Warlord (Anathema Book 1) (28 page)

“I might need to
get some new strings,” she said.

“Whatever you
want.”

“Really?”

“It’s just a
couple strings.”

Rose’s fingers
tangled in the frets. She avoided my gaze and continued tuning.

“It’s more than
that.” She bit her lip, plumping it out like she meant to seduce me right there
in front of the rest of the club. Rose didn’t try it, but it wasn’t like an
audience stopped anyone in Anathema before. “Thank you, Thorne.”

I smirked before
I could prevent it. Didn’t know how I managed staying awake this long without a
shot. Gun or drink. I flagged down Keep for something—anything—from the bar. The
scruff on my chin grew in overnight. If nothing else I’d shave and aim for an
artery.

The diva being happy
made me suicidal. That was fucked up. But Christ. I wasn’t a monster. Of course
I wanted her to be happy. She was cute. Sweet. Had hips that wiggled with the
best dancers in Sorceress and the guts to hotwire a stolen motorcycle to save
that ass on her own. A woman like that deserved a beat-up guitar and sex that
left her voice smoky and rough.

Even an untuned
guitar in her hands sounded better than half of the shit in the jukebox. She
quietly hummed and winked. The next song popped on. Something Rolling Stones. She
played the solo by ear, earning applause from one of the prospects. I pointed
him back to his mop.

The minutes
passed. She didn’t ignore me. She just forgot I was there.

I had her every
attention last night, but lost it in a three chord progression. She loved the six
string as much as I loved six loaded chambers. Rose buried herself within the
guitar. Tuned the instrument to the exclusion of all else. I understood
intensity. I understood passion and the need to do what needed to be done. I’d break
a perfect girl’s heart as a sacrifice to my own obsession.

I understood why
I was so fucked up. But no one, not even Rose’s brothers, thought to find out
what happened to her.

I wished I
hadn’t guessed.

Rose
deliberately ignored Keep. He offered me a shot glass of everything and
anything amber he stocked behind the shelves, and then he got lost. About the
best thing I could say about the man lately.

“Last night...”
I said.

Rose paled. She
strummed a bad note. She flinched, but she pretended to shrug. Like the sound
didn’t matter. Like it hadn’t killed her in imperfection.

“I didn’t use
anything.”

The implication
held in the air. Rose glanced at me. She didn’t get it. I tightened my jaw.

“Any
protection
.”

“Oh.” She
swallowed. Her fingers tickled over the strings. “That’s okay.”

I tilted my head.
I was smarter than that with women. Usually I discarded them with the condom. Rose
fiddled with the guitar and started another song.

“No, it’s not,”
I said. “I don’t want it to be a problem.”

“It won’t be.”

I waited. She
did too. The guitar twanged.

It wouldn’t
survive the afternoon.

“Maybe you’re
remembering what happened last night a little differently.”

Rose flushed.
She whispered, checking over my shoulder to ensure Keep didn’t listen from the
bar.

“I’m on the pill.”

“You’re on the...”
I leaned away. “Why the hell are you on the pill?”

“What?”

I held her gaze.
“You were a virgin.”

She didn’t blink.
“I didn’t think I had to explain women’s anatomy to you.”

“I’m all ears,
sweetheart.”

“It does other
things. I’ve been on it for a long time, okay?  Lots of girls are, even if
they’re...”

“Virgins.”

“Y—yeah.”

The encore smile
faded from her lips. She doubled her efforts on the guitar. I couldn’t hear the
notes. The blood rushing in my ears muffled everything but the roar of my rage.
I had no doubt she considered herself a virgin, but neither of us were idiots. I
counted the hours she had been gone, kidnapped by Ex. She didn’t say anything
about what happened, but he beat her up pretty good. Tore her dress. Left her
terrified.

It’d be a
pleasure to finally kill that son of a bitch, but it’d take all my willpower to
not immediately follow him to hell so I could torture him for all eternity.

“You didn’t
bleed.”

I don’t know why
I said it. Why I felt like cutting her open just to gut out her nightmares. I did
it anyway. Wasn’t like it’d be the worst thing I did to her.

“I didn’t...
bleed
?”
Rose gripped the guitar until her fingers turned white. I didn’t get any blood
on my cock last night, but I’d get plenty on my table when she sliced her hand
on the guitar strings. “Are you
serious
?”

“I just
thought—”

“A lot of girls
don’t...” The embarrassment choked her. “I didn’t realize you’d want to toss
the sheets out the window and declare your victory like some medieval king.”

“It’s not that.”

“Look, some
girls break their...” She blushed a furious crimson. “You can lose it horseback
riding or playing a sport or, I don’t know, riding on the back of a motorcycle
for all your teenage years.”

“So that’s what
happened?”

“What else would
have happened?”

I didn’t speak. Neither
did she. But Rose cracked first. It wasn’t the victory I wanted. She wound
tight and looked for any excuse to dodge my gaze and skip out of the booth. She
could run or cry, but neither would get her very far. I wasn’t used to people
lying to me. Especially women.

But when did I
ever let a woman close enough to care what the hell she said, even if it was a
lie?

My temper was
not something Rose should’ve fucked with.

And Rose was not
a girl anyone, ever, should have hurt. That privilege belonged to me, and, if I
had it my way, I’d be the only one who would destroy her.

“Are you going
to play or not?” I tossed my drink back.

