Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (27 page)

The
motorcycle accelerated before I was settled, but it was fast enough to peel out
of the parking lot as Goliath sprinted after us. We turned the corner and burst
for the interstate before he could make it on his ride.

I
didn’t remember crying. I rested my head on Red’s back as every part of my body
screamed in pain. I preferred the welts blistering my skin to other injuries. Straddling
the bike hurt me in ways I wasn’t ready to admit. I gripped Red, and he reached
to pat my arm. He knew the roads better than Brew, and we lost Goliath and Temple
within minutes.

He
pulled into the parking lot of an old McDonalds to check me over.

“You
okay?” He asked. We sported matching black eyes.

I
lied. “Fine. But we can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”

Red
didn’t have to ask. “Are you going after Brew?”

He
wouldn’t want me, but that hadn’t stopped me before. “I have to.”

“Know
where he is?”

“I’ll
find him. Where will you be?”

“South.”
Red touched his ear. He bled from a slice over the cartilage. They meant to
hack it off but missed. Got a good chunk though. “I have some friends. Do you
have money?”

I
reached into my pocket. Most of the money Brew left me was still in my bags,
incinerating in my apartment, but I had a decent sized wad. I’d be fine.

“I
have enough to get by. I just gotta find him before…” I refused to say it.

“Christ,”
Red sighed. “You need to see a doctor. What did Goliath do to you?”

“I
don’t care about me.”

“Yeah,
well I do. And I should take you to the hospital.”

Damn
it. I pulled him into a hug. “I don’t have time. He’s been gone for three days.
He might be dead by now.”

Red’s
frown etched into his face. He aged ten years in the course of the night—closer
to Brew’s age than mine.

“You
in love with him or something?”

The
coy smile returned. “You jealous or something?”

“You
really are fucked now.”

No
sense arguing. The sun peeked over the horizon. In the daylight, my body
screamed, beaten and bruised. I tallied the injuries and prided myself for
surviving. It didn’t matter what hurt. It didn’t matter what bled.

I’d
crawl to California if it meant finding Brew and protecting him from his
father.

Sorceress
was one of those classy strip clubs—the kind where the girls shook their asses,
ignored the business discussed at the tables, and stitched a guy’s wounds when
things got rough.

For
a stage of half-naked women and decently priced drinks, Sorceress didn’t offer
me many good memories, and my shoulder ached more the closer I got to the club.
The pain burrowed deep, punishing my arm with common sense, like it remembered
where it got hurt.

If
I was lucky, the blonde hard-ass who owned the club wouldn’t aim for my good
shoulder when she saw me.

Jocelyn
Hart managed Sorceress with the same iron-fisted ruthlessness that Thorne
controlled Anathema. Except, instead of a loaded gun, Lyn ran her business with
a roll of twenties and the threat of a high heel bludgeoned through a man’s
temple if they happened to get fresh.

So
when I grabbed her, I avoided her feet, shoved my hand over her smart mouth,
and hauled her into an office that passed more money through g-strings than
Anathema ever did with a semi-truck full of cigarettes aimed for San Francisco.

I slammed
the door, but she got away before I spoke. The gun released from her office
drawer, and she aimed a steady, remorseless barrel at my cock. I raised my
hands. Lyn’s green eyes flashed with a perverse acknowledgement, as if I handed
her a hundred thousand dollars instead of surrendering while she pointed her
piece at mine.

“Lyn,
it’s me.”

The
gun didn’t move. A lock of vibrantly blonde hair fell over her face. She wasn’t
a vixen, she was a viper. Every man who sewed the Anathema patch on his vest and
had her velvet lips wrapped over his cock prayed they’d earn her mercy over the
prick of her fangs.

“I
know.” Lyn’s eyebrow arched. It wasn’t a greeting. “Why do you think I’m so
happy to see you?”

The
corset pushed up her tits, and the stitched leather of her skirt flaunted an
untouchable ass. She didn’t need a weapon to stun a man. She also didn’t need
the attitude, but damned if I was going to correct it. Thorne had better luck
managing Lyn when her balls got too big for her thong. But, after the fire that
gutted Sorceress and put her out of business for a month, the leather Lyn wore
was probably skinned from Anathema’s president.

“I’m
not dead.”

