Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (32 page)

“Christ,
Sweetheart, wait a goddamned second—” Thorne stalked after her and came to a dead
stop as Goliath’s aim switched from Keep and settled the threat into the center
of Rose’s forehead.

A
still second passed—a shared heartbeat before the absolute chaos exploded in the
bar.

“Brew?”
Rose’s voice cracked as Goliath’s monster form towered over her.

Brew’s
gun might as well have been a plastic toy. Keep dropped the bat he seized from
behind the counter. Thorne was quick on the draw, but his weapon aimed over
Rose’s head delayed firing.

Too
late. He lost his shot, and everyone snapped with the recoil.

It
wasn’t a stalemate.

It
was an unwinnable war.

Brew’s
expression twisted into a pained, contorted rage, like the bullet already
slammed within Rose. The scarred wound in his shoulder made sense now. He had already
taken a bullet for her, and he’d scar the rest of his body to spare her any
more pain.

Thorne’s
dark hair fell over his face like an armored helm, shielding the sinister
grimace that wasn’t a normal human reaction. His gun never wavered.

“You
better start praying.” His words iced the bar. “Point that fucking gun under
your chin unless you want to die in a world of pain.”

Thorne
curled an arm over Rose and drew her back. Goliath fired, deliberately aiming
to the ceiling. Rose screamed, but Thorne got the warning. He released his
hold, Keep swore, and Brew stepped away.

“She
doesn’t move.” Goliath grinned at Brew. “Who is this little bitch?”

“I’m
not a bitch,” Rose said. Keep hissed for her to shut up. She didn’t listen.
“And you’re a dead man if you don’t back off.”

“She’s
pretty.” Goliath licked his lips. “Can you suck cock, little bitch?”

It
was the wrong fucking thing to say. Rose flinched and borrowed some of Thorne’s
aggression.

“Do
you even have one?”

“Cute.”
Goliath surged forward and tapped the barrel against her head. “Cute, but
fucking dumb.”

“You
think this is the first gun I’ve had pointed at me?” Rose trembled, but she
forced the hardness in her voice. None of the men defending her bought it, but
it kept her calm. “They’re going to kill you if you don’t let me go.”

“And
if I kill you?” Goliath stole her to the center of the room. I ducked against
the stairs. The sheathed knife dug into my side, rubbing against one of the
worst welts he had caused.

No
way in hell I was letting those vile hands touch Rose.

“Who
is she, Brew?” Goliath asked.

Brew
didn’t hesitate. “She’s my daughter.”

It
was the second time he said it aloud, and it still didn’t sound right. Rose
clenched her eyes shut as Goliath laughed. The weapon tangled in the curls of
her hair.

“Your
fucking
daughter
?” He glanced her over. “Christ. This shit just gets
better and better. She looks
just
like you Daddy!”

A
second gun joined Thorne’s first. Brew had more control over his single weapon,
but I had a feeling Thorne could shoot and take out both of Goliath’s eyes in a
single burst of fire. Question was if he’d be fast enough before Rose got hurt.

“You’re
running out of time,” Thorne warned. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Brew’s
been fucking my old lady.” Goliath groped at Rose and snickered. “Martini’s the
same age as your kid. What the hell is wrong with you, man?”

“Martini
ain’t complaining,” Brew said.

“You
broke her in for me. That’s fine, hope you enjoyed my whore. I’ll take her now,
show her what a real man does to a cunt who thinks she has a right to leave.”

“She’s
not going anywhere with you,” Keep said.

Goliath
shrugged. “Then I’ll take Brew’s little bitch, and we’ll call it even.”

Now
Rose panicked. Thorne whispered for her to stay still, but I knew how
intimidating the tightness of Goliath’s bulk was. He held her too close,
squeezed her too hard, and meant every hideous threat he uttered.

Brew
called to Rose as the tears stained her cheek. His voice broke over her name.

I’d
never let it happen.

Failing
Rose destroyed the man Brew was, and he spent months collecting his jagged
pieces. He’d never be the same. The burdens of guilt wouldn’t fade away. Whatever
second chance I offered would mean nothing if anything happened to the one girl
he let slip into a world of darkness.

He’d
be lost.

I
couldn’t let him endure that pain. Goliath was here because of me, and the
incarnation of my mistakes would never again threaten another woman.

