Knight (80 page)

Except I did have something to be optimistic about now. Passion. Desire. A life with someone I trusted wasn’t anything I ever planned for myself. Escape from Anathema consumed my every moment.

But the thing I wanted most, the man I wanted most, wore a cut, cocked a weapon, and prepared to die.

Keep shouted from the basement. He met me on the stairs holding my vibrating phone.

“Luke.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. “He’s not gonna talk to me.”

It probably wasn’t a social call.

My voice trembled as I answered, an artificial sound that wouldn’t earn respect from either a motorcycle club or an audience on stage. Luke didn’t respond to my greeting. He didn’t say my name. He didn’t ask about the drugs, or my brother, or where I was.

Because he knew all that.

And so did Exorcist.

“
Get down
.”

The call ended. I stared at my phone.

Thorne scowled. “What did he say?”

The hail of bullets screamed from the club above. Shattering glass pelted the hardwood floors, and the whine of fracturing exposed wood muffled over the explosive, brutal cacophony of guns and crashing and destruction.

Three men grabbed me at once. Thorne dove over me, Keep tossed me down the stairs, and Brew sheltered me under the bulk of his body as the semi-automatic vengeance roared through the club.

When the gunfire stopped, the molotovs began.

The crack of the glass bottles pinged against the booths scattered around Sorceress, hardly decipherable against the din of violence that assaulted the building and riddled it with splintering holes, jagged windowpanes, and the encroaching darkness.

Exorcist and his crew cut the power. The rush of heat and the crackling, snickering, burst of fire destroyed what the bullets left unscarred.

“Stay down!” Thorne yelled for Keep. “Find Lyn! I’ll get the fire!”

Thorne and Keep barreled up the stairs and into the darkness that summoned fire, danger, and death. The Coup’s gunmen didn’t care what they needed to destroy, who they needed to hurt, or what they needed to do to find and kill us. I fought to follow, but Brew’s crushing grip pinned me to the floor.

“They need help!” I batted at his arms. “What if something happens?”

“Something
is
happening.” Brew pulled me off the floor but didn’t allow me to bolt for the stairs. “We don’t have time to wait. I’m getting you out of here.”

“But Thorne and Keep are upstairs!”

“I’m not worried about them.”

I grabbed Brew’s hand, but my monster brother was twice my size and half my patience. I could no sooner stop him than hold back Exorcist and his crew with my unpracticed handgun and unsteady shot.

Brew kicked open the door to a secondary office. He pointed toward the twilight glow of the glass window poised high above the desk. I slammed the door closed, and he stole the gun from my hand. Five quick shots shattered the glass brick before I ducked for cover. He crashed the desk against the wall and climbed on top.

My brother launched at the window, punching through the rupturing glass as blood streamed over his arms and dripped onto the floor. Another rage of gunfire punished the club, but the returned burst of bullets came from inside. Thorne and Keep abandoned the flames and suppressed Exorcist as best they could.

But God only knew how many men Exorcist had gathered. The Coup didn’t number many, but anything outmatched Anathema when only three members were present.

Three of the ranking members.

The lifeblood of Anathema.

If it spilled, the club stood no chance against Exorcist.

I scrambled on top of the desk as he shattered the layer of chewed glass preventing my escape through the window and into the well outside the building.

“This ain’t going to feel good,” he said. It wasn’t an apology, just straight up honesty. Before today, I never imagined my brother lying to me about anything. Apparently his only lie was his biggest. “Climb up there then stay low.”

“I can’t leave without everyone else.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll shove you through that window if I have to.”

“Brew—”

“Jesus Christ, Rose.” Brew hauled me off the desk and into the air, pushing me into the broken, jagged window frame. The palms of my hands instantly scraped against the pebbled fragments of glass scattered in the bottom of the window well. “I’m not gonna let Exorcist hurt you. I’m not gonna let
anyone
ever hurt you again. Move your ass.”

“But—”

“
Now
!”

I was the only person who ever pushed my brother. Rattled him. Teased him. Even argued with him. And he let me. Had it been any other time, Brew would have apologized. Made sure I was okay.

Nothing in his voice sounded like Brew.

