Didn’t say what he was
doing.”

“Probably
better you don’t know.”

She
agreed, drumming her fingers on her legs. I didn’t think it would be this hard
to talk to her, but I couldn’t remember any time we had a good conversation.
The last time I saw her, Thorne tried to kill me. Before that, I got shot
saving her from The Coup. Before that? I forced her into Anathema after she
spent six months on her own trying to build a stable life—away from us.

“I
thought Thorne was going to kill Dad,” she said.

Me
too, given his history. “Who stopped him?”

“Keep
and Lyn hauled him out of the club, and Scotch went over to greet Dad. I
slipped out, and they took me home.”

There
was more to the story. More tears, more fighting. Probably one hell of a
sleepless night for her and Thorne. I didn’t push it. I ran to her side after three
days of no sleep and redlining the bike, but my father wasn’t an idiot. He
wouldn’t hurt Rose—not while she wore a patch that read
Property of Thorne
Radek--President
.

“It
shouldn’t bother me.” She looked down. A tattoo encircled her hand like a
bracelet, delicate but dark. The branding of thorns coiled over her wrist.

I
clenched my jaw. Thorne tattooed her, but she didn’t hide it with a little pink
scarf. Instead, Rose rubbed the ink like it comforted her, as if she gained courage
from the jagged design.

“I’m
older now,” she said. “All that was in the past. It’s been…years since all that
happened.”

“Rose.”

She
held my gaze. Her eyes weren’t as dark as mine, but she still emulated my
strength. Always did, but she never knew why.

“I’m
over it.”

“You
don’t have to be
over
it, Bud.”

“I’ve
accepted it. I’ve…acknowledged it. I understand how it impacted me.”

“What?”

She
sighed. “I’m in therapy, Brew.”

“Oh.”
No one in the family ever tried to help themselves without drugs or alcohol.
“Good. Is it…helping?”

“A
little.” She shrugged. “But I still froze on stage.”

“You
were just surprised.”

“I
was terrified.”

“You
never need to be scared, you hear me?” My voice hardened. Almost yelling. But
she had to believe me. I’d make her listen. “You got Thorne. You got Keep. And
you got me. Ain’t nothing gonna happen to you. You understand me?”

“Brew—”

“Shut
it.”

Rose
sunk onto the couch, her words silenced under my glare.

I
swore. What kind of shit therapy was she in? One appearance from Blade and a
harsh word from me, and she was back to her old tricks, diving inside herself
and plotting every way she’d escape without us realizing she got away.

“You
don’t worry about a damn thing,” I said. “You play your guitar, go to classes, and
forget you saw him. I’ll take care of it. I swear.”

“What
are you going to do?”

“What
I should have done a long time ago.”

She
frowned, but her eyes widened after a long moment. She wasn’t a kid anymore. She
knew how men in our family and in our club solved problems, but she acted like
she had no idea it was coming.

“I
didn’t call you to ask you to…” She stood and pushed me away. “I called you
because I
needed
you, Brew. I wanted to hear your voice. I wanted you to
tell me it was going to be okay.”

“It
is going to be okay.”

“Then
leave. I believe you. Please, don’t do anything that’ll get you hurt.”

“You
don’t get to worry about me. That’s my job, not yours.”

“Someone
has to watch over you.”

“That
person isn’t you,” I said.

“Well
it’s not
you
. This isn’t the way to fix me, Brew.”

I snorted.
“It’s the only way.”

“Christ,
you never listen to me!”

Now
she looked like the Rose I remembered—the little girl who grew up thinking she was
weak and helpless until she needed to steal Knight’s bike and deliver fifty
grand worth of meth in a broken drug deal. She stormed at me, stepping onto the
tips of her toes to face me down.

“You
hear what I say, and then you ignore it because you think you know what’s best
for me. Well,
that
isn’t what’s best for me.”

“Yes,
it is.”

“No.”
Her words cut. “It’s what’s best for
you
. Because
you’re
guilty. Because
you think it’s
your
freaking fault.”

“You
better shut your mouth before you say something you regret.”

“It’s
not your fault. It’s not my fault.”

