Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (7 page)

Christ.
I was an idiot. My stomach regretted the shake. Noir hated the thought of the drop
as much as I did, but he was reluctant to abandon the deal. Only one reason
why.

“Sacrilege
threatened you,” I said.

“Nothing
I can’t handle.”

It
didn’t make sense. None of it. Not how Kingdom found our little MC. Not the
good luck on the runs and the lopsided deals. We tangled with one of the most
powerful drug-running clubs east of the Mississippi, and not even Red knew what
the end game was.

“What
the hell was on that laptop?” I whispered.

“That’s
not my business.”

“Really?”
I gestured around. “Sure looks like you’re doing a lot of dirty work without
knowing what or why. You always work like that?”

His
brow threaded. “Careful.”

“Have
you ever trafficked a woman before?”

“This
conversation’s over.” He pulled a twenty from his pocket and flicked it on the
table. “Get your jacket on. Time to go.”

“Why
do this to yourself?” I didn’t stand.

“Get
up.”

“You
think I’ll be safe once you leave?”

“You’re
no safer with me than you are with them.”

I
didn’t believe that. “Goliath would do anything to score with Kingdom.”

Noir
tensed. Somehow, he seemed even bigger than Goliath. “Get. Up.”

“Sam
probably told you I’d be fine, but do you think Goliath hasn’t sold my ass to the
highest bidder for the night?” I swallowed. “Do you think a club like Kingdom
wouldn’t take what they wanted, even without my man’s permission?”

“Not
my problem.”

“How
much money did they pay you?” I held his stare. “Better be a good amount. You’ll
need a couple grand to clear a rape from your conscience.”

In
another life, in a different place, the rage tensing in his body might have
ripped the table from the wall and chucked it through the window. His eyes, the
blackness of charring smoke, flashed with the heat of the fire. He leaned over
me, his arms pinning me in the booth.

His
voice lowered. Deep. Pained. Vengeful.

“Don’t
question what’s on my conscience. I don’t have one anymore.”

I braved
looking into his eyes to see whatever monster he thought lurked within him.

I
saw nothing evil. Just…sadness.

“You’re
lying,” I whispered. “And you’re not even good at it. Whatever shit you’re
running from, whatever it was that fucked you up, that’s over.” I read every
sadness in his heart, and I made my move. “Don’t let another innocent person get
hurt because of you.”

I
waited, my breath held and muscles tensed. The first taste of a panic attack
dried my mouth. I didn’t let it show, but Noir’s eyes were no longer on me.

The
diner’s chime
dinged
a sound too pleasant for the crew who sauntered through
the door. The waitresses scattered, and the men eating at the counter kept
their heads down.

Three
of them entered, branded in leather but patched with rockers I didn’t recognize.
The inverted crucifix of crossed spears blended the right amount of horror and
blasphemy.

Temple
MC
.

Kingdom
paraded throughout the northwest of the state and into the Great Lakes region.
Sacrilege and other tiny clubs rode around Pittsburgh and the surrounding
counties, usually getting lost in the depressed river towns forgotten after the
mills closed. We held a small territory, hardly worth Kingdom’s attention.

Hardly
worth the notice of any other club, especially one with men as rough as Temple
MC.

Buzz
cut and tattooed, down to the teardrops around their eyes and the automatic
weapon branded on their necks. They were armed with guns, knives, and blunt
tools strapped to their belts.

They
didn’t belong here.

Noir
grabbed my arm just above the elbow. Squeezed.

Message
received.

I checked
behind us, but our booth hid within a sealed-off corner. Noir pulled me with
him as he stalked to the front doors.

The
men didn’t move.

Neither
did Noir.

I
didn’t like the look of the patches on their jackets—too many officers and not
enough brainless members. Secretary, Treasurer, Sergeant-At-Freaking-Arms. It
was the SA who stepped in front of Noir.

Trapped
before these men, Sacrilege MC would have been annihilated in an instant. Sam crumbled
too easily, Goliath got in everyone’s faces, and Red wouldn’t have the sense to
cut and run. He’d end up at med school again, only this time he’d be the one on
the morgue table for the students to dice up and judge for their better life
choices.

But
Noir didn’t surrender. He didn’t throw a punch when the men blocked his exit or
cower when they stared him in the eye.

Three
against one.

I
was glad I stood behind him.

I
held my breath as every part of me trembled, head to toes and back again. Noir
didn’t hesitate. He hauled me through the crew without apologizing for crashing
shoulders with the SA. The doors closed. The vice squeezing my chest hadn’t
eased. Neither had Noir’s grip on my arm.

He
pulled a gun from his belt. His command terrified me more than the men.

“Run.”

Running
was the worst part of exile.

It
tortured me more than casting off my name, hiding my ink, losing myself. I
ached in destroyed pride and suffocating guilt and every other bullshit
weakness that forced me to run when I should have grabbed my gun and redeemed
myself in the glory of an empty shell and a taken life.

