Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (6 page)

The
word lashed like the strike of a belt. He expected me to ease down, but, most
times, I liked a belt. I smiled, in case he sensed the sweetness in my words.

“Please?”

He
didn’t answer, even as my hand gently gripped the hardened muscle of his bicep.
His eyes never drifted from the road. I was nothing more than a backpack
strapped to his body.

He
thought of me as cargo. The bastard.

A
flicker of impatience burned within the whipping winds. I poked at him again.

“I
have to go to the bathroom. Can’t we stop for a minute?”

“Christ.”
He slowed the bike. “You can’t wait?”

“It’s
a long ride.”

He
swore again but merged into the right lane. This far north of the city, only a few
towns dotted the highway, built around old coal mines and anchored by the gas
stations lining the onramps. Noir eased through the little town and aimed for a
diner.

Perfect.
A place to sit, and I didn’t even have to pout.

We
parked, but he didn’t get off the bike. Noir grabbed my wrist and the midnight
threat of his stare lashed harsher than any of his words.

“If
you’re not back in three minutes, I’m dragging you out.”

He
was a tough one to crack. I regretted zipping my coat and hiding my swayable
curves.

“Aw,
come on. Let me stretch my legs a bit.”

“No.”

“You’re
more practiced at long rides than I am.” I allowed my gaze to drop from the
close cut of his dark hair, the jacket strapped over his broad chest, the
crunch of his boots against the gravel. Usually, the tease of the stem of my
sunglasses over my lip would be enough to earn that breath of hope—the eagerness
men got when they thought they had a chance. I wiggled the bait if only to hook
myself a way out.

Noir
froze my smirk. “Two minutes and thirty seconds, Darling. Time’s wasting.”

It
wasn’t working.

Jesus,
it wasn’t working.

I
huffed. The one man who didn’t think with his cock was the one delivering me to
the worst decision of my life. Riding usually gave me a headache. This freaking
mess would cause an aneurysm.

“Look.”
I gestured toward the diner. “I’m hungry. Can a girl get a last meal before being
tossed to the wolves?”

His
eyes flashed.

Pained.

The
raw ache within his breath shuddered over the parking lot. His gaze narrowed in
cold indifference, but I saw through it. His guard hadn’t just let down. It
shattered. Completely. And the jagged edges of his resolve sliced through him
and caused more damage than whatever happened to his shoulder.

The
weakness crushed him for the briefest of moments. It passed quickly, hidden
away within his soul as if no one noticed.

Except
I watched.

I
always watched. I had to. It was how I survived. I learned to pay attention,
and it kept Goliath’s rage sealed up tight. My talent helped me survive on the
tips of men who had no business dumping their last twenty on cheap beer in my
bar, and it would get me the hell out of this mess.

I
saw an opening. I saw that darkness.

Noir
didn’t want to take me to Kingdom.

But
it was worse than that. He loathed doing it. Something inside him howled and
beat against the thought. He silenced it to do his job. Deliver the girl.
Collect the money.

He
wouldn’t spend that cash.

I
brushed a finger along the bike’s handlebars. He watched every tickle of my nails
on the worn handles, the grooves where his gloved hands had etched his life to
the very essence of the bike.

“I’ll
buy you a slice of pie?” I kept my eyes cast down. His fists clenched.

He
liked my submission.

Goddamn
it. So did I.

“Fine.”
He rubbed his face. “Let’s...get you something to eat.”

The
practiced flirt blended a schoolgirl charm and a vixen’s desire. I led him to
the diner and tucked us into a booth far from the yellowed counter and old
truckers leaning over their coffees. Noir followed. Slow. Eying the
regulars—the ones who glanced up, saw the leather, and returned to their
dinners with shallow profanities. A waitress snapped her gum and handed us
faded menus. I pointed to the smeared picture of a chocolate milkshake.

“And
a burger. Medium. With fries.” I handed her the menu but my rumbling stomach
pestered me. “And an order of mozzarella sticks.”

Noir
clenched his jaw as the waitressed poised a pen over the pad and awaited his
words. His voice stayed low.

“Just
a soda.”

The
waitress rolled her eyes as she returned to the counter. “I’ll get you a
pop
.”

I
snickered. “Giving yourself away. You aren’t from around here, stranger.”

He
nodded. The hard line of his jaw tightened, rough with the shade of scruff. A thin
scar etched into his black eyebrow, fading to white, just like the dust of grey
at his temples. Not enough to age him, but enough to make me rethink my game
plan. He wasn’t a young kid desperate to get lucky. He was wiser than that.

Sadder
than that.

I
doubted he was homesick, but he sure as hell wasn’t used to being anyone’s
stranger. The waitress set my milkshake before me, and I tucked away another
fragment of Noir’s mystery.

“Christ,
when was the last time you ate?”

I
sucked a good quarter of the shake down. It tasted more cold than sweet. That
was fine. I needed the chill in my voice.

“Can’t
say I’ve had much of an appetite since being traded like car keys to a loan
shark.”

“Right.”

I
spun the straw through the ice cream. The silence nearly refroze the drink, but
two years of bartending taught me never to let a conversation fall on the
rocks. I licked a bit of whipped cream off my lip. Seducing him was too much. I
just needed a sign. A crack. Somewhere I could wiggle in.

Noir
frowned and pulled a tracphone from his pocket. His hand didn’t hide the name
glowing on the screen.

Rose
.

He
dismissed the call with a frown.

Interesting.
If I was behind my bar, I might have tossed a towel over my shoulder, offered
him a light to a cigarette, and given him my full attention for that story. Old
lover? Waiting whore? Family?