She
spoke words neither of us believed, but that didn’t stop her from parroting
whatever she learned in therapy. It'd never fix her. Only a bottle of whiskey
and spilled blood would free both of us of that nightmare.

Rose
sucked in a trembling breath. “At first I wanted my brother because I was
scared
.
Now, I just want you to leave. I can’t handle losing you again.”

“You
never lost me.”

“Thorne
pointed a gun at your head before you left me for three months. You don’t
answer my calls. You don’t text. I wasn’t even sure you were alive until Keep
said he heard from you.”

“You
never
lost me.”

Her
voice trembled. She acted like she either hit me or hug me, and I couldn’t make
the choice for her. “I go to bed every night thinking you might be dead. Tell
me that isn’t losing you.”

I
didn’t let her push me to the door. She didn’t have the strength to move me or
the courage to force me to leave. I didn’t have the common fucking sense to let
her be.

“You
never lost me, and you never will.” I pulled her close, kissing her forehead.
“I gave you up once, I’m not going to fuck up again.”

I
didn’t let her answer. Nothing she said would change my mind, alleviate my
guilt, or cleanse my sins. I pointed at her, hesitating at the door.

“I’ll
take care of this,” I promised. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

“What
about you?” Rose paled. Every one of her freckles stood out on her cheeks, just
like mine when I was a kid, except I had the sense to grow out of them.
“Please, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Lock
up behind me.”

The
door closed. I waited for the click. The deadbolt and cocking gun sounded the same—a
soothing promise of security. Seeing her gave me the courage. Rose was the
steel in my bones and the fire in my blood.

I
failed her while she was growing up. It only meant that now I’d give her the
life she deserved. Her nightmares would end. Her pain would cease. And no one
would ever threaten her again.

It
was time to save my family.

Red’s
text message was only a single word.

Sorry

It
was the most frightening text I ever received.

Red
didn’t apologize, for anything, ever. If my cousin made mistakes, he fixed
them. That’s what made Red, Red. That was why he chose the MC over a medical
career. He made his money fixing other people’s problems and redding up their
messes.

It
meant one thing.

Goddamn
it, I was out of time.

For
two days, I called in every favor, worked every contact, and traveled from bar
to bar with nothing but a backpack and a couple hundred dollars to bribe people.
My patented smile lost its luck after a series of questions that not only
pointed me right to Temple, but nearly had me beheaded by a brother who
abandoned his cut and gestured between his legs to find more information.

A
couple months ago, I might have been tempted.

Now,
the thought turned my stomach, chilled my spine, and lost me three hundred
dollars to a bouncer to distract my pursuer until I was gone.

Brew
didn’t answer my calls. I didn’t blame him, but I doubted he even listened to
his messages. The local news reported on the death of Kingdom’s vice-president—spinning
the story of gangland violence as police discovered more of Kingdom’s
leadership face-down in the gutter.

Whatever
war Brew hoped to avoid bled out in the streets. Temple controlled the region.
It was only a matter of time before Sacrilege cut their veins too. Red’s
ominous text signaled the end I knew was coming.

The
shouting echoed from the hotel lobby. I deleted Red’s text and, with a hasty
swipe of my hand, I wiped off the makeup covering the fading bruise on my
cheek. It wasn’t fresh, but it still looked ugly.

Goliath
pounded against the door. He didn’t wait for me to open it. His foot smashed
through the wood as Sam called from the hallway. At least it wasn’t just
Goliath, but it wasn’t like I trusted Sam.

Goliath’s
shadow flooded the room with a menacing darkness. It wasn’t the first time I longed
for Brew’s return, but it would be the last time I let myself think of it.

First,
I had to save myself. No distractions.

Then,
I had to figure out a way to keep him safe.

“Baby?”
I covered my face with my hands. “Goliath! I’m so glad it’s you!”

I
rushed from the bed and into his chest. The same leathered, open road scent of
Brew shaded Goliath, but the undercurrent of beer and stale smoke lingered on
his clothes. I burrowed against him anyway.

Goliath
pushed me into the wall. He stormed through the hotel room and burst into the
bathroom. The mirror shattered under his fist. He didn’t feel it, but I would
later.

