Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (28 page)

The
gun rapped against the base of his skull. He stilled. Lyn’s smirk exchanged for
a shiver. She held out pretty long for spitting in the face of the devil. She scowled,
and the door closed behind her.

My
father didn’t move. “Thought you were dead, son.”

“Not
yet.”

I
pulled the gun from the holster behind his back. He never bothered with one
strapped to his ankle. His knees didn’t bend so good anymore.

“All
this work just to get me alone?” He said.

“Figured
you’d be thinking with your cock.”

“I’ve
been in jail a long time, Brew. Can you blame a man?”

The
gun trembled in my hand once. I jammed it against his skull. “Yes.”

“Christ.”
My father sighed. “Is this how you’re clearing the air?”

“You
won’t be breathin’ it for much longer.”

“Why
are you upset?” His voice hardened. He spoke with the familiar, heavy-handed
advice of a father that always made sense, despite his perversions and
sickness. “Anathema ain’t gutted in the street. Knight prevented Temple from
rolling over the Valley. Thorne pussyed out before executing you for being a
traitor. You made out pretty good for fucking over your club.”

“You
think I give a damn about Anathema?”

“You
wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

“This
ain’t about the MC.”

He
groaned. He dared to move, rubbing the exhaustion from his face.

“You’re
pissed about Rose, aren’t you?”

The
hatred burning my veins sizzled everything in me to ash at the mention of her
name, with the casual condescension he used as an excuse for his abuse.

“You
got a lot to answer for,” I said.

He
waved a hand. “Do you want to blow my brains out, or do you want to hear my
apology?”

“You
think you can
apologize
for what you did?”

He
snickered. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“Because
I know you. You’re not sorry for hurting her.”

He
shrugged. His step forward was tentative, testing if I’d let him move. I did,
only because the rage demanded I see him too. I braced to look into his eyes.

And
I saw only myself.

The
same dark, dead brown stared back. His flat, deceptive gaze was every
dishonesty I imagined rotting in my gut, every assumed strength I used to make
my deals, and every destructive power I wielded to save my ass when my hourglass
trickled with the stolen sand of my enemies.

“She’s
fine
.” He shook his head. “Jesus. It didn’t happen that often, and when
it did, it was quick. It was better than me beating on her, wasn’t it?”

“You
son of a bitch.”

“I
was usually drunk or high. Hardly remember it.”

“She
remembers it.”

“She
never stopped it.”

The
gun rose. He snorted.

“I’m
sorry. Jesus Christ, give me a minute. I admit it. It was a fucked up thing to
do. I get off on power, and she respected me.”

“She
feared
you.”

“I
can’t go back and undo it,” he said. “Move on. What the fuck do you want from
me?”

“Blood.”
I imagined it. My finger froze over the trigger. “A painful death. A way to
make sure she’s never afraid again.”

“Son,
I’m sixty-six years old. If you think she’s got anything to worry about, you
and I gotta discuss our family’s prostate issues.”

“You
won’t hurt her now. You won’t even get close.”

“Then
why are you jerking that gun off? Thorne ain’t gonna let me touch her. If Keep
would sober up and stand on his own fucking feet, he’d match your shot bullet
for bullet. So what’s the problem?”

“The
problem
?” I gritted my teeth. “I trusted you with her.”

“And
she turned out fine. Not some fucking foster kid or scraped cells in the
dumpster of a clinic.”

I rushed
him, slamming the gun off his temple. “Don’t talk about her like that!”

He
ducked away from the next hit and rubbed the blood from his eyebrow. My father
wasn’t a man who tolerated an attack, but he stilled his fists before he made a
mistake. He spat out a mouthful of blood and grunted though the pain.

“
Fuck
Rose
. What the hell are you doing pointing a gun at my face? It’s history.
It’s nothing. She’s grown up, and now she’s bending over for Anathema’s
president every goddamned night. She doesn’t matter.”

“You
son of a—”

He
pointed at me. “Screw your head on and drop the attitude before you get killed
too.”

“You
think I have anything to live for? You destroyed everything important to me.”

My
father laughed. The lines in his face loosened. He didn’t look so old now.

