Warlord (Anathema Book 1) (6 page)

“Okay,” I said.
“Let me go ask my brothers. I’m sure they’d love for me to keep you company.”

He paled. “Your
brothers?”

“Keep and Brew? 
I won’t be long if you want to wait.”

His hand popped
off the door quick enough to nearly smack me in the face. “Go right in. Sorry I
said anything. Just having fun, you know.”

“Of course you
were.”

The last time I
walked willingly into Anathema’s clubhouse, Brew and Keep were just members. Respected,
but they weren’t as important as Dad.

Things changed. Dad,
the Vice-President, went to jail for murder. The club split. Wars fought in the
streets. What might have weakened Anathema just made it more dangerous. Everyone
had something to prove, and they’d earn that respect with bullet casings and
ripped patches. And now, my brothers were in the middle of it all. Secretary
and Sergeant at Arms. I hated that responsibility and all the devils it
summoned—police, ATF, FBI, and every enemy of the club.

So why was I
proud of them for making it?

Just another way
the club twisted all our heads.

Keep maintained
his bar better than his body. He injected horrible drugs in his veins, but his
home didn’t reflect that vice. He replaced the tile floors with a lovely
hardwood, and he tore down the splintered clapboard walls for a more modern
feel. And open. The bar expanded into a seating area, surrounded by billiards
tables and dartboards.

Had it not been
filled with a half dozen burly men in leather vests, it might have passed for a
nice college hangout. Even the stripper poles, couches in the shadows, and
playboy posters on the walls weren’t as bad as what I expected from a biker
bar. Far more Whitesnake than Slayer.

“Sweet mother
Mary and Joseph!” A gruff voice strained by age and cigarettes chortled from
the bar. “It
can’t
be!”

The bar stool
squeaked as a lumbering man rolled from the plush leather and held his arms
out. I blushed. At least some of Pixie hadn’t changed.

“Is that little
Rose
Bud
?” Caleb “Scotch” Jones captured me in a hug. “I can’t believe it.
You’re all grown up now!”

Scotch squeezed
me a little too hard, but I didn’t complain. I owed my surrogate uncle and
godfather a hug. Probably more than one since the last time I saw him, during
Dad’s sentencing.

“It’s been a
while.” I silently counted the missed holidays. “About three years?”

“And about fifty
pounds.” Scotch patted his stomach and held me at arm’s length. “Look at you. A
proper lady now! So what the hell are you doing here?”

I blushed. “Just
a little business.”

“That is the
last thing a pretty lady like you should be doing. Your brothers know you’re
here?”

The door slammed.
Keep’s profanity echoed through the bar.

“Rose? What the
fuck
!”

I shrugged at
Scotch. “No?”

“You got a pair
of balls on you, girl.” He slapped my shoulder as Keep set his sights on me. The
cut squeezed tight over Scotch’s chest, the VP patch re-pinned on the leather
after returning from retirement. “You’re definitely Blade’s daughter, that’s
for sure.”

Keep’s shout for
Brew wasn’t a friendly announcement of my arrival. He pointed me to a table. The
handful of members at the bar bolted, sneaking away before getting caught in Brew’s
path.

“Your phone
broken?” Keep slammed a chair down beside me. “Pixie is not a place for a
visit. Not for a girl like you.”

I swallowed.
Keep might have looked out of place in the diner, but Pixie suited him. The
shaved head, the cut, the scowl. I never knew my brothers as children, they
were already men when I was born. But I saw pictures. Remembered how Mom talked
about them. Her sweet little boys didn’t grow up into gentle men. I twisted my
hands in my lap, and my stomach flipped as Brew barreled through the back door.

“Oh, this is
gonna be good,” Keep said. “Real good.”

The plan went
much better in my head.

“You want to get
passed around like some sort of whore?” Brew leaned over the table. “Or you
lookin’ to collapse some veins like your brother?”

“N—no.”

Keep grimaced,
but his voice softened. “Things changed, Bud. It’s not safe around here
anymore. We don’t want you getting hurt.”

I smiled. “Is
this where you say you’re not angry, you’re just disappointed?”

Brew snorted.
“No. We’re fucking pissed. You don’t know half of the shit that’s been going
on.”

And I didn’t
want to know. “This will only take a minute. Then I’ll leave. I promise.”

My brothers
leaned away, and I could breathe again.

Cold and
efficient. I tried to keep it as impersonal as possible, imagining the men
sitting across from me—intimidating me—as little more than patches on vests and
not the brothers who loved their little sister. My lip trembled before I spoke.

I tossed the
money between them. Keep and Brew stared at the envelope.

“I’m sorry I
asked for your help. It was a moment of weakness. I’m returning your money.”

Brew’s knuckles
cracked as he curled a hand into a fist. “Fucking hell, Rose.”

“I thought about
it after you gave it to me. I know you guys mean well. Sometimes. But I have to
do this my way.”

“Your way?” Keep
shrugged. “And what way is that?”

“I want to do it
on my own.”

Brew chuckled.
“One of these days you’re gonna get bucked off that high horse. And you won’t
like it when your ass smacks the ground down here with the rest of us.”

“That’s not
fair.”

“Why don’t you
tell us the real reason?” Brew bit back the aggression in his words as best he
could. He never was subtle. “Why are you here? All dressed up. Money in hand.
So upset you
had
to come to Pixie to give it to us right
now
.”

Keep counted the
money. “Today was your audition.”

My cheeks
warmed, but I preferred humiliation to tears. “It was.”

“And how did
that new guitar work out?”

“I didn’t get
the gig.”

They didn’t say
anything. I hated most silences. This one was the worst.

