Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (3 page)

I
drank the entire martini and nibbled on the olive’s toothpick. “Hey, baby. Aren’t
you gonna say hi?”

Goliath
was a raised fist from pummeling Sacrilege’s only decent prospect, the only one
with the skills to propel the club from the gutters of the coal mining villages
and abandoned steel mills scattered over this side of the state.

The
bar quieted. The prospect dangled, dancing on pointed toes scraping the ground
and pirouetting on a prayer that my boyfriend didn’t pile-drive him. Sam edged
Red to the stool before he got too cocky for his patches. Goliath had a massive
amount of leather binding his barrel chest, thick biceps, and stocky legs, but
he wore emblems to prove what pumped in his veins was more than arrogance
poisoned with whatever drug he chose.

Goliath
lived, breathed, and fucked pure aggression. Red was lucky he only experienced
two out of the three. I offered Goliath a candy-apple smile—the distracting
cape to Goliath’s bull. He snorted and dropped the prospect. He wasn’t safe. If
he borrowed money from Mike
Goliath
Cazlowski, he already faced the
flash before the bullet.

“Martini,
baby.” Goliath tried to be smooth, but a man of hardened edges and twisted
intentions didn’t sweet-talk. He shouldered up to the bar, ignoring Red’s
sneer, and nudged my chin as I leaned over the counter. “Just doing business.”

I gentled
my voice. “He couldn’t breathe, sweetie.”

He
twitched before he got angry, like a bad tell. Except the ridge in his jaw
didn’t spoil a poker hand. It preceded the backhand.

Goliath
wasn’t an ugly man. The opposite, in fact. There was a time when the ice in his
eyes shivered me in all the right places, the bulk of his body weighed over me
just where I needed it, and his strength teased the parts of me desperate for his
restraint.

Except
Goliath had no restraint, not in his strength or his temper. He rapped a
scraped knuckle on the bar. His fingernail blackened, and a swirling bruise
colored his hand.

“What
happened, baby—”

“Get
me a damned beer.” He gestured to Sam and Red. “Ain’t I good enough to get
served here?”

Red
muttered something clever under his breath that wasn’t smart to say. I shoved
the beer in Goliath’s uninjured hand before he broke more skin. I rather liked
my cousin’s teeth still in his skull.

“Course
you are.” I winked. “You’re my first priority—”

“Why
the fuck are you wearing a sweater?”

I
didn’t mean to touch my neck. It was one of those reflexive motions, like
throwing my hands in front of my face when voices rose or hiding a paring knife
under my pillow at night. The turtleneck wasn’t horrible looking, and it did
its job obscuring what shouldn’t have been shown.

Besides,
I thought his run would last another day. I figured I had time to change before
he got home.

Diffusing
his temper was like charming the shrapnel out of a bomb with only a grin. It
wouldn’t have worked for other girls, but I knew just where to snip. I stroked
his fingers with wide eyes. His fist unclenched.

“It
was cold when I left today. And it gets super chilly in here.”

“Wear
a jacket.”

“Sorry,
baby. I will next time.”

Goliath’s
monster hand swatted for my neck. He didn’t pull me close. He trapped me,
slapped his palm against my neck and tugged until he stretched the material.

“Can’t
even see the ink,” he grunted. “You tryin’ to hide something?”

Yes.

His
beer wasn’t enough. I scooped ice into a glass and poured an ounce of Gentleman
Jack. He seized my hand as I passed it his way and squeezed until my fingers
turned white.

“You
ain’t listening to me.” He pulled a switchblade from his pocket. “Maybe I just
cut that shirt off? Make sure everyone sees what you’re covering.”

It
wouldn’t be the first time. I shook my head, but Red opened his mouth.

“Jesus,
what’s your fucking problem?”

Goliath
stood and grabbed the stool, slamming it against the ground only to grab the
splintered shards for weapons. Sam leapt between them, chuckling as he pushed
my cousin away.

