Warlord (Anathema Book 1) (30 page)

“You really are
a monster, aren’t you?”

“If it keeps you
safe then I am every monster under your bed, demon in your closet, and intruder
at your fucking door.”

“I want to
leave,” I whispered.

“This is for
your own good.”

No one ever
acted
for my own good
, and if they said they did, they were lying. Rule
number one in Anathema. The club came first. Not little Rose Bud. Not even if
she needed help.

“You’ve done
nothing but try to control every aspect of my life since I got here,” I said. “And
guess what?  I’m no safer with you than I am on my own.”

“I’m keeping you
alive.”

“Oh, you’re doing
a dynamite job.”

The metal in his
eyes flashed, the strike of the hammer against the pin. “Watch your fucking
mouth.”

“Or what?” I
pointed to the bed. “You’ll hit me?  Rape me?  Hold me here against my will
until I tell you every last secret I’ve been hiding from you?”

“That’s a
start.”

“Jesus.” My
nails dug into my fists. “If my brothers knew what you were doing...”

He laughed. “What
the fuck do you know about your brothers?”

“They don’t
treat me this way.”

“You
really
think they give a fuck about you?”

My stomach
dropped. “Of course they do.”

“You’d be
surprised.”

“What does that
mean?” I asked. He didn’t answer. I hid my trembling with curled fists. “Why
are you being so cruel?  You’re the one who said they wanted what was best for
me.”

“I lied.”

The world fell
away, and the silence of his admission rang in my ears.

“I don’t
understand.”

He shook his
head. “You don’t have to.”

“You...you told
me to forgive them.”

“So I could keep
you close to them.”

“What are you
talking about?”

Thorne bit
whatever profanity he wanted to utter and instead studied me with hardened,
cruel eyes. The gaze of a monster. The brutality of the scarred demon on his
cut and the darkness of every last band of ink lashing his body.

“One of your
brothers is a traitor,” Thorne said. “And you’re going to find out which one it
is.”

A traitor?  I
fell against the wall. I accidentally kicked the guitar case left by the bed. The
metal edge struck my ankle. A line of blood tickled over my foot.

It wouldn’t be
the only blood he wanted spilled.

“My brothers
aren’t traitors.”

“One is.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Not about
this.”

“Then you’re
insane.”

“One of your
brothers is feeding Exorcist information about Anathema. Our locations. Our
plans.” His eyes narrowed. “Everything.”

I sucked in a
breath but it choked in my throat. My lungs begged to scream. Nothing came out.
Not a sound. Not a note. Not even a broken, raw burst of pain.

“You slept with
me,” I whispered. He said nothing. “You slept with me to get information.”

He didn’t
answer, and every last memory of pleasure and sweetness erupted into agony.

I didn’t think
anything could hurt worse than what happened to me, than what
he
did to
me.

But this was
worse. I trembled against my retching stomach. Thorne fucked me. Used me. I
wracked my brain, trying to remember something,
anything
, that might
have explained why he accused Brew or Keep of disloyalty. Nothing made sense. I
shook my head.

“I am not going
to rat on them,” I whispered. “I’m not going to let you hurt them.”

“Why?” Thorne’s
voice hardened. “You think Exorcist would have targeted you if one of your
brothers wasn’t fucking with The Coup?  He kidnapped you. Beat you.” His voice
burnt in the fire of his rage. “Hurt you. And it was because of either Brew or
Keep.”

“You’re insane.”

“You aren’t safe
with them,” Thorne said.

“I’m not safe
with
you
!”

“If you help me,
you will be. If you figure out who it is, I can stop Exorcist and protect you.”

Christ, if he
only knew. He was too fucking late for any help. Exorcist had his own agenda,
and it already included me.

If he had one of
my brothers working for him, Ex wouldn’t have needed me, a Darnell, to go
chasing after Temple’s drugs on behalf of my father.

My stomach
threatened to curdle and give me away. Exorcist didn’t care what Thorne did or
threatened. Nothing would stop his alliance with Temple.

And now, I had
no one left to tell. The only man who might have helped me, might have been
able to guide me or protect me or figure out how to keep me alive long enough
to form a plan never cared about me at all.

The vow to keep
me safe. The guitar. The sex.

It meant nothing
to Thorne. It was just a way for him to control me. To get me to spy on Keep
and Brew, report their behavior, and watch as the club president maintained
Anathema’s order with a bullet to the head of one of my brothers.

“I’m leaving.”

Thorne shrugged.
“Where are you gonna go?”

“As far away
from you as I can get.”

I struggled to
slip into my clothes while Thorne watched, a smug, knowing smirk poisoning his
face as he glimpsed a part of me he had no right to see or touch or experience.

I shouldered my
purse, pocketed my phone, and stalked from his room.

“Don’t forget
your guitar.”

Jesus Christ. “Keep
it.”

“It was a gift.”

“Like I’d ever want
anything from you.”

“You never know.”
His voice riled with scorn. “Might need to pawn it someday.”

I wanted to
shove the guitar down his throat. Instead my fingers curled uselessly around
the case’s handle. He followed me.