“No
shit? You sure?”

“You’re
not happy to see me?”

Her
breath cursed me, her gaze punished me, and her intentions probably wouldn’t
thrill me.

“Get
the hell out of my club,” she said.

“I’m
just trying to catch up.”

“Oh?”
She hopped onto her desk with the grace of a prowling jungle cat and the claws
to match. The gun still aimed for the part she was most likely to rip off and
keep as a trophy. “You want to reminisce? Fantastic. Let’s start with this.”

She
reached over her computer and pulled a file. She was a good shot, but a better
accountant. Nothing ever worked in Anathema’s favor when we let her set the
terms.

“Fifty
thousand dollars in renovations, twenty thousand in repairs, ten thousand in
legal fees.” She glanced at me, her eyes the same color as the cash she
counted. “You need a pen and paper, or you getting this?”

“Lyn—”

“Eighty
thousand dollars you guys cost me in that pissing contest between The Coup and
Thorne. The police, Feds, ATF, every fucker with a badge tried to ride my ass
and shut down my club. Two of my dancers quit when they saw the bullet holes in
the dressing room, and I had to put another one in to therapy. Your fucking
brother got high with my best dancer and had to rush her to the emergency room
when she OD’d.”

“Christ.”

“Oh,
but that’s
nothing
.” Lyn dropped the gun and clicked her nails off the
desk. It wasn’t because she was being friendly. Each bite against the wood was
an imagined clip firing into my head. She had the decency to drop the weapon
before committing any felonies. “Why the fuck haven’t you talked to your little
sister?”

“That’s
why I’m here.”

“For
Rose?”

“I
need a favor.”

“I’m
not cutting Anathema favors anymore.”

“Good
thing I’m not in Anathema.”

I
didn’t trust Lyn not to rip off my clothes and point out every layer of ink on
my body that named me a liar.

“You’re
more Anathema now than when you were jerking off Luke and making deals with
Temple.”

“Will
you help me or not?”

“I
don’t do charity, Brew.”

“Then
will you help Rose?”

Lyn
wagged a finger. “You want to help poor little Rosie? Answer the phone once in
a while. Listen to her music. Be the fucking brother she needs now that she
ripped out her heart and lived through that nightmare again. Think you can do that?”

“No.”

“Then
get out of my club.”

“My
father’s out of jail.”

Lyn’s
voice never hardened—it coiled in threat. “Yeah. I know.
I
was the one who
hauled Thorne and your druggie brother out of the gig before they slit Blade’s
throat.
I
was the one who held Rose while she broke down because, let’s
face it, Thorne isn’t the type to get all cuddly-feely when he senses she’s in
trouble. She
needed
you, Brew.”

“I’m
here now.”

Lyn
had enough. She had an uncanny ability to flip men off without raising a
finger. “Rose isn’t playing tonight. You’re on the wrong side of town to offer
your help.”

“Can
you bring my father here? Dance for him?”

“If
you think I would
ever
let that monster step foot in my club after what
he did to her—”

“You
think I’d let him walk out after I’m done with him?”

“Of
course not.” She tapped the folder at her side. “But I’m not dropping eighty
grand on renovations so Anathema can bloody the carpet again.”

“This
ain’t for Anathema. This is for Rose.”

Lyn
snorted. “Is it?”

“He
won’t hurt her again.”

“Rose
wouldn’t let him.” She wrapped her nails off the desk again. Somehow I made
another mistake. “She’s not a little girl anymore, Brew. She’s in college, doing
her music, and she’s the president’s old lady. She’s all we got for a Queen
right now, and she’s doing one hell of a job patching us together. No one will
ever touch her again. She won’t let it happen.”

“And
I’ll make sure of it.”

“Whatever.
Do your dirty work somewhere else.”

“I’ll
pay.”

“Of
course you will. Because all you guys are the same. Money, blood, and tits. You
think it can fix everything.”

“Name
one thing it can’t.”

“Your
fucking sister.” Lyn’s words clipped over her gritted teeth. “But I gotta
admit. I like the thought of that cocksucker getting what’s coming to him.”

“We
get him here. You distract him. I’ll take care of it. No one learns about it.
Not Thorne or Rose.” I matched the stone in her gaze. “Not Knight.”

