Knight (53 page)

Keep met my gaze for the first time. “I want a vote.”

“I’m offering my services.”

“You don’t have the authority to volunteer our sister into your
services
.”

I glanced from Gold to Scotch. Both held back their tongues so hard they prepared to choke. I waved a hand toward them.

“All those in favor of protecting Baby Bud Darnell?”

I raised my hand. Keep and Brew simmered. They’d blow after the vote. Didn’t matter to me. I only needed to see which one would finally snap.

“Look.” Scotch lit another cigarette, if only to delay speaking. “I love Bud as much as you guys. But she made an idiot move today. I feel better keeping an eye on her until it blows over.”

“Fuck me,” Keep grunted.

Gold ducked his head down. “I’ve seen a lot of shit lately. Ex isn’t man enough to go after Thorne, but he’d piss with family in a heartbeat. I’m with Thorne. If you want to keep Rose out of this mess, you’ve gotta bring her in. Keep her safe here.”

Brew rubbed his face. He laughed, but it was amusement. “This is fucked up.”

“I’m not going to hurt her,” I said.

“Bull-fucking-shit. You ain’t taking her on for free.”

“Then that’s between me and your sister.”

“You sonofabitch—”

Keep dove toward me. Gold intercepted, tossing him into his seat before he did something really fucking stupid.

“You lay a finger on her and I’ll kill you myself,” Keep said.

“That I believe.”

The silence pulsed in the room. Brew’s eyes burned black, but he said nothing else. Keep swore and pushed away. The tremors rocking his body nearly propelled him through the door. I only hoped he had enough sense to get his fix before grabbing Rose.

Pretty little thing that she was.

I smirked.

“Meeting adjourned.”

Twenty-one was too old to run away from home.

Except
leaving town
wasn’t accurate. I wasn’t declaring my independence. I quietly stole it before my brothers realized just how pissed I was.

I packed a spare change of clothes, but the second pair of jeans and shoes didn’t fit with my laptop, flute, and guitar’s looping pedal. The keyboard jammed across my car’s backseat. I needed it more than the TV Brew
acquired
for me last Christmas.

My suitcase bulged with more musical instruments and equipment. No guitar, of course. I regretted stumbling into
that
mess, but at least it was already handled. The tie severed, the debt repaid as much as my brothers would allow.

My cell buzzed in my pocket. Screw them. No way was I talking to either brother.

Not after they hauled me out of Anathema like I was some sort of wayward child.

Not after they shoved the stack of twenties into my purse.

Not after they forced two prospects to
escort
me home.

They flipped tables, swore at me, swore at each other, and screamed until all I imagined was breakfast back home when Dad rampaged through the halls, my brothers and their new patches slammed the front door, and Mom wept in the bathroom with a bottle of bourbon and a pocket full of Vicodin.

The phone buzzed again.

Absolutely not.

My brothers could scream and stomp and threaten all they wanted. It wouldn’t change a damn thing. I was
done
. I’d find a new job at another dollar coffee diner—one that hadn’t watched my brothers beat my boss to a bloody pulp. I’d upload another song on YouTube to get some ad revenue. Hell, I’d even sell the few pieces of jewelry I had of Mom’s—Craig’s List. No more pawn shops.

I’d make it on my own.

My brothers wouldn’t like it.

And Dad would be furious.

It didn’t matter how many secure walls and steel bars the courts used to separate us. He could still get to me. I’d never be far enough from that man.

As long as he breathed, he’d always be too close.

The phone continued to buzz.

I ripped it from my pocket. No sense hiding from Keep and Brew. No Darnell ever left without a fight. I only hoped I didn’t end up tethered to my apartment with my car keys stolen. Or worse. Tethered to an IV with half a dozen concocted stories about the stairs I accidentally tripped down.

I didn’t recognize the number, but Brew and Keep never stayed on the grid with a real cellphone. I tried to growl. My sharp squeak was about as metal as a clarinet with a splintered reed.