And my brothers,
Scotch, Gold, and half a dozen other men loitered in the bar below. He shouted
for one of the prospects as I stormed to the door. The exit closed in my face. I
swore.

“You can’t keep
me here,” I said.

I didn’t care
how many people saw my braless chest under the shirt, my mussed hair, or Thorne’s
low-hanging jeans. My head pounded, and I fought the urge to claw at the metal
until I forced my way out of Pixie, away from Thorne, and ran right into the
danger of Exorcist’s palmed blade. The scream knotted inside my chest. It
didn’t matter what I did. Either Thorne would try to kill my brothers, or
Exorcist would mow down everyone in Anathema.

It wasn’t danger
anymore. Certainty would spill blood. Mine. My brothers’.

Thorne’s.

My heart ached
like someone already slashed through it.

It served me
right. Lyn warned me at Sorceress. If I wanted out, I needed to run as far from
Thorne and Anathema as I could get.

Except it didn’t
matter now.

Nothing mattered
now except buying time. Doing what I was told to prevent the gun from firing
before I was ready.

The crowded bar
parted for Thorne. I wished I matched the violence in his gaze. The hardness. I
faked it, but no one—especially my rent heart—believed me.

“I’m leaving,” I
said again. “You’ll have to hurt me if you want to stop me.”

“Haven’t I hurt
you enough?”

“You have no
limit to your cruelty.”

“You’re probably
right,” he said. “But I regret it.”

He grabbed my
arm. Hard. I yelped and fought, but his grip bruised right above my elbow. He
wrenched me away from the door. I flailed back.

“What the fuck!”
Brew rushed at us from the bar. He ripped me from Thorne and pushed him into
the wall.

Brew blazed in a
summoned rage. For the first time in weeks, the gray seemed to disappear from
his hair and the lines toughened around his eyes. I tensed. Thorne grunted, but
he didn’t fight the slam against the wall.

“You lay a hand
on my sister again, and I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

Thorne’s eyes
focused on me. “I’m sure you’d love to try.”

The sickness
rose again, and the little hairs on my neck prickled to attention. I grabbed at
Brew, pulling him from Thorne with every last reserve of my strength. I could
hardly move the bull of a man, and he pointed me to the door.

“You want to
leave?” Brew said. “Go. This fucking game is over. No one’s gonna hold you here
against your will.”

Finally, my
brother came to my rescue, but I feared what he had done to free me.

And I feared
what would happen now that I was free to leave.

The family
restaurant was far too public a place to orchestrate a drug deal. Then again,
everyplace was too public for me. In the twenty minutes it took for me to drive
from Pixie to my apartment and change, I worried anything would happen. That Thorne
could order Anathema to follow me. That Exorcist’s men would be waiting in my
closet.

I couldn’t guess
what to expect. I only wanted to live long enough to somehow explain it to my
brothers. To apologize. To earn their forgiveness, even if I didn’t deserve it.

I smelled like Thorne.
I tried to bubble bath away his scent in a quick shower, but I couldn’t wash away
his touch. His betrayal. The warm hands that had caressed my face, tickled my
sides, and gripped my hips should have just strangled my throat and been done
with it.

I waited outside
the restaurant and listened to the radio, grateful for the tribute to psychedelic
rock that calmed me with familiarity. It wasn’t like I understood how any of
this was supposed to go down. Whatever crimes my family committed weren’t
exactly talked about at the kitchen table. I drummed to the Rolling Stones and
prayed my stomach wouldn’t give out on me before one of the four horsemen
arrived to deliver me to the underworld.

But it wasn’t a rider
of the apocalypse.

It was the
Prince Charming of somebody else’s fairytale.

The motorcycle
pulled up alongside my car. I recognized it before the rider. I didn’t
appreciate bikes much, but I’d always hold a special place for the one that
saved my behind.

Luke removed his
helmet and untangled his long legs from the bike. He gave me a storybook grin.
It might have won me over if the last time I saw him hadn’t been with his gun aimed
at Thorne.

But I didn’t owe
my allegiance to Thorne anymore. My head understood.

My heart wouldn’t
keep up.

Luke dropped a
book bag at my feet but didn’t mention the
thunk
that accompanied it. I
said nothing. His dragon-slayer blue eyes gave me a wink.

“Morning, Rose.”

“Let’s just get
this over with.”

Luke looked over
my shoulder and nodded toward the restaurant. “Let me buy you breakfast.”

Not what I was
expecting. Not what I’d
ever
consider doing.

“Breakfast?”

“You want
something to eat?” He asked.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m always serious
about pancakes.”

I ducked as a
blue sedan pulled into the lot behind us. A family of five emerged from the car
and headed into the diner. They didn’t notice us, but I regretted wearing pink
nevertheless. There was probably a reason why the MC always wore leather or
black.

A raggedy Aerosmith
tee shirt and jeans wouldn’t single me out on a college campus, but I had no
idea how Temple or The Coup planned to do a major drug deal in the middle of
the day. The police weren’t the problem though. Had they been a real threat, my
family would’ve held game night behind bars years ago. But it wasn’t just
Anathema we needed to worry about.

Anyone could be
watching.