Warlord (Anathema Book 1) (32 page)

And how to talk.

And how to
breathe.

My mouth dried,
and I gulped down half the glass of ice water. The chill nauseated me. I
wondered how fast I could make it to the bathroom, and how quickly the agents would
pull their guns when I bolted.

“Thank you for
joining us, Rose.” Agent Greene smiled. If Lyn were a snake, the ATF agent was
some sort of jackal. A grinning, scavenging dog that would sooner tear my
throat out than earn a pat on the head. “Or do you prefer
Bud
?”

Even they learned
the nickname. I wished everybody would stop using it.

“Rose is fine.”

“Good.”

I shifted
against the seat. “What’s this all about?”

“Right to
business.” Agent Greene sipped her water. “Well, to be honest, Rose, we just
wanted to see how you were.”

“I don’t
understand.”

Agent Wright
pulled a newspaper clipping from his pocket. “Are you okay? That was quite an
adventure you had a few nights ago.”

I stared at the
article. The headline wrote a bad pun for the warehouse fire. It didn’t talk
about who was trapped inside, but it mentioned the damage. And it included an
interview with locals who spoke of motorcycles and gunfire before the blaze
broke out. I scanned the words, twice, since I didn’t trust my watering eyes.

My name wasn’t
in the article. Neither was Anathema’s. Small favors.

“I don’t
understand,” I said again. “What does this have to do with me?”

Agent Greene
narrowed her eyes. “Do you know anything about this fire?”

“Why would I know
anything?”

“Because you
were trapped inside when it began,” she said. “Maybe you don’t remember. It was
a long night, after all. What with your debut performance and then the
kidnapping. Must’ve been exhausting.”

I stared at my
glass of water. Counted the ice cubes. It wasn’t often words couldn’t escape my
mouth. I was used to singing, performing, entertaining people. The only time I
embraced silence was around my father.

And now was the
time for silence.

I knew what Keep
would do, but I doubted flicking off the Feds, overturning the table, and
threatening their lives would be very effective or menacing coming from me.

Brew’s
alternative wouldn’t be any better. He didn’t need theatrics to intimidate. My
oldest brother would only need a single look, and the Feds would shut their
mouths. Permanently, if they kept pressuring him.

I had no idea
how Thorne would react. But every trembling muscle, blinding thought, and
raging heartbeat punishing me for leaving Pixie wished that he would storm
through the door and rescue me. Again. Like he always seemed to do when the
guns loaded and the fires erupted.

“Now this fire
happened in a special location,” Agent Greene said. “Did you know that particular
warehouse was one of the meeting places for a new charter of the motorcycle
club, Anathema?”

“Oh.” She tested
me. The Coup was not Anathema, but that wasn’t my battle to fight.

“It seems
strange such an important location would burn to the ground.”

“I guess so.”

“Rose.” Agent
Greene held my gaze. She might have been a pretty woman if she let down her
hair, lost the badge, and did a few twirls around one of Lyn’s poles. “If you
help us, we can help you.”

“I don’t need
any help.”

“I think you do.
I think you know exactly why that warehouse burned down. You’re protecting the
men who nearly killed you.”

“This all sounds
kinda silly.”

Agent Greene
sighed. Her partner nodded.

The waitress
brought us the pancakes, but the sugary halo turned my stomach more than their investigation.
Both of the agents ate. Like they hadn’t asked me any questions. Like they
actually thought they’d flash their badges and then dig into a big breakfast
after trying to earn a confession about Ex. They’d try to make me set of Thorne
before their second cup of coffee.

“You’re not hungry?”
Agent Greene asked. “It might help to jog your memory.”

“Thank you,” I
said. “But I’ve already eaten.”

“You make it so
hard to believe you.”

Since when was breakfast
cruel and unusual punishment? I never thought of pancakes as torture, even if
Keep’s cooking turned french toast batter into cement. At least he never forced
me to eat it.

 “I think you
have me confused with somebody else,” I said. “I’m not sure how I can help
you.”

“You can,” she
said. “But I don’t think you want to. You’re protecting your club, even though
our intelligence indicates you stayed separate from Anathema.”

Common knowledge.
There was a reason women wore property patches or pole danced instead of riding
bikes and doing deals. I didn’t answer. She smiled

“And now?  You’re
seen wandering in and out of Pixie. Visiting your brothers. Singing pretty
little songs in dive bars. Protecting Anathema. Protecting The Coup.”

I forced my best
smile. I doubted it’d convince them.

“I’m not protecting
anybody. If the club needs muscle, they’re certainly not hiring their little
sisters to watch over her brothers.”

Agent Greene
took a big bite of her pancake, chewed, and covered her mouth with a napkin as
she spoke. Her fingers tickled her glass of water.

“Does this have
anything to do with your father getting out of jail?”

Her words
muffled into abject cacophony. A jumble of noises, sounds, and tinny screeches
that echoed within the chasm of my fear.

I stared at her.
Both agents continued eating. The syrup dripped over the sides of their plates.
Sticky. Thick. Coating everything.

Absolutely
revolting.

I vowed never to
eat pancakes again.

