Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (35 page)

“You
want me?” He growled in my ear. “This is how you’re gonna take me. This is how
I’ll make you mine.”

This
was how he accepted himself.

He
didn’t say it, but I understood the tension that riled over his form, the instinct
that throbbed and pulsed his cock, and the reassurance he desperately needed to
realize he wasn’t a monster. He was a man, and I was a woman, and any pleasure
we earned was offered through endless trust.

“I
want you,” I whispered.

“Like
this?”

Nothing
else made sense. I arched, pushing harder against his fingers that prepared me
for him. He pulled from me, chuckling as I murmured a quiet, mournful groan. He
returned, his touch slippery with a cool gel. The slickness rubbed against his
cock, and he leaned over me, capturing me with the towering form of his body as
he threatened to fuck my most vulnerable of places.

The
water streamed over us, hot and heavy, the mists panting with me as his
hardness pressed against my ass. I flattened my hands against the tile,
preparing for his onslaught. His chuckle shivered me more than the touch of his
flesh against my entrance.

“Easy,
Darling.” He pushed, gently. I groaned. “Not gonna hurt you.”

The
pressure overwhelmed me. I whimpered as his strength won out, pushing through
the tightly budded barrier now slick with a gentle gel. His voice hummed
against my neck, deep and passionate words of lustful encouragement.

The
fullness darkened my vision. Brew halted his movements.

I moaned,
impaling myself against the delirious intrusion of his cock.

Pleasure.

Goosebumps.

Total
and utter abandonment of every bit of control.

I
gave it all to him as Brew sunk within me to the hilt. His body pinned me to
the wall, piercing me, stretching me,
demanding
me. I had never doubted
him. He’d take me and possess me and own me. I’d never fight him. Never run.
Never deny the waves of forbidden pleasure splintering my core.

He
grabbed me, arching my back to press against him. He crossed his arm over my
chest and held me stronger than any ropes, as unbreakable as chain, and as
tightly as a long-lost lover returned to his arms. His other hand grasped my
slit, striking my clit with a quick smack and then a gentle caress of his
calloused fingers.

I
quivered against him. His name breathed from my lips, and my head fell against
his shoulder as his motions quickened. Short, gentle pulses of his cock struck
so deep within me I stood on the tips of my toes to ease the relentless
pressure. But he didn’t slow. His hardness ached through me, teasing my
sensitive, quaking body and filling me so completely that my every thought,
every breath, and every pleasure came from his mercy.

I
couldn’t last, not lost in the intensity of his embrace or the desperation of
his thrusts. I sunk into his arms as his growls of lust rumbled through me,
tensing me for the quickening movements and heavy, panted breaths of the man
using me for his ultimate ends. My body tightened with his, tensed with his
groans, and clenched against the impossible thickness of his cock surging
within me.

A
flick of my clit dropped me over the edge. I fell limp in his arms as the
unthinkable ecstasy and shattering submission and dark excitement riled me into
a bounding orgasm.

The
crest hit me hard, stealing my breath and strength until the only thought
blistering through my trembling body repeated with such honest and relieved
conviction I burst into tears.

I
was his.

He
was mine.

Every
evil of our past was lost to memory. Every monster that chased us and demon we
harbored banished into hell. In that moment, we existed for each other. His
presence the dominating force I craved for my own safety and protection and
excitement, my submission the ultimate trust and forgiveness that offered him a
second chance.

His
heat filled me, his words of adoration and love mixed with the profanity of a
man marking what belonged to him.

My
knees gave out. Brew braced us against the wall, and his arm was all I needed
to hang onto as the world shifted, morphed, and suddenly made more sense than
it ever had.

“I
love you,” I whispered.

His
arms tightened over me, shifting his hardness ever deeper, as if testing if my
words were sincere in the wake of his conquering. I arched. We both shivered as
the pleasure promised more.

“Fuck,
I love you so goddamned much.” Brew held me tight. “I’m gonna keep you safe,
Martini. But we can’t stay here. Not after what I did. I gotta run. We can’t—”

“I’m
not leaving you,” I whispered. “Where you go, I go.”

“It’s
dangerous.”

“You
don’t deserve to be alone.” I twisted, meeting his lips as our bodies still
simmered, connected and shuddering. “No more exile, Brew. No more punishment.
No more regret. You and me, till this war is done.”

“And
then?”

I smirked.
“You still owe me a trip to that vineyard.”

A woman
sat on my bike.

Except
it wasn’t a feisty blonde with a playful smirk and eyes of steel.

This
time, it was a pretty little brunette with curly hair and a scowl she inherited
from her father.

My
bag dropped to the ground. Martini caught her breath.

“Uh-oh,”
she murmured.

“You
were just gonna
leave
?” Rose’s indignity echoed in the empty warehouse,
each repeating syllable resonating more hurt than anger. “You weren’t gonna say
goodbye?”