I
stood. The clip of my heel against the stair echoed like a gunshot, and I
demanded the attention of the bar. Brew swore. Not enough bullets existed in
his gun to save both me and Rose from the demons darkening our souls.

I’d
make the choice easy for him.

“Goliath.”
I greeted him without my smirk, without the cool wink or the lick to my lips
that so often placated him. The game was over. “I’m right here. Let her go.”

“There
you are.” Goliath grunted like a bull in heat. He shoved Rose to the floor. The
girl clamored backward and Thorne scooped her into his arms. “Been looking for
you, bitch.”

“You
want me?”

“Not
a matter of
wanting
, cunt.” Goliath gestured me close. “It’s about
taking what’s fucking mine.”

I
didn’t bother apologizing to Brew. My split-second glance caught only his
shaking head and trembling gun.

Goliath
seized my wrist. He spun me to his chest, groping my breast as he nodded at
Brew.

“Kept
her warm for me?” He gripped too tight, but I didn’t yell. He didn’t like that.
“You fuck her?”

Brew’s
voice stung like the gunshot he reserved for Goliath. “All night.”

“Fucking
whore.”

Goliath’s
hand surged to my throat. The memory of Brew’s embrace disappeared in the cold
threat of Goliath’s cruelty. He tightened his fist over my scarf and tugged.
The knot squeezed, and my vision immediately blurred. A gasping breath did
nothing to earn his mercy. Goliath ripped the scarf away only to pull my hair
back and expose the tattoo on my neck for Brew to see.

“My.
Fucking. Property!” Goliath yelled. “This cunt is mine. These lips are mine.
Every goddamned scar on her body is mine!”

My
voice crested in a breathless courage. “Not anymore.”

“For-fucking-ever,
bitch. You promised me!”

“And
you believed me.” My fingers curled, tracing the outline of the knife hidden in
my pocket. I layered my voice with the artificial sweetness he remembered—the
trembling, submissive warble I offered with a pout and a promise of pleasure.
“Baby, you’re my one and only. Baby, you know I love you. Baby, I’m scared, put
the gun down.”

“Martini—”
Brew gritted his teeth. “You’re not helping.”

“For
two years I’ve been
lying
to you, Goliath. And for two goddamned years
you
ate it up
.”

Brew
hissed. “Shut up, Martini!”

“I’ve
been afraid of you since the moment I met you. You’re a monster, Goliath. I’ve
never loved you. I’ve never respected you. Any obedience you got from me was
fake, and every night you spent next to me I fell asleep planning a way to slit
your throat.”

I
laughed.
Honesty
. Who fucking knew it’d feel so damn cathartic?

Brew,
probably. Revealing a lifetime of secrets was an adrenaline rush—the high I
craved when I first met Goliath and offered my body in exchange for his torment.

Goliath
trembled. His rage built, strengthening him like an injection of pure violence.
He stared at Brew as his hand squeezed my throat.

“I’ll
kill you, Noir.” Goliath shuddered with fury. “Then I’ll take your old man’s
fifty grand and count it out over the bed while I whip your goddamned touch off
her body. Then when she’s bloody and raw and screaming your name I’ll spread
her legs and—”

He
didn’t finish the sentence.

I
freed the knife from my pocket and slammed my arm back, jutting the blade into
his side and ripping through the very same muscle and strength that once held
me prisoner.

Not
now.

Not
anymore.

Not
ever again
.

Goliath
roared, but the drugs blinded him to everything but searing aggression.

The
blow to my head cast me to the ground. I blacked out before I smacked the floor
and woke as his foot connected with my ribs. But Brew launched at him, tackling
the beast before he even wrenched the knife out of his side. Rose yelled for
Keep, and they hauled me behind the bar as Thorne and Brew knocked the gun from
Goliath’s hands.

Keep’s
lost baseball bat rolled at my feet. I reached for it, but the blood dripping
from my fingers slipped the wood from my grasp. Rose took my hand. Her widened
eyes—Brew’s eyes—met mine.

“You
don’t have to fight,” she whispered. “Brew’s not gonna let him hurt you anymore.”

Maybe
she spoke for herself or maybe she meant to help me. I understood either way.

I clutched
the bar and forced myself to stand. Brew faced away from me, and Thorne
approached only to hide Rose from what was going to happen. Keep called my
name. I ignored him.

I
had to watch. It was my sin to bear too.