“What did you
say?” I whispered.

Agent Greene nodded,
guzzling more water. “I asked if your reluctance had anything to do with your
father getting out of prison.”

“My father isn’t
getting out of prison.” I hid my trembling hands before I bent my fork into a
knot. “He has another twenty years to serve. Your agents pushed for the maximum
sentence. And you got it.”

I didn’t admit
how relieved I was when the term was settled. Agent Greene nodded.

“But his parole
hearing is coming up.”

“He doesn’t have
a parole hearing. Not for many more years.”

“Sure, he does.”
She nudged her partner. Agent Wright pulled a folder from his briefcase and
passed it over the table. I didn’t dare touch it. “This was pushed through
within the past week. I thought it was a little soon, but our justice system
does try to rehabilitate even the most heinous of criminals.”

“You’re going to
let him out of jail?” I would’ve lived life as a mute if it meant I never had
to ask that question again. “
Why would you let him out of jail
?”

“Oh, it isn’t
done yet.” Agent Greene offered me a smile. “His case needs to go before a
judge. If, for any reason, we can find a reason to keep him
in
jail,
he’ll stay behind bars.”

Agent Wright cut
into another slice of his pancakes. He ate with his fork upside down. It was
European or just weird. I couldn’t watch him stuff his face. I had to get out
of the diner.

“Someone’s
really
pushing for him to get out.” He shrugged. “And it’s not his lawyer. Seems like
some of his old friends might have gotten a little lonely while he was incarcerated.
If they talk to the right people, do the right favors, it wouldn’t be too hard
to get him out on the streets. Jails are overcrowded these days. No one wants
to babysit a sixty something old man with sagging ink. Much easier to let him
out. To let be with his family.”

My legs didn’t
work, or I would have already run for the car, taken the money, and put as much
distance between me the valley as possible. Agent Greene pushed away her plate.

“You don’t seem
happy about this.”

I tried to think
of a way out. My mind blanked. Silent. Horrified.

“My father and I
didn’t have the best relationship.”

“That’s
unfortunate. A girl should always have a father.” She leaned closer. “Unless,
of course, she has good reason to want him in jail.”

I didn’t trust
myself. I ground my jaw hard enough to ache my teeth. She pulled an envelope
from her pocket and passed the contents to me. I didn’t need to look at the
glossy picture. Though the edges were burned, I feared the memory would survive
Exorcist’s destroyed warehouse.

That kind of
vulgarity and cruelty couldn’t be purged by fire. Not when it already came from
hell.

“Rose,” Agent
Greene said. “Looks like we found a family heirloom at the warehouse.”

“I don’t know
what you’re talking about.”

“It’s time to
start cooperating. I don’t care what you were doing in the fire, what or who
you’ve been doing in Anathema, or why you pissed off The Coup. But you can
prevent a breach of justice.”

“I can’t.”

“If you can tell
me what this picture is, I can promise that Blade Darnell will be kept in
prison.”

My voice
trembled and faded with tears. “Please.”

“Why didn’t you
have a good relationship with your father?”

“I want to
leave.”

“What did he do
that scares you so much?”

“Thank you for
breakfast, but I have to go.”

“Rose, wait.”
Agent Greene dropped the edge in her voice. Her eyes warmed with genuine
compassion. She shook her head and urged me to stay. “We can help you.”

“No, you can’t.”
I stood and shouldered the backpack that delivered me to my death slowly,
without the added haste of someone ratting on one of the most powerful, most
influential, and most dangerous members of the original Anathema. “If you want
to keep my father in prison, do your job. If you want to get me killed, by all
means, keep asking questions. I won’t live long enough to answer them, and you know
it.”

“What happened
to you—”

“Is none of your
concern. And it has nothing to do with Anathema.” I stared her down. “Thank you
for the breakfast.”

I didn’t let
them answer, and I prayed they wouldn’t follow. I wasn’t lucky as a child, but
I needed to be lucky as an adult. Exorcist, Temple, ATF, and Anathema were all
watching, waiting, and all eager to catch me in a mistake. I tightened the
straps on my bag and raced to my car.

I was out of
options.

I was out of
hope.

And I was far
from anyone who might have rescued me.

But that didn’t
matter. I had the money, and I was getting the drugs, and I was going to save
my brothers.

If only because
no one else could save me.

My car started. I
braced for the
tick-tick-tick
of a bomb.

Nothing exploded.

I think I was
disappointed.

I made it out of
the diner. A solid first step. Now I only needed to exchange Ex’s money with
Temple’s drugs and escape before ATF hauled me in for questioning, Anathema
found me, or Thorne’s betrayal finally broke me down.

I never did
allow myself to cry. About anything. And when I should have wept, when I should
have screamed and shouted for help, I was given a guitar on my sixteenth
birthday to keep quiet.

And it worked.

Keep and Brew were
right. Everything in my life revolved around music. I lived only for the
opportunity to pick up my guitar.

But what they
thought was obsession was really my salvation. They cleansed their sins in
blood. The cut was their shroud, and their hymn the rumble of their engines.
The awful things they did for Anathema found absolution within their
brotherhood.

I didn’t have
that.