She
didn’t blink. “Knight doesn’t know you’re alive.”

“Keep
it that way.”

“Okay.”
Lyn proposed a trade I wasn’t prepared to bargain. “As long as Knight stays
alive.”

“Why
do you care? He’s Coup. Acting fucking president.”

She
shrugged. “Knight lives, no questions asked, and I’ll help you take Daddy out.”

“Deal.”

“You
always were the rational one.”

I
didn’t give her the satisfaction of a handshake, not when Lyn had the balls of
every man from Anathema and The Coup in her clutches. I didn’t trust her not to
squeeze.

She
made her phone call, and I waited.

Patience
was a virtue, but patricide was a glorifying sin. It blackened anything good
that hadn’t been scourged from me in a lifetime of club business.

Martini
asked if I could kill my father.

The
thought was easy. He wasn’t my father anymore. He was a man who committed a
betrayal worse than any of the treachery I twisted to save Anathema. I trusted
him. I obeyed him. I aspired to
become
him. Killing him would rip off
that festering, wounded part of myself. End the deceit and misery.

But
she got in my head. Martini’s warnings weren’t meant to steady my hand or
prepare me for a battle no son should have fought. She manipulated me to
protect herself. She forced me to my knees, and it was all so I’d break myself
to keep her safe. She was no better than my father. He betrayed Rose, and she
betrayed Rose’s secret.

So
why the fuck did I worry when my phone stayed silent?

I
didn’t have much of me left. Rose decimated my strength, and Martini stole what
remained.

Martini
was a good flirt, but was she that good a liar? She felt honest enough when she
ground against my cock and cried my name. She spoke of trust and consoled me
when I revealed my guilt. Was that a trick too? Just a way for her to ensnare
me?

I
made enough mistakes in my life. Martini was another in a list that blistered
the fragments of my conscience.

I
just wished I could go for five fucking seconds without worrying that something
had happened to her.

Lyn
held up her end of the bargain. The shadows obscured a lifetime of sin as the
door to my father’s waiting tomb opened, and the old man took his seat in the
wing-back chair meant for a comfortable show and more comfortable ride. I
waited in the darkness, gun in hand.

Blade
aged, but I knew that. My father greyed before he committed the murder that
landed him in jail. He wasn’t a handsome man, but he never needed to be. The
cut got him what he demanded. Anathema’s scarred demon intimidated his enemies
and loaded his pockets. No greater pleasure existed than a girl twenty years
his junior choking on his cock, and he played the game like a pro.

His
way of life earned us power, money, and women. Up until three months ago, I
learned from the master to reap my own rewards. Now? Lyn wasn’t the only one
sneering at a monster.

My
father’s strength built from his bulk. He maintained his weight in jail and
towered over Lyn, even as she strapped on a pair of four inch heels to
accentuate the short shorts and tank she wore for his dance.

She
pushed him into the chair.

My
father’s grin was a sick chill in the room.

“Someone
oughta put you in your place, doll.”

Lyn
matched his tone. “You’ve been in jail for too long, Blade. You can’t handle
me.”

“What’s
to handle? You got a mouth, same as every other whore. If it ain’t sucking, it’s
good for nothing.”

“You
learn that lesson in prison?” She studied him, unimpressed by what he offered.
“Maybe I should pretend I dropped the soap. See if that gets you hard.”

“Ain’t
no part of me that’s soft.” He rubbed his crotch. “You gonna dance, or will it
jerk itself?”

Lyn
wagged a finger. “My club. My rules. I invited you here as a show of good faith
for Anathema. Figured you’d like to blow off some steam.”

“Happy
to oblige. Get on your knees.”

Her
eyes narrowed. “I don’t do audience participation.”

She
didn’t expect him to rise out of the chair, but Lyn didn’t know my father like
I did. She refused to step away. That was her first mistake.

“Change
of plans,” he said. “Not in the mood for a tease.”

“Need
a cell mate to fluff you?”

Second
mistake.

“Why
don’t you use that smartass mouth of yours and welcome me back?”

“Careful,
Blade. I don’t think you’ve ever been with a woman who bites.”

Last
mistake.

“Nah.”
His voice lowered. “Cause I’d knock out all her goddamned teeth for trying.”