Brew
wound the ends of my scarf around his fists and slipped the pink silk over
Goliath’s thick throat. The silk tightened as the blood poured from the wound
in his side. His hulking body contorted and fought for air, but even a man of
his size, strength, and tenacity couldn’t survive the scarf I was forced to
wear every day of my miserable life.

He
heaved once, then it was over.

The
body dropped. The scarf fluttered to the ground over him, drenched in blood and
no longer needed to protect me from the word it obscured.

I
collapsed, sliding down the wall behind the bar.

He
was dead. And I had no alcohol to toast over his body.

I reached
up and took the closest bottle.

Gin.

Jesus
Christ, it always had to be
gin
.

I
tossed the cap away and took a swig, but the sharp tang didn’t bother me so
much. Brew fell to his knees beside me. I offered him the bottle. He pitched it
away, taking me in his arms and seizing a kiss instead.

That
was better than gin.

“You
okay?” He whispered.

“Someone
roughed me up, spit me out, and tossed me on the rocks.” I touched his cheek. “But
I’m okay.” Blood covered my hands. Keep gave me a towel. Nothing would get that
stain out. Maybe it didn’t have to be cleaned. I cleared my throat. “I’ll be
okay.”

Brew
turned, locking eyes with Rose. “Bud?”

Rose
looked from Thorne to the body on the floor. She pinched her eyes shut.

“Not
now, Brew. Changed my mind. Not now.”

“Rose,
come on.”

Thorne
whispered. He pulled Rose close and kissed her forehead. His arms flexed the
angry bands of tribal ink over his biceps. Bursting from between the sharp
angles and curves, a dozen blossoms stretched from his shoulder to his wrist.

Red
roses.

“Forget
it,” Rose said. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Just
hear me out—”

“Dad
asked for a party.” It wasn’t what she meant to say, but even speaking of the
lesser of the two evils was enough to make her tremble head to toe. “I mean…Blade
demanded a party. So Anathema can welcome him home from jail.”

Brew
stared at her, checking his voice before he started to yell. Goliath’s blood
hadn’t cleared from his hands before he had to kill again. He nodded at Thorne.

“You
gonna let that happen?”

“Don’t
got a choice,” Thorne said. Keep swore. “Unless you want more bodies piling on
the floor. I can’t do a goddamned thing. He’s my VP. He wants a party, he gets
a party.”

Brew
shuddered. I took his hand, but I doubted he felt it. The hardened rage and
shock of murder tensed his body and blurred his mind. His eyes sharpened, and
pure hatred infected the black smoke lingering in his gaze.

“Give
Blade his party. Let him celebrate. Let him have all the fun in the world.”

Keep
and Thorne nodded, sensing Brew’s intent before he even needed to say the
words. The death of one man wasn’t enough, not when he had more to atone for, more
to protect.

His
voice rumbled like the throttle of a red-lined engine.

“His
Welcome Home party just became his wake.”

“What
do you think?” Martini twirled in an outfit that revealed more than it covered.
“Cute?”

Cute
wasn’t the word that came to mind.

Fucking
sexy. Goddamned dangerous. One flash of skin away from the worst mistake of our
lives.

The
leather vest covered her breasts, but she wore nothing beneath it. Her pale
skin peeked and hid, chasing the edge of the leather against her tummy. A new,
red scarf shielded the tattoo on her neck. The ends plunged to tickle what the
vest didn’t hide. Little booty shorts cupped her ass, and her toned legs
bounced as she examined the outfit in the mirror. She layered a bit of vixen
red lipstick over her pouting lips.

Her
body tucked neatly into the sluttiest fucking outfit I’d ever seen.

An
ass that begged to be slapped.

Legs
that would wrap around me.

Tits
that’d bounce with every thrust of my cock.

“Hell
no, you’re not wearing that!” I adjusted my jeans. “Jesus Christ.”

Martini’s
eyebrow rose. “This is what Lyn has her dancers wearing.”

“You’re
not a dancer. You’re bartending.”

“Think
I haven’t bartended topless before?” She teased me with the cut. “If you’re
good, I’ll demonstrate later.”

I
said nothing.

“Brew,
there
will
be a later.”

Glad
she was so hopeful. The prickling creep of fear tightened over my guts. I
combated it with sheer determination, but I didn’t let the dread go.

Fear
was good.

Fear
reminded me of why I was staining my hands with yet another man’s blood.