“
What
?”

The unfamiliar voice hesitated. “Is this...Rose Darnell?”

My blush might have spread pink from my cheeks through the stranger’s phone. I cleared my throat.

“Oh!  Yes, sorry. That’s me.”

“This is Randal Nix. From Club Sanctuary.”

My stomach flipped like I had wandered too close to a drum kit and got drop-kicked by the percussionist.

“Yes!” The squeak hadn’t disappeared. “Of course. Hello!”

“Would you be available this Friday for a booking?  Two hours. Nine until eleven. We’re paying three hundred dollars.”

My heart flooded, sputtered, and stalled out before he even finished offering. I sunk onto my bed, completely missing the mattress and plopping on the floor. The quilt fell to my side, and my suitcase tumbled with it. A tennis shoe stuffed with a dozen guitar picks escaped the bag and spilled.

“Hello?” Randal asked. “Rose?”

I couldn’t speak, but I never did like silence. Dad did. He hated when I sang. When I cried.

When I tried to scream.

I blinked and forced myself into any bit of noise.

“Yes,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting a call.”

“Something’s come up. A slot is available if you want it.”

“I—” The suitcase popped a hinge and opened. I hadn’t even folded the clothes right. Just stuffed shirts and skirts into any opening I could find. I had the drama down, but graceful wasn’t yet in my repertoire. “This Friday?”

“Is it possible?”

If I was still in town. I banged my head against the bed. The mounded blankets didn’t help clear the cacophony.

“Only two hours?”

“For Friday, yes. If we like what we hear, it might become a permanent booking.”

Of course it would. “Three hundred?”

“I can see our terms aren’t acceptable.”

“No—I mean...”

“Four hundred. For the first performance. We can negotiate a contract if the arrangement works.”

My mouth watered. “Well...that’s generous.”

And absolutely the worst timing imaginable. I gnawed my lip. It’d be awfully hard to escape my brother’s reach if I accepted a gig centered right in the middle of the city.

Independence.

A solid gig.

Freedom from my brothers.

Four hundred and the possibility of a contract.

I kicked the suitcase and silently swore.

“I’ll be there,” I said.

“Excellent. We’ll see you Friday. Daryl, our floor manager, will help you set up.”

Not much to set up without equipment. I thanked him, probably three too many times, and hauled my butt from the carpet. Regret sucked. Especially when it smacked me just as soon as I finally achieved everything I worked so hard to accomplish.

Except this guilt was worse. It gutted me. Pitted my stomach and soured everything that hadn’t already been twisted, curdled, and rolled. I should have been excited. Should have leapt around my bedroom, celebrated with ice cream, and started planning my set—as if I didn’t know exactly what I would play and what lighting I’d request.

Most people made sacrifices for their dream. They’d give up their jobs, their friends, and their families just to have that one shot to make it.

Instead, my dream sacrificed everything. Freedom. Safety. A world beyond the 1% and police files on my family’s name.

Music bound me to the valley just like the patch on my brothers’ jackets marked their territory. I sighed. I even played the acoustic guitar. No wires to hold me down. Only opportunity.

The knock on the door wasn’t unexpected. I checked my phone. An hour’s peace. Had I not taken the call, I might have sped out of town already.

Or they would have caught me loading my car.

Thank goodness for small miracles.

The pounding didn’t stop. I scowled. They’d drum against the door all night.

Maybe I wouldn’t answer. Maybe I’d put my headphones on and pretend like my lunatic brothers weren’t shouting for me from the landing of my apartment. My neighbors could call the police, but I doubted they’d respond if the caller mentioned the Anathema patch on their vests.

Brew shouted for me, the edge of his voice laced with bundled aggression…and something else.

Fear
.

My throat closed. I hated the feeling, the panicky sweat that prickled my neck when I heard my brothers’ angry desperation. Didn’t happen often. I could count on my hand the times the chilled grip choked their voices.