I
exhaled. “I didn’t think you’d talk to me.”

She
didn’t move off my bike, but at least I taught her how to ride it. That made
her more dangerous than Martini.

“You
could have tried.”

She
was right. I ignored Martini’s raised eyebrow—the unspoken
I-told-you-so
I’d see all too often once we returned to the road.

Thorne
lingered behind Rose, inspecting the chapel’s closed door. Anathema’s meeting
room locked up tight, sealed with all the secrets the club buried. The truth
stayed with us. Red did his job, the evidence was cleared, and no one would
ever know our Chapel doubled as a murder scene.

“Let’s
take a walk.” Thorne gestured for Martini to follow him outside.

She
squeezed my arm. A reassurance.

I
needed it.

I
survived cartel-style assassinations and bike chases, bounties on my head and
blades at my throat. I murdered my own father and had my heart broken and
patched together by a woman who read me better than I knew myself.

And
yet my greatest goddamned fear was a teary-eyed girl waiting on my bike.

Rose
grew up. I didn’t see when it happened. One day she was the little girl who
used to play on my bike, jump from the seat into my arms, and begged to go home
with me at night. She once dressed her teddy bears in tiny leather jackets,
sang me and Keep songs about jelly beans and bull frogs, and color-coordinated
the legos we jacked from a debtor’s house.

Then,
in a split-second, she grew into a woman. Quiet and gentle and stealing
motorcycles to escape burning buildings and kidnappings. She was beautiful and
talented.

And
mine.

And
I never let myself admit it.

“Why
didn’t you tell me?” Rose whispered.

I
didn’t have twenty-one years to answer that question. The warehouse was
cleared, but a stack of wooden pallets rested against the wall. I sat on the
edge. Rose followed, but she didn’t sit.

“After
everything that happened?” She said. “After The Coup forced us into all this
betrayal? After I finally told you what Dad...what Blade did? Why didn’t you
tell me the truth? What did you think you were protecting me from?”

“I
wasn’t protecting you. I was protecting me.”

“From
what
?”

I
gritted my teeth. “From realizing what a goddamned stupid decision I made
giving you up.”

Rose
quieted, but that wasn’t good either. She had a mouth on her, a Darnell trait,
but she didn’t need to scream or curse to get herself in trouble. Her silences
were a middle-finger to the world. I wasn’t immune when she thought I was just
her brother. God only knew what I’d have to deal with now.

“I
did what I thought was right,” I said. “I was seventeen years old, and I had
charges against me that were gonna stick. They sentenced me as an adult and
threatened me with ten years in jail. What was I gonna do?” I rubbed my face.
“I gave you to Mom and Dad because I figured they raised Keep and me to be
halfway self-sufficient. I’d thought you’d at least be safe with them.”

The
bile soured my throat, but Rose ignored the blood on my hands.

“Where’s
my mother?”

“Dead.
Overdose, about ten years ago. She ran in Keep’s circle.”

“Go
figure.” She bit her lip. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

Keep
would ask me the same question one day. “He was only fifteen, but Dad had him
hitting convenience stores. He did everything to get noticed by Dad, and none
of it worked. He was a punk kid who turned into a broken man. He couldn’t help
himself, and he couldn’t help me.”

“I
guess.”

“He
probably doesn’t remember the years we were in jail anyway. I wasn’t there to
set him straight.”

“You
aren’t here now either.”

“Sorry,
Bud.”

“It’s
not fair.” She hadn’t looked at me yet. “Why didn’t you try when you got out of
prison? I was only four. I wouldn’t have known.”

My
chest ached, and not the good ache that stopped my heart and put me out of my
misery either. I clenched my fists.

“I
would have messed you up. I wasn’t fit to take care of a kid, and I wasn’t
going to risk hurting you or fucking with your head. I had to give you the best
chance I could.”

“So
you left me?”

“Rose,
I wouldn’t have been a good father.”

The
word hung in the air, bleeding guilt and regret. Rose shuffled to the crate and
sat beside me. She kept her eyes on the shadows of the warehouse.

“But
you were a good father.”

My
throat closed. “What?”

“You
acted like one.”

“Bullshit.”

Rose
didn’t flinch. She didn’t hesitate either.

“You
were my big brother, but you were the one who bought me presents. You got me
dinners when Mom passed out and forgot. And remember that time I had strep
throat and Mom went on the binge and Da—Blade said I was faking it? You put me
on your bike and sped right to the hospital.”

“Someone
had to do it. You had a hundred and three degree fever.”

“What
about the time you took me to the mountains when I was eight? You taught me how
to make a snowman.” Her honesty would fracture me, and I didn’t even care. “I still
have that picture of us on my mirror. That was one of my favorite trips.”

Good.
Then I wouldn’t tell her I grabbed her in the middle of the night and took her to
a winter wonderland because Mom blacked out drinking and Dad beat her until
blood poured from her ears.