Goliath’s
death came easily. Reflexively. He’d terrified Rose. Tortured Martini. He stormed
into our goddamned clubhouse and thought he’d exchange a bullet for my father’s
fifty grand and earn a free shot to pummel, rape, and murder my old lady.

The
scarf fell from Martini’s neck, and the bastard dared to show me how he
permanently disfigured a creature too beautiful for his ugly scrawl. I didn’t
have to think. I coiled that damn scarf around his throat and didn’t let go
until the bastard stopped convulsing.

I
murdered, but it wasn’t a hard decision, not when it came down to killing him
or losing both women I loved more than my own life.

But
this murder wouldn’t be like Goliath’s.

Martini
volunteered her help even though the thought crippled me. She dressed as one of
Lyn’s dancers and offered to serve drinks to Anathema as they celebrated the
return of a man they believed put the club above and beyond his own life. His
own money.

His
own family.

They
were probably right. Blade never did anything for his family. His lessons were
meant to manipulate. His orders delivered to mold my brother and I into
obedient soldiers who’d do anything, ruin everything, and destroy their own
honor to put
him
first.

My
Rose suffered at his hand. Keep got the beatings, most of them savage enough
that he used the damn drugs just to survive the pain.

And
me?

I
became my father, the ruthless bastard who’d kill those who stood in his way.

But
we were different, and it took Goliath’s blood for me to understand how.

I
wasn’t in it for the money. I didn’t get off on violating a young girl. I
didn’t care about amassing the power to control my MC and watch as the world
burned for a drug trade.

I only
wanted revenge.

I wanted
to ensure my
daughter
never needed to worry about that monster stealing
another minute of her life.

It
was time to protect my family, my club, and myself from his corruption.

“You
sure about this?” I asked.

Martini
tugged on the vest, hiding her curves from my view. Not that it mattered. I had
memorized her body during the week while we hid within Pixie and waited for the
moment Paul “Blade” Darnell was properly welcomed back into the Anathema MC.

She
nodded. “Don’t worry about me, Brew. I told you I would help you. I meant it.”

“I’m
asking you to help me murder a man.”

“I
know.”

“It
all depends on you.” I hated to admit it. Hated putting her in that position.
“I need someone I can trust at the bar. Thorne’s gonna make him drink at the
toast, and no one can see you put the drugs in the beer.”

Martini
took a breath. “You can count on me.”

“I’m
not gonna be out there to protect you.”

“I’m
safe now, thanks to you.” Her cheeks flushed, but she never tired of saying it.
“Besides, someone has to watch over Rose.”

Just
her name ached my chest. She hadn’t spoken to me since she watched me murder a
man with my bare hands. It wasn’t the greatest bonding moment, but neither was
her real father murdering the man who molested her.

Christ,
we were worse than dysfunction. It was a wonder she turned out half as well as
she did, and it was a goddamned miracle she had survived long enough to
experience her peace.

“I
won’t find you until...after,” I said.

The
flash of worry that cut across Martini’s features was lost in a cool wink. The
silver promise of her eyes held me. She offered me a courage that transcended
the wild pulse of vengeance.

“I’ll
be right here,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

I
kissed her, the press of her leather and bared skin instantly hardening me. She
nestled in my chest, squeezing tight enough to flare the nagging wound in my
shoulder. It was a good pain. Reminded me of Rose, of the road, and of the little
flirty girls who needed to be protected.

“Be
careful,” she whispered.

She
hurried from the room. Her black shorts concealed absolutely nothing as she ran
downstairs to catch a ride to Sorceress.

Blade’s
party began in an hour.

His
life would end before the party did.

Keep
tucked the keys in the truck’s ignition. I didn’t like driving a cage, but I
needed the cargo room, and I liked the disguise. A plain leather jacket and
jeans only did so much. I knew too many people in the Valley, and they’d flip
shit if they spotted a ghost.

Lyn
left the dancers’ entrance unlocked. I snuck through the halls as the music
blasted through the club. Classic rock—the songs Dad liked and the same covers
he made Rose play to entertain the men. Lyn lowered the main lights and let the
disco balls and laser shows kick the fluorescents onto the walls. It was too
dim to see beyond the bouncing tits. Fine by me. No one needed to witness this
justice. It was too personal.

The
stage lined with girls, and the bar filled with leather jackets. In the middle
of the drunken brothers, squealing dancers, and chaos of Anathema’s first
celebratory party since the split—my father reigned. He claimed a seat, a girl
on each leg, and a drink in each hand. He welcomed the praise of his club with
all the ego of a king and sedition of the black-hearted usurper.