“Did
I ask you to help Knight and Temple to get me out of jail?
No
. You did
that yourself.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did I tell you to manipulate The Coup to
believe you betrayed Anathema?
No
. Did I tell you to move the drugs and
make the deals that would ruin Anathema? Did I ask to raise a baby when I was
forty-five fucking years old and pulling the favors to keep your ass from
getting shived in prison?
Did I
?”

“No.”

“That’s
fucking right. So you better listen to me if you plan to protect Rose,
Anathema, and your worthless ass. You’re in big fucking trouble, Brew, and you
ain’t got a clue.”

I
didn’t pull the trigger. My jaw clenched, and I lowered the gun.

“Why
should I trust anything you say?”

“Because
no matter what I did to Rose, I’m your father. I taught you to listen to me. Not
because we’re blood, but because I lived to be sixty-fucking-six in a
one-percent motorcycle club that constantly pisses on their connections with a
damned drug cartel. You better start minding me.”

“I
don’t need you,” I said. “You taught me how to be a monster when you should
have learned how to beg for your life.”

“I
don’t beg.” He tapped his forehead. “My brains are better served in my skull than
on the floor of this tastefully redecorated club. And you know it.”

“You
better list the reasons before my finger slips.”

My
father accepted the challenge. He motioned to the chair. I didn’t shoot him
when he sat.

“How
about the mess you made between Temple and Kingdom?”

I didn’t
let my expression shift. “What mess?”

“Son,
not many men are capable of starting a war between Temple and one of the
largest MCs on the eastern seaboard. First Anathema and The Coup. Now this?”

“What’s
your point?”

“You
got a good talent for blundering your ass through life, Brew. Here I thought it
was Keep that was the goddamned screw-up.”

“Temple
made that move against Kingdom. Not me.”

“Yeah,
well.” He leaned back and sighed. “Imagine my surprise when I get a call from Toviel
Aren. He tells me that you’re alive, like a fucking messiah from the tomb. But
he also says you’re ferrying around a sweet little gash who helped her MC plot
to assassinate him.”

I didn’t
react. He knew about Martini. Christ, he knew about everything.

I
stole some of Martini’s confidence and let his revelation roll off me. “No one
told me they plotted a war.”

My
father scowled. “Doesn’t fucking matter. You’re a
Darnell
. You’re
supposed to
think
. But that’s too much for you anymore. You can’t do
anything right.”

“Cocky
thing to say to someone holding a gun. You taught me how to shoot.”

He
frowned. “You left Anathema and rode across the country looking for anyone to
blast your brains out because you were too chickenshit to do it yourself. If
you were gonna kill me, I’d already be dead.”

“Fuck
you.”

He
ignored the profanity. “Let me break it down for you, son. You kill me, and Temple
will have no one buzzing in their ear to stop them from firebombing Kingdom MC.
That type of war won’t clear out the competition. It’ll destroy both clubs and murder
a lot of disillusioned men.”

“You
don’t want to save lives.”

“I’d
like to save my own.” He laughed. “Temple is gonna assume Anathema took me out.
They’re gonna retaliate, roll over this weakened club, kill everyone inside.”
His eyebrow quirked. “Those guys like their victory spoils. Nothing would get
them off more than passing the dead president’s old lady around on their
cocks.”

“Leave
Rose out of this.”

“I
couldn’t care less about Rose. But what about that sweet-tart you left behind?”

My
grip tightened on the gun. “What about her?”

“Martini,
right? She’s pretty. Saw the pictures.” He winked. “Just my type.”

I
had no doubt. She was mine too. I raised the gun.

“
What
about her
?”

“Martini
knows Temple was responsible for the assassinations of Kingdom MC’s officers. And
Temple doesn’t want that secret spreading. Not yet.”

Fuck.
“So?”

“What
do you think they’ll do when they find her? I heard she doesn’t have a body
guard riding her around Pittsburgh anymore. Pretty little thing like that might
get stuffed in a drug shipment and ferried across Erie. There’s a lot of men
who would pay a good price for a pretty ass like hers.”