But
I wasn’t risking death. Not yet. Not before I had that chance to finally
protect Rose and fix the mess I left behind. My life was only worth the blood
it spilled. I’d find the man who destroyed her—who destroyed our family—and I’d
join him in the baptism of hellfire that awaited us both.

So
I ran.

We
ran.

Martini
split before I barked the order. She was tougher than the front of her
schoolgirl pout. She sprinted through the parking lot and slid smooth behind
me, careful not to squeeze the injury she already exposed. The bike turned over
with a roar.

She
didn’t ask questions. She knew how to hold on and when to keep her mouth shut.
Excellent qualities in a girl who spent her life getting used by the crew who
was supposed to watch out for her. The thought poisoned me.

She
asked for help.

I
trapped her in the middle of a potential bloodbath.

“Who
are those guys?” She twisted to search the road. No good ever came from looking
behind. “Do you recognize them?”

The
bike roared as I pushed it toward the first onramp I found. North, south.
Didn’t matter as long as I had a couple miles of clear road to redline and get
the hell out of the specter of my past. Rolling clouds blocked out the moon.
Rain.

Thunder
slashed through the night, immediately followed with another flash of hungry
lightning.

Damn
it.

“Noir!”
Her fingers dug into my jacket as I cut in front of a surprised Jetta and into
a non-existent space between two pick-ups. “Who are they?”

“
Temple
.”

I
doubted she heard the world. I spat it into the darkness as a curse. I traveled
three thousand miles over three months of endless travel, constant jobs, and
wretched isolation, and somehow the worst mistakes of my past rode to my side—like
a grim reaper of regret. Always chasing, just waiting for that first, only, and
final mistake that would slice out my fucking heart.

The
highway emptied at night. Rows of streetlights blasted light on me as I
attempted to hide within the solitude of the road. I wore on the throttle,
kicking the bike beyond eighty and counting the miles like I counted the hours
since I last sped into the distance to put as much space between me and Temple
MC as possible.

They
weren’t supposed to be here.

Not
on a run. Not on a drop. Not on a deal.

Temple
had no business dealing this far east. They stuck to the deserts, to the lanes
between Cherrywood Valley and Mexico. The drug trade necessitated it. Every
hard vice and unforgiving sin passed either through their territory, their
hands, or their workshops. Temple controlled the drugs. They also controlled
the money, politicians, and land. Everyone wanted a cut.

And
I was the son of a bitch who worked out a deal with them.

I
was the son of a bitch who ruined it all.

They
thought I was dead. If they recognized me, figured out I lived, breathed, and
slithered the earth like the damned snake I was, every last hope I had at hunting
my father would be flayed out of me by the chains wrapping over their fists.

I had
ripped the Anathema patches off my jacket, but stripping the leather only
destroyed my identity. It didn’t hide me.

I
didn’t recognize Temple’s treasurer or secretary. But the sergeant-at-arms? That
sleazy motherfucker lurked in the shadow of our meetings, hand always on his
gun. Like he thought I’d pull something. Like he thought I was stupid enough to
fuck with the most powerful MC in the state.

But
I
was
stupid enough. I pissed off Temple and Anathema, even when I
thought I could create the alliance that would save us both. Christ was I
wrong. Not only did Anathema suffer from my idiocy, my brother poisoned himself
with any drug he found and Rose...

Thorne
would protect her, but it was my fault she ran into the arms of a ruthless president
of a goddamned motorcycle club instead of confiding in her own family.

Martini’s
nails dug into my jacket.

Just
what I needed. Not only did they see me, they saw Martini—the feisty little
blonde who ruled the world with the mischief of her smile. She talked big about
bruises and fists, but getting beat on by a drunken boyfriend was nothing
compared to getting buried up to her neck in the desert for the scorpions to
sting and the elements to scorch.

If
she even made it to the desert.

Temple
trafficked more than drugs, and the men transporting kidnapped women wouldn’t
stop to buy them a milkshake because they got bored on the trip across the
state lines.

For
five miles my mirrors reflected only the flicker of lightning bearing down over
our escape. Our luck didn’t last long. I swore as three pinpricks of light
crested a hill behind us.

They
chased, but I’d be damned if my end came with a hammer imbedded in my skull.
Not before I had my revenge. Not before I got Martini to safety.

The
fuckers could do whatever got them off as long as they did it to me. Capture
me. Threaten me. Beat my miserable hide until they wore the ink off my skin. But
I’d break their necks with my bare hands if they even looked at Martini again.

Rose
was enough. I wasn’t about to damn another woman in my own cowardice and
abandonment.

I
didn’t take my eyes from the road. “Hang on!”

Martini
shrieked as the bike tore through the asphalt and burst onto the highway. The
late-night truckers disguised my presence. I wove between the trailers, ducking
into and out of streaks of red brake lights as I turned my headlight off.
Martini ducked against my back.

“
What
are you doing
?” She cried.