I dove through that window, cutting my hands, tearing my shirt, and hissing as the bite of the glass wrenched through my jeans and left a trail of sticky blood against my calf.

I loved my brother, but that’s why I moved. Why I ran. In that moment, in that second of pure stress and fear and rage and
grief
, my brother became another man.

Someone hard. Someone determined. Someone dangerous.

Brew acted exactly like my father.

And he knew it too. That was why he didn’t apologize. Why he forced me through the window, over the glass, and into the night. Fear and heartbreak would save my life, but it wouldn’t save my brother. Not when he resigned himself to death. But did he welcome the bullet because of his betrayal of Anathema, or because he failed to protect me?

The night deceived a calm and peaceful presence as The Coup’s rampage halted. They ducked for cover behind the cars and barriers in the parking lot. I recognized the panicked, grunted cry of Bounty as a bullet pierced his shoulder. I couldn’t see who posted on the roof, but I guessed. Keep. Despite the trembling of his hand, he never missed a target.

I brushed the glass from my clothes and hopped up, grabbing the lip of the window well and hauling myself over the aluminum edge. I tumbled onto the concrete behind the club. Brew grunted below. A series of raw scratches clawed his flesh, matching the jagged scrapes on his knuckles and hands. Blood stained his shirt and obscured everything, even the dark blot of ink immortalizing Anathema’s scarred demon upon his skin.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Stay low.”

He checked the gun’s clip. Even in the faint light of the alleyway only a few gold bullets glistened. He grunted.

I wasn’t ready for this. Wasn’t ready to run. Wasn’t ready to get caught in the middle of a war.

I wasn’t ready to lose one of the men who mattered most to me in senseless violence or blind penance.

Tears I didn’t remember crying stained my cheeks. Brew didn’t offer sympathy. I hurried to match his steps, and in the darkness, the uneasy silence, and the lingering scent of sulfur and burnt metal, I feared it would be the last time I saw any of them.

And I hated every minute of my past for wanting to be rid of him.

Sorceress separated its debauchery and wild nightlife from the rest of the valley with a wrought iron fence and half a mile of undeveloped commercial property. Brew didn’t head for his motorcycle. He pushed me toward the fence, and offered his hand as I stared at the six foot tall looming monstrosity.

“Just like when I taught you to climb a tree,” he said. “I’ll give you a boost.”

“I broke my arm when I climbed that tree.”

“I’ll catch you this time.”

He grabbed my hips and hoisted me up. I clutched the top of the iron fence and struggled to haul myself up and over the pointed parapet. Brew pushed my feet, but he shouted just as the sharp crack of metal against skull drove him against the fence. I dropped before making it to the other side and collapsed next to my brother. He wavered and tossed an arm over me, but Exorcist had slammed the gun hard enough against his head to render him unconscious.

I screamed, but the gun rose before I could protect Brew.

Exorcist pulled the trigger, and the bullet sliced through Brew’s chest.

His body lurched, twitched, and fell limp against the ground.

The spray of crimson doused me in sickening warmth.

The metallic tinge of my brother’s blood was bitter in my mouth.

“Get up.” Exorcist aimed the gun at me. “You stole from me. I’m getting it back.”

He expected me to stand. Next to the limp, broken, bleeding body of my brother.

He expected me to obey his orders while Brew lay dying beside me.

Exorcist festered in The Coup because he didn’t belong in Anathema. He didn’t understand loyalty or family or that even though I hated my father, I was still the daughter of Blade Darnell.

Thorne sought vengeance.

My family became it.

“You’re coming with me,” Exorcist said. “Behave, and I might just kill you. Resist, and I will break you, hurt you, then earn back every cent from Daddy’s little cunt.”

I believed him. Evil had many forms, but life within the MC offered a bit of perspective against the world. An empty clip. A blackened eye. Bloody sheets.

Exorcist expelled demons only to learn their secrets, adopt their sadism, and destroy anything good that might have survived this world of darkness and violence.

Brew breathed.

Exorcist didn’t see.

The crimson pool spreading under his body was his only salvation. As long as Exorcist thought he was dead, his vengeance and rage would focus on me.

I had been beaten before. Hurt. Raped.

I survived it all, but I knew I’d never survive losing my brother.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll go.”