Rage
tunneled my vision. I didn’t speak. My vengeance demanded blood—not just for
Rose, but to protect the woman who tore me apart and forgot to sew me back
together.

My
father shrugged. “I could help her.”

It
was the truth, and nothing more evil existed than his honesty. “You’d tell
Temple to back off of her?”

“Brew.
Son. You say the word, and I’ll convince Toviel she isn’t worth his time.”

Where
was the catch? My father didn’t work for free, and no woman was ever deserving
of his help. I waited as his expression darkened.

“If
you kill me,” he said. “She’ll have a cock in her mouth, a dick in her ass, and
a bullet in her brain by tomorrow morning.”

“You
son of a bitch.”

“So,
use your head. What do you think is the best way to handle this situation?”

I
didn’t answer. He didn’t care. He spoke for me.

“I
got no interest in Rose,” he said. “She lives her life, I live mine, and she
keeps calling me Daddy.”

“Fine.”

“All
I want is to make sure Anathema and The Coup earn their fair share in Temple’s
drug trade. It gets us money, protection, and the opportunity to spend my days
riding my bike and my nights fucking a teenager. What do you think?”

The
gun stuffed into my jacket. Not like it would fire anyway. The bullets were just
as useless as me.

“I
don’t think I’ve got a choice,” I said.

“You
never did, son.” My father met my gaze. Darkness stared back. “Now, you better
go find that little blonde before someone else does. I’d hate to see either of
you get hurt.”

I
didn’t give him the pleasure of hearing me swear. I headed to the door. He
called for me, and like the bastard I was, I hesitated.

“Good
to see you again, son.”

Hi,
Rose! We haven’t met, but I’m your biggest fan
.
I’m in town
and wondered where you’d be playing...

The
email spun like my own web of deceit. It wasn’t a source of pride anymore. Just
necessity. I tamed a psychopath biker as easily as I learned where an aspiring
singer lived in California.

The
goal was simple. If I found Rose, I’d find Brew.

Rose
emailed with a club and time, and from there I had no problems. I flew into the
town and started my search. A charming conversation and free drink gave me
names. A wink taught me everything I needed to know about the Anathema MC. And a
squeeze of a bicep and giggle pointed me to the club’s bar and haven.

I
wasn’t proud of myself, but pride wouldn’t save Brew.

I’d
warn him.

Then
I’d apologize.

And
I didn’t have a plan after that.

The
address wasn’t hard to pin down, but finding a cab willing to take me to Pixie
cost me my last fifty. The clubhouse was an unmarked, shady little bar on a
rough street. I expected trouble, but it didn’t stop me from slipping through
Pixie’s entrance. I surveyed the interior. Brew’s brother, Keep, owned the bar.
Brew said he earned the handle
Innkeeper
for managing both the drinks
and the business they conducted over their tumblers.

I
sighed. His bar was in better shape than mine, especially after I reduced it to
ash. The floors weren’t scuffed, and the walls didn’t hide Goliath’s punched
holes with posters of late ninety’s porn stars. The space was clean, bright,
and fortified. Not at bad hangout.

A
prospect whistled at me from the door. I ignored the small fish, looking for
any of the sharks that might have prowled around the barstools for my fresh
meat.

I
didn’t find any predators, but damned if I didn’t find the best bait.

Rose
was pretty—the exact kind of girl who should have kept her nose in her studies
and out of the shadows of a bar like this one. She drank a water and piled
college textbooks around her, but she ignored both for the guitar at her side. The
pick strummed a few lazy notes. She didn’t doodle in the notebook. She sketched
the chords for a song.

I sat
next to her. Cautiously. No one guarded her, but I wasn’t gonna risk getting
tossed out on my ass for getting to close. It didn’t matter that she was Brew
and Keep’s sister. Now she belonged to the president of the club, and every gun
in the place cocked when I spoke to her.

“Rose?”

She
looked up. I didn’t wait for her to answer.

“I’m
Martini. I need to find Brew.”

Rose
had his eyes. And his eyebrows. And the quark of his lip when he didn’t quite
understand something I demanded. She glanced over the bar. The three men
sharing the table behind us hadn’t heard the question, but she flinched just
the same.