I
edged into Lyn’s office, watching the party on the security TVs. The door
locked, but the one with the key slipped from the excitement and into the
quiet.

Lyn
didn’t stay quiet for long.

“He
requested Rose sing.”

Of
course he did. He wanted to punish her. What better way than to fuck with the
only confidence she had?

Lyn
crossed her arms. She shared half of Martini’s outfit, preferring the stitched
on magic of leather pants. Her vest buttoned. Barely. Lyn dared men to look only
to wield the power a C-rack and heart tattoo inked above her slit held over
their cocks.

“How
long is this charade going to go on?” She tapped her nails against her arm.
“This is getting dangerous—for you and her.”

The
monitor hid nothing. Rose trembled over the stage, aided only by Thorne’s
presence in the front row and a drink rushed over from Martini. She grabbed the
microphone with a false confidence and strapped the guitar over her chest.

The
little sundress was far too conservative for the club, but the men cheered her
just as loudly as they did the half-naked dancers humping the poles.

She
strummed a note. Lyn’s cameras didn’t have sound.

Another
show of hers I missed. How fucking Cats-in-the-Cradle.

“She’s
okay,” I said. I pretended the thought didn’t slay me. “She’s playing, even
with him watching.”

“What
a proud daddy you must be.”

I exhaled.
“Go enjoy the party, Lyn. Have a drink.”

“Already
did.” She rubbed her temples. “That little tart you found is heavy-handed on
the alcohol.”

“That’s
the point.”

“She’s
made three hundred dollars for herself too. She’d work out great here.”

“She’s
taken.”

Lyn
shrugged. “If you burn this place to the ground, I might have to use her to
recoup my losses.”

“Ain’t
nothing happening to Sorceress tonight.”

“Now
where have I heard that before?” She dropped her guarded tone, but it didn’t
relieve me any. “Remember this, Brew. And god, I love you to bits, but if you
fuck this up, it won’t just be half the MCs on the east coast chasing after that
fifty grand. Blade knows I set him up last time, and we’re using
my
club
to stage this grand disappearing act.”

“Don’t
worry, Lyn.”

“I
have to worry, especially when you guys forget your ink isn’t bulletproof. I
don’t care if you war in the streets, but you’re using my livelihood as the OK
Corral. Again.”

“Thorne’s
gonna give a toast, Martini will make his drink, and Keep will get him outta
here before anyone has to reload.”

“And
when the Feds come dusting for prints?”

“Martini
says her cousin is very good at cleaning up messes.”

Lyn
snorted. “I hope he’s got a big enough broom.”

She
nodded to the screen. Rose’s song ended, but it wasn’t Thorne who hopped onto
the stage to take the microphone.

It
was Blade.

And
he forced an arm over her shoulders, dragged her close, and greeted the club
with a wide, Cheshire grin.

“Son
of a bitch,” I said.

Lyn
was already out the door. I followed, racing through the darkened hallways and
avoiding eye-contact with friends I grew up with. They ignored me, too enamored
by the girls with their hands down their pants to realize a dead man lurked within
their ranks and plotted murder.

“Friends!”
Blade held his beer to the crowd. More than a drop spilled on Rose. She ducked
away, but he held firm on her arm. “Brothers! It’s good to be home.”

Anathema
cheered—fifty brothers who had no idea what Blade Darnell considered
home
.

He
took a swig of his beer before passing it to Rose. She held onto it, like she
always did when he hauled her to the clubhouse and kept her around for whatever
perversion he planned. Within seconds, Rose transformed from a beautiful and
healing woman into the freckled, timid little girl living in lies.

“I’ve
been sitting in that cell for three goddamned years,” Blade said. “Just waiting
for the day to stand with my brothers and wear my cut again.”

More
cheers. Thorne seethed near the stage, his attention focused only on Rose. She soothed
him with a tiny wave.

Neither
of us could do a goddamned thing to help her.

“Gotta
say boys, I never thought I’d have a chance to hold my little girl again.”
Blade didn’t hug. He trapped. Rose stiffened. “Nothing is more important to me
than my family. I have one remaining son and my beautiful Rosie-Bud. And I lost
too much time. Look at her! All grown up into a woman now!” His attention
smothered her as the brothers gently cat-called her. His voice lowered. “We
have a
lot
of catching up to do.”