Unfortunately,
he wasn’t inclined to share. I bit the straw. His eyes lingered on my lips.

Bingo.

“Someone
always calls when you sit down to eat.” I took a leisurely sip. “You can take
it if you want. I won’t be offended.”

“I’m
fine.”

“Don’t
look fine.”

He
snorted. I offered him a sip of the shake. He refused that too.

“Hey.
We have another hundred miles together,” I said. “Might as well enjoy them,
right?”

He
didn’t answer. Neither of us were going to enjoy the ride or what happened once
we reached our destination. The food arrived. I passed the basket of fries toward
him.

“No,
thanks.” He adjusted his phone in his pocket and tapped the rim of his drink.
“Something tells me this ain’t strong enough.”

“Not
a problem.” I searched through my jacket pockets, my fingers brushing over two
flasks. I pulled both out. “Rum or whiskey?”

Finally,
the tease of a smile nudged his lips. Not enough to crack the hardness, but the
promise existed. I jiggled both flasks.

“You
came prepared,” he said.

“Never
leave the bar without it.”

He
nodded toward the glass. “Rum.”

“A
fine choice, sir.” I let the
sir
linger as I poured. If he reacted, he
hid it well. I imagined it wasn’t the first time a man like him heard it, just
as it wasn’t my first time saying it. Difference was, this man deserved the
respect. “This might make the run a little easier.”

“You’d
think.”

I
pushed my burger aside and seized a breath. Flirting was getting us nowhere,
and I was down to the bottom of my milkshake and last mozzarella stick. Within a
few hours we’d hit our destination, right after the sun set and the shadows would
hide everyone’s secrets. Enough was enough. I refused to be collateral, and I
had played Sacrilege’s martyr for too long.

It
was time to leave. And my ride sat before me.

“You
aren’t taking me to the drop-off,” I said.

He
expected my defiance. He leaned against the booth, stretching his arms over the
back. The sleeve of his jacket tugged up over his wrist. Thick tattoos banded
his flesh. Not surprising given his occupation and devotion to his bike, but he
hadn’t removed the jacket, only unzipped it.

He
hid the ink. That should have been my first warning.

“I’m
not?” He said.

“I’m
not fooling you, you’re not fooling me. Neither of us wants to do this gig.”

“Doesn’t
matter what you want.”

“Funny
how that works out.”

“You’re
going.”

I
leaned closer. “What if you were supposed to do something…something you knew
was a bad idea, but you couldn’t refuse? And the longer you stayed in that
mess, the more your life slips out of control?”

“Honestly?”

“Of
course.”

Noir’s
expression hardened. “Life is a series of fucked up secrets and lies that
doesn’t end until you’re staring down the barrel of the gun. Everything is out
of control, and the only thing we can hope for is a death quicker than any of
the bastards we take down with us.”

“
Jesus
.”

“I
got a couple years on you, Darling. Gives me a unique perspective.”

Unique
perspective? I exchanged one psychopath for another, and all I had to show for
it was my behind parked between two clubs.

I
had two options. Surrender and go willingly to the Kingdom MC as a favor to my
club, or leave Goliath and hope he’d never find me in the bloody rampage that
followed.

“Okay,”
I said. “I have a unique perspective too. I earned it groping through the world
with two black eyes, swollen shut. You can’t see much, but what you can is
crystal clear. You get me?”

Noir
shifted. “You in trouble?”

“Always.”
I took a chance. “What about you?”

“Name
of the game.”

“Then
what do we do about it?”

“Why
do I think you’ve already figured it out?”

I
grinned. “My cousin Red rode off in a hurry. He said he was getting money. I
won’t ask where or how he’s getting it, but we just need a little time.”

“Time
for what?”

“For
him to deliver the cash to Kingdom. He’s gonna buy out whatever they’ve
invested into Sacrilege. They won’t use me as collateral, and you won’t have to
act as intermediary.”

“And
then what?”

I
shrugged. “Then we get the hell out of here.”

“We?”

“It’s
my moment,” I said. “Until now, I’ve never had the guts to start new. Too many
other people I always had to worry about.”

“That’s
life.”

“Yeah,
but you know what worrying about other people gets you?”

He
waited.

“Black
eyes. Broken ribs. A life where you count the shot glasses until it’s safe to
make noise around the house.” I sighed. “But I worry about Red. He gets a
little hot-headed. He’s my cousin, but he’s like a brother. Always getting into
trouble and making life messy. Any idea what that’s like?”

I
got a genuine nod out of Noir. He took a swig of his drink, but I doubted there
was enough rum in it to temper his honesty.

“Yeah.
I got one of those brothers.”

“Well,
sometimes they’ve gotta sink or swim on their own, am I right?”

“Not
sure.”

“You
haven’t given him the push off that diving board yet?”

Noir
stiffened. “No. I’m the one holding him under.”

The
ache in his voice wasn’t masked. My pulse fluttered as an opportunity presented
itself. I had Noir where I needed him, exposing just enough of his thoughts to
capture him.

I
met his gaze.

“It’s
time I take care of myself,” I said. “Let’s forget this deal. I’ll go free, and
you can get back on the road. We’ll act like this never happened.”

He
rubbed his face. “Not that easy, Darling.”

“It
can be.”

“There’s
a lot of money riding on this.”

I
ground my jaw. “I have money. Not much, but I can earn. I’m a good bartender.
I’ll get every penny to you, with interest.”

“I
didn’t mean
my
money.” His laugh cut deep. “And I don’t want yours.”