“I’m...sorry,”
she said. “Brew...he died. A few months ago.”

I
figured as much. “Okay. He told me the story about the exile and everything.
You don’t have to pretend. I just need to find him. He’s in danger.”

Rose
closed the musical theory book. Her fingers drummed over the cover as her claws
came out.

“Look.
I don’t know who you are, or why you’re here.” Her voice edged hard. “But if I
were you, I’d get the hell out of Pixie and stop asking questions about my
brother.”

“Rose—”

“Who
told you my name?”

“He
did.”

It
wasn’t good enough. “You have three seconds before I get my other brother.”

“Keep?”
I nodded. “Perfect. Bring him out.”

“
One
.”

“Brew
is alive. He was with me in Pittsburgh until you called and told him your dad
was out of jail. He came to find you.”

“
Two
.”

How
much proof did she want? “He betrayed Anathema only because he was working with
The Coup and Temple to get your dad out of prison. Anathema found out, and you
interceded before Thorne killed him. He left town three months ago.” I held her
gaze. “Now I need to find him. Can you help me?”

“
Keep!
”

I
panicked, grabbing her hand. “Brew said he bought all your instruments. He got
you a guitar at five, a flute at six, and a drum set at ten.”

Rose’s
eyes widened. “How do you—”

“Because
Brew and I were traveling together until he left to come here. I...” The words
sounded stupider out loud than in my head, but that was the price of honesty.
“I’m in love with him, and I’m trying to save his life.”

“Bud?”

A
leaner, harder looking Darnell emerged from the hall behind the bar. His head was
shaved, but a blonde goatee trimmed his jaw. His hazy blue eyes danced over
me—lighter and rounder than the rest of his family’s features. They’d be beautiful,
but his pupils dilated. I tilted my head. Rose and Brew looked more alike than
Keep and his brother, even with the age difference.

He
pulled his sleeve up too far. Fresh bruises nestled in his elbows. He nodded
and leaned over the bar. “Who’s your friend?”

“Never
mind, Keep,” Rose said. “I got it handled.”

“Whatever
you say, Bud.” He ignored her in favor of me. “Name’s Keep. What do I call
you?”

“Unavailable.”
I winked. “Especially to you.”

“Oh,
I like a challenge.”

“Not
this one.” Rose groaned as she shoved him away. “Go sober up before you
embarrass yourself.”

He
snorted, but his words slurred too soft for the attitude behind it. “Christ,
Bud. Don’t start this shit again.”

“Keep,
please.”

“Don’t
raise your fucking voice to me.”

“
Keep
!”

He
pinched his eyes shut, running a hand over his face. “Sorry. Sorry sorry. I
gotta go...sleep it off...you’re supposed to be studying, Bud.”

She
flushed—that shame when she couldn’t explain away his behavior, even to someone
who understood what the addiction did to him.

“Yeah,
I’ll keep reading,” she said. “I promise.”

Keep
was attractive, but whatever pumped in his blood thinned his cheeks and
twitched his muscles. Rose sighed as he tripped and swore over an uneven
floorboard. A door slammed somewhere in the back office.

“It
got worse after Brew left.” She didn’t have to tell me, but she did anyway. “He
can’t look at me unless he’s high, but I’m the only one who can take care of
him when it gets too bad.”

Good
God, the kid was a walking Shakespearian tragedy muddied with cinders and motor
oil. I gave her a weak smile. She saw through it and stared at my face. I wore
long sleeves, but they only covered up bruises, not my stiff, achy movements.

“Are
you...hurt?” She asked.

“Oh.”
I wished I hadn’t stuffed my sunglasses in my purse. The makeup did a poor job
of covering Goliath’s marks. “I’m okay. Really.”

Rose
didn’t buy it. “But look at you! Did someone do this to you?”

“Forget
it. We need to worry about Brew. Please tell me someone can take me to him?”

She
shook her head. “He didn’t tell Keep he was in town, and I didn’t tell Thorne.”

“When
did you see him?”

“Yesterday,
but I haven’t talked to him since. We had a fight.” She pulled out her phone
and thumbed through the unanswered messages. “I tried to text him, but he never
responds to me anyway.”