“This was a
mistake. The guitar. The money. Everything. And I have to make that mistake
right.”

Brew laughed. “Stop
being so goddamned sanctimonious. You think it’s our fault you didn’t get the
gig. You think that the money is somehow tainted because we earned it through
Anathema. It’s not good enough for you.”

“I didn’t say
that.”

“You meant it.”

“Brew—”

“Dad’s money fed
you. Clothed you. Put you in those fancy music lessons. What’s the difference?”

“I couldn’t
control how Dad got his money. I couldn’t even ask.”

“Bullshit.”

I wished the
harshness in my brothers’ voices rasped with anger. That my insinuations
somehow insulted them. But that wasn’t it at all.

I hadn’t seen
them for nearly six months, but they were still my brothers. Blood. They took
care of me, even if they showed it in the wrong ways.

And I hurt them.

It just wasn’t
fair to any of us.

“I can’t be a
part of this,” I said. “I’m on my own now, and Dad’s in jail. I can finally…get
away from it. For good.”

“What the fuck
are you talking about?” Brew asked. “We’re your goddamned family.”

“Anathema is
your family. Not me.”

“Bullshit.”

Keep tossed the
money onto the table. “That’s not even the right amount.”

Brew swore.
“You’re not helping.”

I stared at my
hands. “I know it isn’t the right amount. I still owe you two hundred dollars.”

“Jesus Christ,
Bud,” Brew said. “You don’t owe us a goddamned dime.”

“Please, let me
pay you.”

Keep elbowed
Brew’s side. “You hearin’ this? Our own little sister. Talking back to us.”

“I’m hearin’ it.
And I’m hopin’ to Christ Almighty I’m fucking hallucinating.”

I didn’t dare
look up from the table. Shame colored my cheeks. It was like I was five years
old again, dangling my legs at the dining room table with Mom passed out on the
couch and my brothers and father talking business, booze, and women in the
kitchen. I tapped my toes on the floor, just to make sure I hadn’t gotten lost
in the past.

My shoes grazed
hardwood. It was now or never.

“I pawned the
guitar.”

My brothers went
silent.

The calm before
the storm.

I tensed, but I
had nothing to hold onto except them, and I knew how it would end. I’d get
thrown clear, just like the last time I packed on a motorcycle and clung to the
driver. Everything with Anathema ended up bruised and dumped on the side of the
road. I was probably next.

“You
pawned
your guitar?” Keep leapt up. His chair careened behind him and crashed against
the pool table. “So now you have no money, no guitar, and you’re pissing off
the only fucking family you have left.”

“Don’t worry
about me. I’ll manage.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Brew rubbed his
forehead. “You pawned the guitar? Where?”

I didn’t like
the gravel in his voice. “At a…pawn shop?”

“
Which one
?”

“The one we
always used.”

Keep’s
profanities echoed throughout the bar, scattering the remaining men who thought
they could finish their drink while my brothers interrogated me. Brew stayed
quiet. That worried me even more.

“That’s…” Brew
slammed a hand on the table. “The worst thing you could have done.”

“Why?”

“That shop has
always been a front for Slick Eddie.” Brew frowned when I shrugged. “Eddie joined
with
Exorcist
.”

My stomach
turned. “He did?”

“And now you
just drove your little ass over to his shop, sold your guitar, gave him your
name, and stormed directly to Anathema’s clubhouse.”

“I—”

“Fucking hell.”
Keep curled his hands into fists but he couldn’t stop shaking. “Rose, you might
think you’re immune to all this. That you have nothing to do with Anathema, and
you can just live your life serving pie to retirees while singing show tunes on
the side. But you’re a
Darnell
. And that means you’ve got to use your goddamned
head.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Bud.” Brew
scowled. “I know you want this music career. And you want to do it by yourself.
I can respect that. And you’ll get it one day. But you can’t hide from the real
world. I’m not going to have my little sister killed in this war.”

“I not going to—”

“You’re done. I
don’t want to hear another word.”

“Brew—”

“I said
shut
it
!”

Brew flipped the
table, casting it into the nearby booths. I bit my lip to quiet my yelp, but I
knew better than to run from the chair.

My brother didn’t
want me killed in a gang war.

Probably because
he meant to kill me himself.

Fortunately,
Brew took a breath, calmed down, and kissed the top of my head.

“What the hell
is going on out here?”

I didn’t
recognize the feminine voice, but my brothers did. And they backed off.

A beautiful
blonde stalked the bar, the clip of her heels mirroring the disapproving scold in
her voice. Her three inch stilettos, black leather pants, and revealing corset gained
the attention of the room, but she owned more than just their approval. She had
their respect.

I didn’t know
any woman who had that power over Anathema. An hourglass figure couldn’t
control my brothers, but she couldn’t fit any weapons in her second skin of
stitched leather.

“It’s fine,
Lyn.” Brew righted the table before she even asked. “Just having a chat with
our sister.”

“It doesn’t
sound like a sweet family chat.” She tipped her head at me. Her blonde hair
bobbed over her shoulders. Golden and beautiful, but more noble queen than
gentle princess. “Are you okay?”

She couldn’t have
been much older than me, but she wasn’t anywhere near my brothers’ ages. I
didn’t have to ride with Anathema to know who she was. A woman that poised and
strong and working that much leather wasn’t a maid. Women like her hung out
around the club for only a few reasons, but none of them could talk to my
brothers like that.

I nodded. “I’m
okay.”

She glanced over
me, her pin-prickling gaze almost as bad as the combined glare from my brothers.
“So you’re Bud.”

“Just Rose now.”

“The musician?”