Rose slowly
untangled her fingers from the strings. “Do you want me to?”

“Liked what I
heard at your gig.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I
shifted in the booth. “Play now. Second showing for Keep.”

Her eyes
narrowed on her brother. He pushed another beer toward Gold. If Rose could have
shattered the bottle with her stare, Keep would have been shredded.

“He doesn’t
deserve it,” she said. “But I’ll play a song for you. Any requests?”

The smile
returned. I didn’t realize how much I feared I lost it until she flashed the
timid smirk at me again. My heart hardened more than my cock.

“You need to forgive
him.”

The strings
squealed under her hand.

“
Forgive
him?” She spoke a little too loudly. Her cheeks flared, but not in shame. “He
skipped my gig to get high, then almost OD’d while I was
kidnapped
. Why would
I ever forgive him?”

She had a point.
If everything in Anathema hadn’t depended on her patching things over with her
traitor, junkie brother, I’d have agreed.

“He’s your brother,”
I said. “Brew too. Neither of them wanted anything bad to happen to you.”

“Yeah, well. A
lot of bad things did happen.” She focused on the guitar. “I can play anything
from Clapton to Katy Perry.”

“Do it for me.”

“I don’t know
that song.”

I sighed. “Make
up with them for me.”

“Why?”

“They’re my
brothers too.”

She laughed. “You
can have them.”

“They’ve been
good to you.” I sipped my whiskey, but I didn’t know any snakes in the grass
that could hold their alcohol. “They wanted to help with the music. And they
gave you money.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

I held her gaze.
“Make me understand.”

She sagged
against the booth. The guitar went silent.

“Brew is
obsessed with everything Anathema. That’s his addiction, and he’s every bit as
strung out as Keep. I don’t know which one will die first, but the drugs and
the club will kill them both.” She buffed the guitar with her sleeve. “I can’t
watch it happen.”

“You really
think that?”

“I know it.”

“Keep’s been
fucked up for a while.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why do you think
he’s shooting up again?”

“I hoped you’d tell
me that.” She stared at the guitar. “I haven’t been around for a while.”

“It’s not a
cheap habit.”

“I don’t think
Keep worries about money.”

“Why?”

“He always has
it.”

“Think he’s
skimming from Pixie?”

She frowned. “No?
Who said that?”

I shook my head.
“Just trying to figure it out.”

“You and me
both.”

“All the more
reason to make peace when you can.” The words were just as much a poison as
whatever Keep used to get himself off. “You can stop him from hurting himself.”

“Only Dad has
that power.”

“Maybe he’d have
some idea.”

“I need to play
a song.” Rose slipped from the booth. “
Want
to play. I
want
to
play a song.”

She panicked. I
swore. Not what I needed.

“But you’re
right,” she said. “He’s my brother. I should...help him.” She twirled the
guitar in her hand and called for her him. “Keep?  Do you still have your
harmonica?”

Keep groaned. She
pouted. It worked, and I was glad she aimed the lip away from me.

“Upstairs on my
desk.” Keep rubbed his face. “What the hell are you going to make me do?”

“Billy Joel?”

“Aw, Bud, come
on.”

“
Please
?”

He waved her
away. She grinned and handed the guitar to me, hopping up the stairs to his
room. Keep poured himself a tall glass of something and mixed it with something
even stronger. Gold laughed from the bar.

“She’s got you
tied around her little finger,” Gold teased.

“Yeah. More than
just me.” Keep tossed his drink back as he eyed me. “Except I know how to keep
her happy.”

“Oh, I made her
very happy.” I winked.

Whatever drugs
fizzled his brain hadn’t destroyed his common sense yet. He didn’t take the
bait, just frowned downed the rest of his drink.

Rose stormed
down the stairs, and her irritation crested as Keep held his hands up in
surrender. He gestured for her to toss the harmonica. She pitched it at his
head instead and broke a glass behind him. He swore and bent under the counter
to pick it up.

She angled away
from him, her voice soft as she took the guitar.

“You were right.”

I couldn’t tell
if it was frustration or genuine heartbreak aching within her words.

“He does need
help. I just don’t know what to do for him.”

I frowned. “What
do you mean?”’

She tossed the
little packet on the table. The meth bounced toward me.

Red
.

“Maybe we can do
an intervention?” She didn’t want to beg, but the tremble of her lip screamed
for help. “He’ll listen to you. You’re his president. More family than me at
this point.”

I took the drugs.
Curled the baggie into my hand.

Red meth.

Ex’s newfound
stash. His drugs, sitting at
my
table, touched by
my
Rose.

Keep called for Rose
and brayed a bad melody on the harmonica. Rose covered her ears, but Keep wiped
his mouth and started again. The smooth, jazzy notes dueled with her gentle
guitar. He danced around beside her, earning a reluctant smile that blended
into a beautiful laugh.

She wanted me to
help her big brother. Save him. Ease her conscience and keep her family as
whole as one dead druggie mother, one convict father, and a traitorous brother
could be.

She sang her
heart out. Sweet, perfect melodies that filled the club with more warmth than
it deserved.

Keep made a deal
with Ex. Sold his soul, his club, and his sister for a pocketful of meth and
the blood of every last fallen brother who died as a result of this godforsaken
club.

She was right. I
was his president. His family.

I’d also be his
murderer.