“I
understand that feeling.”

“But…”
Rose’s fawn brown eyes flashed a curious brown. “I was supposed to play at
Sorceress tonight.”

“Yeah…you
already told me.”

She
groaned. “You’re my
biggest fan
, aren’t you?”

“Sorry.
I had to find out where he went, and I figured you’d lead me to him.”

She
shrugged. “Lyn cancelled my gig tonight. She said the crowd would be too rough
for me. They’d want to see more leg, not listen to my covers. He’s gotta be
there.”

My
stomach tightened. “So where’s your father then?”

She
shivered at the word but pretended she hadn’t. “I...don’t know.”

“Yes,
you do.”

“I
told him not to. I didn’t want him going after Dad.”

“Damn
it.”

I trembled
off the stool. I might have been too late. Blade knew Brew was coming, and he didn’t
need to hire anyone else to do his dirty work. He’d save his ass and keep his
money all in the same gunshot.

“Rose,
let me borrow your car.”

She
apologized. “I rode in with Keep after class—”

“Fuck.
Look, I gotta get to Sorceress. Can one of the guys give me a ride?”

“And
find him there? If they learn Brew’s alive, we’re all in a world of pain.”

“He
might be dead already.” I grabbed my purse. “I’ll take a taxi.”

Rose
shifted. She studied the bar, counting the men and checking the time. She
wasn’t tough, but she was stubborn like Brew.

“I’ll
take you there,” she said.

“You
don’t have a car.”

“I
can get the fob to Thorne’s bike.”

“And...?”

She
blushed. I choked.

“Holy
shit,” I said. “I’m not crazy enough to steal my man’s bike.”

She
bit her fingernail. “He’s upstairs sleeping off the run last night. I’ll be
back before he realizes I’m gone.”

“And
what do you tell Keep?”

“He
won’t remember we were here.”

“Are
you sure—”

Rose
stood. “I’m going. With or without you.”

She
wouldn’t be safe at Sorceress. Brew would flip his shit if he knew she was on
her way, but his rage would be the preamble to the fireworks when Mr. President
realized both his bike and girl were missing.

Necessary
risks.

I
nodded. “Can you handle a motorcycle?”

Rose
smirked and curled a finger for me to follow her outside. I slid behind her
onto Thorne’s sleek, black motorcycle and swore as she kicked up dust peeling
out of Pixie’s parking lot.

Rose
had no business riding a bike as well as she did, but she came from a line of
men born and bred to lead the club. She read the road, owned Thorne’s stolen
bike, and cut across three lanes of traffic like the craziest motherfuckers
patched into Anathema. No mystery who taught her how to ride, but I wondered if
Brew drilled any common sense into her head.

I
packed many times before, but Rose was too tiny for the Harley. I shrieked as
she split the traffic and red-lined the bike. I pinched my eyes shut and
chanted my Hail Marys. Rose didn’t stop or slow. The closer we got to
Sorceress, the further Thorne would have to hitchhike before he kicked both our
asses.

She
peeled off the highway, dodging a pissed off Subaru and a panicking woman in an
SUV two luxury sizes too big for her. The bike obeyed her, roaring as we crossed
the town borders and rode toward the pink and purple neon lights of a fenced in
club. A newly refurbished sign scrawled the word
Sorceress
in pretty
calligraphy, though the delicate lettering was lost on the rows of bikes and
pick-ups parked outside.

“I
don’t see his bike!” Rose shouted.

I
squeezed her waist, trying to calm her before she throttled through the front
doors and ruined Brew’s cover.

Brew
taught her how to ride, but he forgot the lesson in breaking. The bike pitched
in the gravel. She crunched to a halt and stalled. We nearly tumbled off the
seat.

“That’s…”
Rose gripped the handles until her fingers turned white.

“What?”

“That’s
my dad’s bike.”

Oh.
The red and chrome motorcycle shone gaudy in the neon lights. It had the right
blend of flare and function. It was a bike to be noticed by those who didn’t understand
anything about them and respected by those who did. I yelped as Rose jammed the
throttle and parked next to the motorcycle.