When Mom died.

When the DA threatened Dad with the death penalty.

When Anathema bled over the streets and Exorcist’s war nearly decimated their ranks.

I sighed. No sense in worrying them while I pouted in my apartment. Trying to run was cruel enough, and they deserved to be called psychopaths to their face. At least they’d know it came from the heart.

I stalked to the entryway but flinched as Keep launched his weight into the door. The wood squealed, and the hinges cracked. I shouted but a second kick shattered the door and wrenched it open. It smacked against the wall, the knob imbedding in the drywall.

“Jesus
Christ
, Rose!” Brew pushed Keep out of his way to loom over me. “When we knock, you fucking answer! Who the fuck knows what might have happened to you?”

My mouth dropped, and a stunned squeal eked out. “Are you two out of your minds?”

Keep ripped the door out of the wall. The hinge cracked and tumbled to the floor. The frame splintered as well. My landlord would pitch a fit if I wasn’t so sure my brothers’ would kill him for even mentioning the security deposit.

“Where the hell were you?” Brew asked. “Are you okay?”

I edged away from the busted drywall. “Well, Christ, I’m pretty freaked out right now!”

“No problem getting home?”

I glanced at Keep. He shrugged.

“You mean besides the two prospects manhandling me out of Pixie, shoving me into the car, and running two red lights to get me home?” I asked.

“Everything in order here?”

I crossed my arms. “I’m fine, aside from being thoroughly humiliated.”

“Oh, you better watch that smart-ass tone,” Keep warned. “Better humiliated than getting throttled in front of the club.”

“Really?” I raised my chin. “You gonna hit me?”

“Why the fuck is she challenging me?” Keep tensed his jaw. His stare lasted only a minute before he slapped Brew’s shoulder. “Straighten our sister out before she says something she’ll regret.”

Brew grunted. “She sounds like she wants that frown smacked off her mouth.”

“Then
do
it!” I stepped toward Brew before I realized what a horrible idea it was. Then again, a Darnell never retreated. We just bruised easily. “Go ahead. Hit me. Just like Dad. He’d do it. Why don’t you too?”

Brew’s brow threaded. He sucked in a breath. “Jesus.”

“I’m waiting.”

“I’m not going to fucking hit you. Sit down before you cry.”

“I’m not crying.” The tears prickled my eyes. “What do you want?  Tell me so you can go.”

“Now she’s kicking us out?” Keep softened his voice at my first sniffle. “The hell is wrong with you?  Pawning guitars. Storming over to Pixie. You’re not acting right.”

I still clutched my cell. The excitement for the gig fizzled and popped without ever settling in me. My stomach flipped, but throwing up would only delay the inevitable. I collapsed on the couch.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I said.

“This again?” Brew claimed an easy chair I took from the house after Dad left. “Rose—”

“I’m serious. This life. The danger. The panic and the rules and the pawn shops I can’t go to and the restaurants across the river I’m not allowed to eat at. I can’t do it. I won’t.”

My brothers silenced. I looked at the broken door and turned to glance at the tumbled over suit-case resting against my bed.

“I want you guys to leave me alone. Forget about me. Just let me live my life.”

Keep curled his hands behind his head. He shrugged at Brew.

“You tell her,” Keep said. “It was your idea.”

“Wasn’t my idea.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m doing right by her.”

Keep grimaced. “You’re putting her right in the middle.”

“It’s the right call,” he said.

“It’s a fucking mistake.”

Goosebumps tickled my arms. They stared across the room, the blue of Keep’s eyes clashing against the stoic darkness I shared with Brew. Arguments were nothing new to the Darnell family. Dad yelled all the time.

But not my brothers.

Nothing
separated my brothers.

“What’s wrong?” I didn’t know who to ask. “What happened?”

“
You
happened,” Brew said. Keep swore and turned away. “We don’t trust Exorcist. That’s a given. You know how dangerous it is now.”