Exorcist pointed the gun and forced me to walk in front of him, toward the parking lot, into the line of fire. He shouted and wrapped an arm around my midsection. The gun rose to my temple. Keep’s fire silenced.

Exorcist held me too tight.

My lungs crushed before I caught a breath, before I could figure out just how I’d escape. How I’d help Brew. How I’d ever know if he survived.

“You can have the drugs!” Keep yelled from the roof. His silhouette darkened the neon purple of Sorceress’s sign. He removed his clip and tossed it to the ground. The gun followed. “Let her go, and you can have the drugs. Whatever you want.”

“The addict giving up his stash?” Exorcist wiggled me against his body. “What if I want to get into another industry? Put your sister to work. She’d earn me twice what the meth is worth before I wear her out.”

I shuddered. Exorcist’s arms strapped me against him. Long, silver hairs thickened on his arm, and his skin sagged a bit where the muscle once popped. The familiarity prickled my skin.

They were the same age, Ex and my father. And they still both wielded too much power over me. Without a gun, without the courage, I couldn’t fight someone like him off. I wasn’t brutal, I wasn’t strong, and I wasn’t prepared to endure another night trapped beneath a sadistic man while he punished me with whatever power he clung to.

So I wouldn’t.

I refused.

“Jesus Christ, Ex.” Luke hissed from behind a dark van. More men positioned behind it. “Let the kid go. She’s done nothing to you.”

“
Nothing
?” The gun accidentally bumped against my head. My heart stalled, and I clawed at his arm to free myself. “She stole our drugs. Lured ATF out. Delivered our stash to
Thorne
.” He snorted. “Unless you want to offer your ass in her place, Knight, you get that fucking bag.”

Exorcist pushed me toward a bike. He sneered.

“Get on. You’re driving.”

I shook my head. His breathing rasped in my ear.

“Don’t play coy. You can ride. Be glad it’s a bike and not my cock.”

If I got on the bike, I doubted I’d ever return. Exorcist would steal me away, leave Brew to die, and have Keep and Thorne killed.

He forced me to kidnap myself. To voluntarily escape and be lost within in underworld far darker and more dangerous than anything Anathema ever imagined.

No music. No safety. No Thorne.

I once thought I was living in hell. Now I’d die lamenting the loss of those demons.

At least I’d take him with me.

I stumbled as I climbed onto the bike, nearly casting the metal beast to the ground. Exorcist punished me for that. The gun slammed down between my neck and shoulder blade, replacing the sweet memory of Thorne’s kiss with jarring pain and the threat of more to come. He didn’t offer me a helmet, but Luke tossed his leather jacket.

“Aren’t you sweet.” Exorcist spat on the ground. “Maybe you do want to trade places.”

I bundled in Luke’s jacket. The leather would be my only protection against the wind, the road, and Exorcist’s snaking arm around my midsection. But Luke didn’t deserve my gratitude. Not when it was his threat that forced me into The Coup.

Exorcist held the gun, but it was Luke’s fault my brother suffered, bleeding and dying.

Sorceress’s front door crashed open. What remained of the wooden frame shattered off Thorne’s foot.

Silence descended. Not a hush. Not a pause. The crushing, suffocating silence that didn’t prevent noise but destroyed it.

Thorne stared out at the dozen men aiming their guns and wishing him dead. His dark hair hung loose, dripping with sweat and dirty with ash and soot, broken bits of wood and glass. A cut bled on his forehead. His jeans seared and burned. None of it mattered.

He might’ve been crippled and charred, bleeding and wheezing, but he’d still terrify every last man facing him.

“Ex.” He held his arms out. The two guns clutched in his hands clattered to the ground. “You want to settle this? Let’s settle it.”

Luke stepped forward. He didn’t lower his weapon. “Anyone else with you?”

“Just one. But she is armed and pissed, and she gets out of here without a fucking scratch, you understand me?”

Luke hid his relief in a shrug. “We don’t have a problem with Lyn.”

“You got a problem with Rose? You take it out on me.”

Prince Charming couldn’t help me, and neither could the Warlord. Exorcist jabbed the gun into my side. His voice rasped raw and demanding in my ear, a precursor of the nightmare to come.