Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (26 page)

His
profanity stilled me. I threw the shirt over my head as he pitched the phone
into the wall.

“You
fucking cocksucker!” Goliath dove at me. The drugs hadn’t worn off, and he fell
hard against the floor.

I
didn’t have time for panties. I slid the denim over my bruised ass and tried to
run just as Goliath’s fist connected with my gut. The hard, metal rings
patrolling his fingers sliced against the reddened flesh of my side, right
where the belt had bitten and bled.

I
fell. No pretending this time. No submission. Just pain and the tickling
realization that something had gone utterly wrong during the night.

His
fist twisted in my hair, and he hauled me to my feet. The apartment door
crashed against the wall and ripped from the hinges. He dragged me across the
floor and shoved me through the entry.

I
didn’t move fast enough. His foot connected with my spine. I screamed as I
tumbled down the stairs, crashing against each step until I struck the bottom.
My arm twisted under me. Better than my neck, but not by much.

This…wasn’t
how it normally happened.

This
was worse. Much worse.

“Get
up, bitch.” Goliath rolled me over and slammed me on the bar. “Stay right
fucking there.”

My
vision blurred like I sampled a bit of everything from the alcohols behind me. Goliath
shouted for the lights, and the building lit up.

I
wished it hadn’t.

I
didn’t recognize the men, but the inverted crucifixes on their jackets shared
all the secrets.

We
spent days running from Temple.

And
now?

Three
officers stalked my bar, whispering to a sweating Sam and eying the hulking
Goliath with one hand on their guns. My vision cleared enough to read the labels
on their vests.

President
.

Secretary
.

Sergeant-At-Arms
.

Son
of a bitch. The man from the diner leered at me. The time on the road hadn’t
been kind, and neither was the scrape of the asphalt from where he fell during our
chase. He snorted, taking a look at everything Goliath just used and bruised. He
didn’t care that I was hurt.

I
didn’t either.

The
very same men Sacrilege was supposed to assassinate held us hostage in our own
clubhouse. Pain was the least of my problems.

Sam
wasn’t wearing a shirt. They let him keep the sheet he slept in, but he wasn’t
ready for this meet. Neither was Vet, stashed in the corner as he rolled
against his own drunken stupor.

Temple’s
president stepped forward—as old as Sam, greying, and thick with a greasy
undercurrent of entrapment and violence. My stomach heaved so near him. Even
without a word passing from his thin, goatee obscured lips; I knew everything
he said dripped with deceit.

“My
name is Toviel Aren,” he said with a nod of his head. “I’ll let you live if you
answer a question.”

Like
hell. He had no intention of letting me live. I didn’t agree, but he asked it
anyway.

“Where
is Brew Darnell?”

I forced
my expression to blank. It wasn’t hard. Goliath clipped me in the lip and above
my eye. The swelling was humbling.

“Who?”

Goliath
launched at me. “Fucking cunt.”

The
other Temple officers and Sam grabbed him before he struck me, though I tumbled
off the counter and behind the register in panic. I hurried to my feet as a gun
cocked and aimed for my head.

“You
may know him as Noir.” Toviel gestured with the weapon. “Where is he?”

My
stomach heaved. I licked my lips and tasted blood. This wasn’t good. I needed a
stall, a way to force some coherent thoughts through the panic. I offered him a
sad, frightened quirk of my shoulders.

“You
mean...his body?”

Toviel
chuckled. “His
body
?”

I
didn’t like his tone. My fingers laced under the bar. The shotgun I kept under
the register had only one shell in it, and I wanted nothing more than to
deliver the spray point-blank into Goliath’s head.

But
that petty vengeance wouldn’t protect anyone.

I
had bigger problems than ripping the cock off a man who abused me and lived to
beat me when I was down.

Three
Temple brothers lurked in the room. I could shoot one before they jumped me,
but I had nothing to reload with. The gun had one shell, and I had no other
options.

“Sweetheart?”
Toviel didn’t mean it.

“I...”
I hesitated. “He’s dead.”

“Dead?
What a shame.” Toviel glanced to his brothers. They laughed. Sacrilege didn’t.
“What happened?”

They
bought my sweet and innocent act, but they’d rip my head off just the same. The
game got harder. Ratting on Sacrilege was suicide. I had to pretend like I
wasn’t supposed to say what really happened. Like I was covering for Goliath
and the club. My only hope was that he’d reward my loyalty with a crack against
Toviel’s skull.

I
didn’t hold my breath.

“It
was an accident,” I said.

“You
can tell us, sweetheart.” Toviel’s leer left a grimy film over me. “We’re all
friends here.”

He
snapped his fingers. The slimy Sergeant-at-Arms pounded on the utility closet
behind him. He jerked the door open and seized the man beaten and bound within.

Red
landed on the floor, sneering at the Sergeant with a look that would finish the
cut bleeding from his neck.

“Okay,
Martini.” Toviel extended his hand, and the others crashed Red into a table. They
were lucky Red’s arms tied behind his back. My cousin had a nasty right-hook. “One
last time. Are you certain Brew Darnell is dead?”

I took
a chance. “Yes. I…killed him.”

Toviel’s
men scowled. Red met my gaze as blood poured from his nose. He shook his head—
no
.

Christ.
That figured.

“Sweetheart,
Darnell
is
alive.” Toviel took his aggression out on Red, slamming a
fist into his side. Red immediately threw up.

This
wasn’t good. My voice shrilled, but it wasn’t my acting that called to Toviel,
it was the pure, unconsecrated fear he so preferred.

His
fist rose again. I shouted.

“I
don’t know where Brew is!” I cried. Red swore through the hit. “He left me. He
found out I was supposed to kill him, and he said he would hunt me down and
hurt me if I told anyone he left—”

“Save
it.” Toviel laughed. “Baby, you better just shut your mouth while you’re still
ahead.”