“You
rode me to school in sixth grade when that bully Justin Whateverhisnamewas
picked on me.”

“I
told you to kick his ass.”

“I
did, because you taught me how to throw a jab, and then I got suspended for
three days.”

“And
I took you to the mall for pizza and ice cream every damn day of that
suspension.” I laughed, but it turned into a groan. “That isn’t how a father
should act. I should have…grounded you. Or something.”

“Wouldn’t
have worked. You showed me how to sneak out of my room by going down the drain
spout. And then you taught me how to climb the tree to get back up, except I
fell and broke my arm.” Rose braved a look at me. “But you were the first to sign
my cast.”

“Yeah.
Had to practice to sign the forms CPS threw at us.”

“Brew,
you were there when Dad wouldn’t give me money for a prom dress. You were the
one who taught me to drive. You were the one who answered all my phone calls
even if it was late or you were on a run. You came to every one of my
performances. Choir. Band. Even when you had to small talk with the soccer moms
in their cardigans and khakis.”

Except
fucking lonely housewives was one of the perks of Rose’s childhood. “Yeah, but the
moms really got off on all my leather.”

“Do
yourself a favor and don’t tell Martini that.”

“Deal.”

She
nudged my arm. “Remember when you tried to teach me about the birds and the
bees? Except you called it the motorcycles and the—”

“
Garages
.”
I grimaced. I thought I did her a service, trying to explain to the awkward kid
all the shit she’d see in Pixie. But she already had the fucking lesson. Rose
didn’t darken with memory. She laughed.

“And
under no circumstances was a boy to park his bike in my garage or else I’d end
up having...”

“A
moped.”

“That’s
just fucked up.”

“I
didn’t teach you to swear.”

“Nope,”
she said. “That was all Keep.”

I
exhaled. My breath didn’t come easier with her so close. I took her hand. “Are
you mad at me?”

“I’m
always mad at you for something.”

“Are
you any more mad at me?”

“No.”

I
squeezed her palm. “I’m sorry I didn’t...stop him.”

She
didn’t pull away. “I didn’t tell you.”

“I
would have helped.”

“I
know. I just…” She had to compose herself, and that frustrated her more than
the truth. “I hoped I’d never have to face it. He went to jail, and I ignored
everything that was in the past, but when all the stuff with The Coup and
Temple happened…”

I
wrapped my arm over her, pulling her to my chest. She let me, and I kissed her
forehead.

“Nothing’s
gonna hurt you now, Bud.”

“Except
when you leave.”

“It’d
be more dangerous if I stayed. Temple’s gonna be looking for Blade. It’ll only
be a matter of time before they sniff out the blood. And Martini—she’s in
trouble. I can’t let anything happen to her.”

“She’s
too young for you.”

And
now a lecture from the girl getting cradle-robbed by Thorne. I snorted. “If you
went through what we went through, you’d understand why I won’t let her leave
my side again.”

“Are
you happy?”

“I
told you not to worry about me.”

“Too
bad.” She untangled herself from my arms. “Are you happy now?”

“Yeah.
I am.”

The
warehouse door opened, but Thorne and Martini didn’t intrude. She got him to
laugh though. I didn’t think that was possible. Rose pulled away, but she kept
my hand.

“When
will I see you again?”

Good
question. “Not sure, Bud. Temple’s making some big moves. They wiped out
Martini’s home MC and their biggest rival over to the east. It’s gonna get
dark.”

“Can
you outrun them?”

“Ain’t
no one catching me,” I said. “You keep your eyes open. You’re a big target.
You’re a Darnell and you’re patched to Thorne. You gotta use your head. Stay
alert.” I grunted. “And take care of Keep. He can’t do it himself.”

She
nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Can I...can I call you?”

I
hugged her again, wondering just how the hell I was ever going to let her go. “
Anytime
.
You got that? You need me for anything, I’ll be there. Understand?”

Martini’s
cautious steps were less subtle than Thorne’s call.

“Sweetheart.”
He wielded the nickname with every possessive affection she deserved. “They
gotta go. Getting late.”

She
stood, casting a look over her shoulder before pulling me into a hug again. She
buried her face in my chest, just like the last time we separated. Only now, I
was coming back.

I
had to.

For
her.

“Brew.”
She stepped away only as Thorne took her hand. Her lip trembled, but she didn’t
acknowledge it. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“You
aren’t just saying you’re my father because you think it’d make me really, really
happy, right?”

She
knew were to aim and how to shoot to cripple a man. I sucked in a breath. It
didn’t do a goddamned bit of good to shield me from the crippling emotions
that’d rip off my leather, slice off my ink, and reduce me to tears. I clenched
my jaw.

“You’re
my daughter, Bud. And it’s about time you know how much I fucking love you.”