The
few streetlights dimmed a yellowish haze over the road, and the approaching
storm lit the rest. It was enough to see, and I’d traveled through worse.
Speeding border to border in the middle of the night—no lights, no stops. I
raced the darkness, the police, the DEA, and whatever half-cocked meth-head MCs
might have followed. Except then, I had night vision glasses. Kevlar. No
sweet-tart passenger grinding against my back whenever my bike bounced on the pavement.

I
didn’t trust the roads here. I usually studied the maps and researched the best
routes. I had to learn the dangerous areas where the police and feds lurked,
baiting the runners. Riding blind at my speed tempted fate, and I wore out my
welcome at death’s door when I escaped Anathema’s retribution.

Martini
behaved herself, but Christ only knew if she’d freak and topple us both. I
wasn’t about to dump the bike or let the cocksuckers get anywhere close to me,
and she wasn’t about to let go. The squeeze of her arms was the first honest
reaction I got out of her, but she didn’t show her fear. What the hell was she
worried about with Kingdom? Unless they were looking to become the first eunuch
MC, they’d leave her the fuck alone.

I
saw an exit. It was safer off the highway. More places to hide, more streets to
cross, more places to stash the girl before something terrible happened. She
predicted it, and she was right. I’d never handle another rape on my conscience.

I
slowed as much as I dared, ran the red-light at the base of the onramp, and
pushed the bike through a half mile of darkened wilderness so close to the road
I ducked to avoid the overhanging branches.

My
profanity roared louder than the engines, harsher than the thunder. Headlights appeared
behind me, matching the cast of white I was forced to flick on. The splash of
brightness before my bike would prevent us from ramming into a tree, but it led
Temple right to us.

I
wanted them to come. The only skill needed to escape a highway was the instinct
to not fall off and splatter my brains on the pavement. I ruled the streets
beyond the interstate, speeding through enough small towns to earn my position
as Anathema’s Road Captain before my promotion to Sergeant-At-Arms.

I
had two options. A green sign flashed by. We were seven miles from a town. I debated
tracking through the backwoods and wasting a prayer that the assholes didn’t ride
the roads better and the rain would hold off.

I
swore. It was time to take control of the fucking situation and protect the
girl before she switched from collateral into casualty.

I
should have turned left from the exit instead of right.

I’d
fix that.

“Hold
on!” I shouted as the bike screeched to a halt and spun to face Temple’s
pursuit.

Martini
hadn’t fallen off the back, but she screamed as I pulled my gun from the
holster.

“Might
want to close your eyes, Darling.”

My
tires spun in loose gravel cast over the road, but the bike responded as
beautifully as it always had, even when I did something so fucking stupid I
mistook myself for my junkie brother.

The
night opened for me, leading me to the three lone headlights speeding to
intercept us. It was modern day joust for men who lacked all chivalry. I pulled
my gun and aimed, but I regretted taking the shot. Three men in the darkness,
and only one had to die. Only one saw me. Only one might have recognized me.

Martini
flinched, ducking her head behind my protective shoulder. Three months ago, I
took a gunshot to save another innocent girl. I’d do it again. No one was going
to harm Martini, not when she needed my help.

I
pushed the bike forward. Thirty miles an hour.

Forty.

Fifty.

My
gun fired.

The
shattering roar of the shots muffled even the baying of our engines. My second bullet
struck on target, and the bike dumped onto the road, spinning in flashing orange
sparks against the berm. A lane opened, and I gambled with both our lives.

I
sped into the split formation, emptying the clip as I wove through the chaos.
The return fire came too late, striking only the uneven road and swirling
shadows that bound behind us.

I raced
until the bike wobbled over corners and through the untamed woods. Martini
shifted, but her hold never loosened.

“They
aren’t following!” She shouted

Good.
Life wasn’t about saving my own ass anymore. The only thing safer than a loaded
gun was miles separating us from the danger.

Her
nails dug into my coat. It wasn’t where I preferred women to sink their nails if
I let them claw at me. Most times, they sunk into the mattress and kept their
arms over their head. Tied back. Gripping the headboard. They liked it. I liked
it.

The
thought sickened me now.

Especially
as Martini clung to me on the verge of poorly-concealed tears. Fading
adrenaline hardened a cock, but something far more sinister clouded my lust.

Bad
blood created bad blood. I’d be damned if I acted out any more of my father’s
perversions.

I
didn’t slow. The reflected light in my mirrors might have been the moon, the
two remaining bikes, or Anathema’s scarred demon breaking through my memories
and aiming for my jugular. I wasn’t taking chances.

A
twenty-four hour mini-mart was the first sign of civilized society. I didn’t pause
at the stop. We blew past the intersection without an echo of Temple’s bikes.
For the moment, we were alone.

Martini
relaxed her hold, but her body pressed hard against me. Her relieved sigh
didn’t chase away her trembling. She patted my back.

“Not
enough alcohol in my flasks for this,” she said. “You should buy me a real
drink if you plan any more shootouts.”

She
thought she was cute.

She
was right.