“This
ain’t your business,” Sam said. “This is between Goliath and his old lady. Go
watch the game.”

“Goes
for all yinz.” Goliath crashed the wood against the bar, slicing the palm of
his hand with a jagged splinter. The blood didn’t stop him. “I see any of you jagoffs
talking to her, and I’ll cut your goddamned balls off and shove them up your
ass.”

“Okay.”
I reached for him before he bled all over my bar—or worse, his cut. “Come on,
baby. Let me go clean you up.”

Too
much. He jerked his arm away and raised it instead. I steeled myself. I
couldn’t avoid the hit, but the daughter of Benny “Duquesne” Wright never
backed down from a punch. We didn’t immediately retaliate, but we remembered,
and we got even in our own time—preferably when Goliath passed out and I hit
the highway faster than he chased.

But
Goliath was damn fast on a bike. That was one of the reasons I liked him.

Fortunately,
the blow didn’t come. He swore instead, and I pressed a towel into the cut.

“Let
me take care of that.” The club had a bad habit of staring when Goliath was
still sober enough to notice. I tugged him toward the storage room. “You’re
hurt bad.”

He
snorted. “Like you care. Fucking cunt. Won’t even show my ink.”

Every
conversation was a tightrope walk over a pit to hell, and I exchanged the
balancing pole for a hastily swallowed martini.

“Baby,
I don’t need to show any ink. I belong to you.”

Goliath
smirked. It only bared his teeth. “Do you?”

“Course
I do.” The answer came reflexively. The monstrosity of a man relaxed and rubbed
his hand through his hair. The pale stubble stained crimson. “Let me get you a
bandage.”

Red
simmered at the bar, the bottle trembling in his grip. He waited until I pulled
Goliath out of the room before pitching it into the wall.

Christ,
between the two of them I’d be sweeping long after last-call. And judging by
the mini-skirted gashes who aimed for Sam’s lap, I imagined we’d be closing
only once the guys blacked out in the wreckage.

Goliath
sat on a folding chair tucked beside my inventory shelves. Even sitting, I
looked at him eye-level. His huge size once excited me, but now his pupils
dilated with something far stronger than anything from my bar. I used to hope
that a calm soul waited to sober up under the drugs. Maybe not a nice guy, not
even a good man, but someone who didn’t respond to questions with a slap and
chucked prospects through plate glass windows for getting too close to his bike.

I hummed
as I cleaned the splinters from his palm. He liked that, and I liked that he
only swore when I pinched him with tweezers.

“I
don’t want you in that shirt.”

I
nodded. “I won’t wear it again if it’ll make you happy.”

“I
shouldn’t have to ask.”

I
resisted the urge to poke him with the tweezers. Patience came in many forms,
including yielding the battle to fight another day. I bit the inside of my
cheek.

“Won’t
happen again.”

“Good.”

I brushed
the last shard into the garbage. Goliath grabbed the gauze from my hand, spat
on his wound, and wrapped the injury himself. I tucked the antibiotic ointment
in my pocket instead.

“Come
here, baby.” Goliath deliberately softened his voice. He needed something. I
doubted it was a ride to the hospital for stitches. “Been wanting to talk to
you.”

“Oh?”

“Got
good news.”

He
pinned me on his lap. He smelled of blood and fuel and not nearly enough
alcohol to let me wiggle away from the strength I once desired.

“We
made new friends. They can help us get work.”

My
pulse leaped, proud. Didn’t take much, just a sweet dance around a
conversation, and I got him talking. I wished I had bet Red all the newfound
money he was going to make.

I
nodded. Even without the secrets, work sounded great. The oil-stained garage functioned
at half-capacity since they hadn’t bothered to fix the lights over one of the
bays. The MC chased most of my patrons out of the bar, and, the nights I
worked, Goliath demanded his brothers drank for free. The club was desperate for
cash. I didn’t blame Sam for trying to work out a deal somewhere.