The
Sergeant-at-Arms studied my lips. “Or while she can still give head.”

Shit.

My
stomach quaked. The lashes and welts over my skin were nothing compared to the
hollow dread that ate me from the inside.

Brew
warned what Temple would do to me. I hadn’t believed him. I thought I could
handle myself if the worst came to the worst. A smile. A giggle. A gentle touch
to someone’s arm and a quick pout when I needed to earn a quicker friend.

It
wasn’t going to work this time.

Flirting
only worked when men weren’t murdered and money wasn’t on the table.

And
sex only worked when it was my choice to spread my legs.

I
lowered my head, stroking my eye as if wiping a tear away. The motion hid my
glance under the counter. A candle lighter rested against a dried rag and a few
piles of cocktail napkins tangled in silverware. Whoever took my missing shifts
left the area a freaking mess. The shot gun tucked tight under the countertop.
At least that was still there. The bluff of all bluffs.

Sam
stepped forward, casting a miserable look at my bleeding cousin heaving over
the table.

“Okay,”
Sam said. “Martini told us the truth. We don’t got any more secrets. We told
you about Kingdom’s offer. No one attacked your men. So far, you’ve only hurt
us—especially poor Red over there—more than we’ve hurt you. Let’s call a
momentary truce. Just talk this out.”

Temple
didn’t look to be big talkers, and they weren’t the type to honor a truce. The
attention passed from me. I took the gifted moment and seized the one bottle of
liquor stashed under the bar. I moved it next to my lighter.

Gin
.

As
if the world hadn’t fucked me enough.

Toviel
waved a hand. The Sergeant-At-Arms backed off of Red, though the fucking snake
kicked his knee before parting from him.

“This
isn’t gonna be easy,” Toviel said. “You were hired to kill us.”

Sam
nodded. “We got approached by a bigger club with more weapons than neighborly
goodwill. We didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh,
you always have a choice. I’ll give you one right now.” Toviel wiped the blood
from his hands with a handkerchief. “I propose a new alliance. Temple owns
Sacrilege. Do as we say, or we’ll skin every one of your women and children
alive.”

“Jesus,”
Sam swore.

“You
work for us. And your first job is to go find every last one of those Kingdom
MC fucks and slit their goddamned throats. Think you can do that?”

Goliath
nodded when Sam paled. “Yeah. We’ll do it.”

“Good.”
Toviel stared at me. “Next order of business. We took out the Kingdom officers
in the cottage, but we got two witnesses who can still talk.”

Sam
grunted. “Martini won’t say nothin’.”

Toviel
shook his head, and the filth of his intentions soiled every part of my skin.

“Yeah,
we’ll teach her to keep quiet. Your sweetbutt is a witness. We’ll take her with
us and decide what to do.”

I tensed
against the muffled scrape of the gun unhooking from under the countertop. I
worked quick. Only one shell, but one shot was enough.

“What
about Brew Darnell?” Sam didn’t even try. The fucking coward would let them
rape and murder me if it protected his ass. “Do you need us to find him?”

“And
fuck it up again?” Toviel frowned. “Brew Darnell is probably in California. His
father was released from prison. He’s got a grudge against Blade. He’s going to
settle a score.”

“I’ll
kill him,” Goliath growled. “I’ll rip his goddamned head off his neck.”

“Do
it, and you’ll get fifty thousand dollars.”

Sam
and Goliath blinked. I clutched the gun.

“Fifty
grand?” Goliath repeated.

“His
father set the bounty. He won’t live long enough for you to make it to
California.”

Fuck.

I
swallowed my sickness. It returned, vile and burning.

Blade
realized Brew was coming.

And
why wouldn’t he? If Rose revealed everything that happened to her, Blade would anticipate
his son returning to avenge his little sister. He lured Brew into a fucking
trap.

And
I had no way to warn him. Temple would claim me as their prize for the night. By
morning I’d be their bloody trophy for conquering the region.

It
wasn’t going to happen.

I
wouldn’t let it happen. Not anymore.

I
ducked behind the counter and ripped the cap off the half-empty bottle of gin.
The dry rag stuffed deep inside. Toviel shouted for me. So did Goliath. I
slammed the bottle against the counter, pulled out the shot gun, and jumped up.

Toviel
got a little too close.

The
gunfire cursed the bar with a spray of shrapnel. I reloaded the gun even though
I didn’t have another shell. The bluff worked. The men yelled and leapt under
the tables. Toviel sunk into a puddle of blood.

It
bought me time. I grabbed the lighter and torched the rag inside the bottle. It
felt like I was always wishing for an alcohol other than gin, but it’d have to
do.

The
makeshift bomb exploded against the floor. I twisted and stole a bottle of
Everclear as well, launching that at Toviel’s head and striking him in the
gaping wounds of his chest. The glass shattered on impact, and the flames greedily
absorbed the escaping vapors for more fuel.

The
bar hadn’t had a fire inspection in years, and the timber holding it up dried
and split long ago. The fire spread without help from me. The flames gorged the
floorboards and spread along the supporting beams decorated with yellowing
posters and old t-shirts. The perfect kindling.

I
grabbed a knife from behind the counter and leapt over the bar as Toviel and
his men hid from my empty shot gun. Sam and Goliath shouted, but the knife
sliced through Red’s bindings and then flung at the Sergeant-at-Arms. The blade
grazed off his neck, but he fell to his knees to cover the wound as the smoke
surged and billowed over the room.

Red
limped and bled, but he held onto me as I dragged him from the burning building
and into the parking lot. The scraps of duct-tape still strapped over his
wrists, but he bit through the bindings and called for me. He jumped on his
bike, and I thudded against his back.