I
let Sam pull me into a hug. He surveyed the bruise on my cheek as Goliath
swore, ripping the remnants of the mirror from the wall only to toss it into
the hotel TV. He kicked the bed and hauled the mattress over the side. The
veins throbbed in his head, and he panted in his rage. I wondered what he
popped. His pupils dilated, and he stared at me with pale, clammy skin, wiping
the spit from his mouth.

“
Where
the fuck is he
?” Goliath shouted.

I
stepped into Sam. The flinch wasn’t part of my act.

“Where’s
who, baby?” I whispered.

It
wasn’t time to play dumb. Goliath seized me from Sam’s arms and yanked me
around by my neck. I squealed as his thumb dug into my skin.

“Don’t
play stupid, you fucking cunt! Where the fuck is Noir?”

“Dead!”

I
hated the lie almost as much as the bitter dread that pitted in my stomach when
I realized I might be right. Brew’s leather jacket rested on the table, unmoved
from the last time I picked it up and was smacked by his spicy scent. I pointed
at it, forgetting the image of the man who once wore it.

“He’s
dead! Like you said, baby! I had to get away from him, and...and...”

Goliath
tossed me to the floor, ripping open the coat and checking the pockets.

“I
did it,” I said. I pretended. I suffered. “See? He’s gone.”

Sam
sighed in relief. “Noir’s dead?”

I
nodded but didn’t stand. “He was stronger than me. I had to...I had to surprise
him.”

Goliath’s
pupils dilated more. “You fucked him, didn’t you? You goddamned whore.”

“He
wanted me to.” I pointed to the bruise on my cheek. “I refused him, Goliath. I
swear. I fought him, and he beat me, but he gave up.”

“Did
you want it?”

“You’re
my one and only.” My stomach churned in deceit. “I promise. I’d take a beating
over hurting you.”

Lies,
lies, and more lies, but the festering truth wouldn’t help anyone, least of all
me.

“Can
we go home, please?” I asked. “I’m so scared. I just want to sleep this all
away.”

“Yeah.”
Sam took the jacket from Goliath. “Let’s get you back. Shit’s not safe here,
Martini. You gotta hunker down for a while, till all this blows over.”

“What’s
happening?”

“Nothing
you need to worry about,” Sam said. “Club stuff. Let us handle it.”

That’s
what I was afraid of. They couldn’t handle any of the trouble they were already
in, let alone the host of problems that would come when whatever remained of Kingdom
learned Brew was alive.

Or
if Temple realized just how close they were to finding him.

Goliath
jerked my arm too hard. I yelped, but he didn’t care. Sam took my things and slammed
the door shut, hiding the evidence of Goliath’s tantrum and the sparking
remains of the television. The hotel asked no questions as they hauled me
outside. Enough women came and went on the backs of bikes to not warrant a
second glance.

Except
his wasn’t the bike I came in on.

And
it was the last time I’d let myself ache for that rider.

Riding
with Goliath was not nearly as safe as Brew. Speeding over a hundred miles
cramped my back and weakened my arms. I held onto Goliath because I had no
choice. He liked the feel of my body pressed against his, and I liked not
smashing myself onto the blinding asphalt.

Returning
to the bar was like returning to the scene of a crime I didn’t commit, except I
had no alibi for the blood on my hands.

Or
the blood that
wasn’t
on my hands.

My
home was no longer familiar, and the darkness seeped through the empty bar and
halls. I shivered. It wasn’t just the chill of the night. Justice came swift in
the MC, and the silence didn’t promise anything but bloody retribution.

I
had to delay them. The bar was empty, but I offered to pour a drink for the men
who so daringly rescued me from Noir’s clutches.

Sam
apologized and declined. He didn’t look at me. I wondered how he managed
before.

Goliath
pushed me past the counter. He herded me up the tucked away stairs to my
apartment. The door was locked. He kicked it open with a foreboding profanity.

It
was going to happen.

It
wasn’t like I hadn’t expected it. Goliath had been hard ever since he bled over
my hotel room. Roughing up a room excited him. Riding with me clutching his
back made him feel strong. I had no idea what he injected in his veins, but it
was powerful enough to veil the pain of his bleeding knuckles and blur his mind
into a haze of violence.