I
just wished Red and I could trust it.

“This
means I’ll be on the road more,” Goliath said. “Sorry, baby. Daddy’s gotta
work.”

I
fibbed a smile. “That’ll be tough.”

His
blue eyes seared—the fizzle of the lighter before the flame struck. “Bet you
want me on the road. Bet you can’t wait to get rid of me.”

Yes.

I
snuggled closer to him. “Then who’d keep me warm all night?”

“You
tell me.”

“There’s
no one else, baby.” I wove my hand along his arm. “You’re more than enough man
for me. I thought I proved that.”

He
hated to be corrected, but he did love the flattery. The tension in his arms
washed away as he pulled me closer.

“I
got a job for you, baby.”

Shit.
I didn’t expect that.

“...For
me?”

“Yeah.”

I
pointed over the stockroom. “But I have a job.”

“You’re
gonna help the club now.”

My
stomach sloshed the godforsaken gin. I edged away to glance at Goliath.

“We
got these buddies up north. Real powerful guys who want to help us. We’re
setting up an alliance.”

“That’s
good. But what does it have to do with me—”

His
hand palmed my hip and squeezed. I shut up. Better to assess the situation and
figure out what in the hell was happening.

“We
owe them a bit of money, but it’s gonna take time to free it up. You get me?”

All
too well.

“You’re
gonna go up north and entertain these boys. Our...proof of payment.”

I
trailed my fingers along his leather jacket, flicking away bits of blood and
dirt from the ride. “But baby, you don’t like me flirting with the boys down
here. Why are you getting me involved with a bunch of strangers?”

He
grabbed my hand and crushed it. I didn’t make a sound.

“Did
I say you were gonna fuck them? You’re going up there so they don’t blow our
brains out before our deal is done. We send you, they know we’re good for it.”
He snorted. “Christ, you’re vain. You think everyone’s dying to fuck you.”

“But
you are, baby.”

He
shifted and adjusted the hardness tenting his jeans. Jealousy got him off.

And
I thought I was fucked up.

“You’re
going north tomorrow. Already made the deal.”

“I
don’t—”

He
stood, tossing me from his lap. I staggered, but I didn’t fall to the floor. I
ducked a few steps toward the safety of the doorway and met his gaze.

“You
wear
my
patch, Martini.” Goliath slammed his hand against his chest. The
wound bled harder. “You
belong
to me. If I want to let the Kingdom MC
fuck your ass, I can. If I want to hogtie you and leave you in the garage all
night, I can. You’re mine.” He snorted. “Thought you liked that.”

I
nodded, but kept my mouth shut. If I lied, the hypocrisy would set the bar on
fire.

I
did like it.
Once
. Before I realized what I was getting into, when the
bad boys weren’t bad enough anymore and I searched for someone bigger, meaner, and
a hell of a lot more fun when the leather stripped away.

Goliath
wasn’t my first mistake—he was just my worst. And I owned up to it. When I
controlled him, I managed the relationship. And the placating worked. At least,
I thought it did.

He
reached behind him and tugged his jacket up. The motion was quick, but that
didn’t offer me any comfort. He pointed the gun at my neck, right where the ink
hid under the sweater. I stayed still.

I
definitely didn’t have enough to drink.

“This
job...is different, baby. You gotta pay attention. You gotta be a good girl and
wait for me to come and get you or these guys will rip the skin from your bones
while they fuck you.”

Jesus
Christ, what the
hell
had he got us into? The worst deals Sacrilege ever
made were backyard weed scores and the occasional meth haul. Nothing dangerous.
Nothing
skinable
.

The
dread coiled in my stomach.

I
wanted nothing to do with the deal anymore. Especially since the deal looked
like it was…me.

Goliath’s
eyes cleared for a moment—the rage and aggression shed for insane ambition. I
stared at the gun.