It
fed his desire.

I
didn’t let myself think of Brew.

“Been
a while, baby.” Goliath stared at me, his blue eyes rimmed devil red. He rubbed
his erection through his jeans. “I missed you. Take your fucking clothes off.”

He
missed parts of me. I stiffened. He didn’t give me an opportunity to rest after
the trip. Didn’t ask me if I was okay or if I wanted something to eat or time
to gather my composure. Instead he drove me backward.

I
tripped over a pair of shoes tossed in the middle of the floor as he forced me
to the bed.

“I’m
tired.” I gave him a smile—my first, last, and only weapon to wield against the
monster. “I’ve been through so much, baby. I think I need to rest.”

“Too
tired from doing your fucking job?” Goliath sneered. He slashed a hand through
the air. My bookshelf pitched to the ground. “Too tired from bailing out the
club and doing what you should have done before we fucking told you? You could
have killed him before. Instead you made us look like pussies.”

I
shook my head. “Baby, I swear to you. I did everything you asked.”

“You
fucked
everything
up.”

“You’re
right. I’m sorry.”

He
pushed me on the bed, ripping through my shirt and yanking my jeans off when I delayed
too long. The belt yanked from his jeans. The sudden exposure raked me in
shivers.

I
was cold. Vulnerable. Naked.

He
didn’t care.

“You’re
gonna be real sorry you fucked up.”

I didn’t
have time to brace for it. The leather rose and fell before I was ready. The
familiar strike landed too close to my face and lashed too much of the metal
buckle against my shoulder. Goliath reared back again before my cry ended.

So
it would happen like this then.

I
counted the strikes. Ten and he usually unzipped his pants. Fifteen and he’d
jerk himself off, slowing the blows while he fisted his cock each time I sobbed
a frantic apology. He rarely got to twenty—too overwhelmed with lust and too
drunk with power to let a helpless woman go without another form of punishment.

I
waited for the adrenaline rush to wash over me, to protect me from my
foolishness as the desperate shield to my own bad decisions.

It
didn’t happen.

I
waited for the rush of anxious desire, the swell of whatever was broken inside
me that responded to Goliath’s aggression.

It
never surfaced.

The
part of me that wanted danger chipped away in the shattering blows of the belt.

Goliath
seized my thigh. It wasn’t Brew’s heated grasp that pulled me closer as we
rested in bed.

The
pressure that trapped me against the squeaking mattress and grunting man wasn’t
the tender brush of air that caressed my skin when I offered myself to Brew.

Goliath’s
breathless profanities weren’t the frustrated confessions of a man overwhelmed and
struggling against his urges.

Brew
praised. Goliath insulted.

Brew
pleasured. Goliath hurt.

My
body once didn’t know the difference. Now was a terrible time to recognize the
truth.

Goliath
rolled off of me after only a few minutes.

The
dark hid my shuddering, but his thick arm wrapped over me, trapping me against
his clammy, heaving skin and a bed coated in the unforgiving scent of his sweat
and taking. The night claimed him in a quick sleep before he hardened enough to
take more.

The
exhaustion and drugs would capture him until morning, but I didn’t move. His arm
stuck over my welted skin, heavy and fat with the mixture of brawn and
undisciplined strength. He smelled of sweat and staleness, clung to me as
oppressive as a July without air conditioning, and snored his satisfaction like
a greedy animal content from its rutting.

Fuck,
did I hurt. My back. My sides. My arms. Other parts. The adrenaline wore off,
and the tears remained.

But
now wasn’t the time for pity and rage.

I
made a plan. An escape. I checked off what I needed, what was around to grab,
and a safe place to run to tend to my wounds and regroup.

Nothing
would stop me. I was going to leave. If he was lucky, I wouldn’t rip out his
throat first. If I was lucky, I’d be given the opportunity to squeeze the air
from his lungs.

We
didn’t rest for long. Goliath’s cell rang, and he kicked me in the knee,
forcing me to stiffly move so he could get his phone from the nightstand. The
green florescence from my alarm clock blinked that it was early enough. I winced
as I grabbed my fallen shirt and headed for a shower.