by Tillie Cole
The room was deadly silent, and one by one every brother looked my way. “Styx—” Tank went to speak, but I shook my head at my best friend. I had to do this. I’d seen the looks I’d gotten from the brothers over these past few weeks. They suspected me. Not so much my own chapter, but the others. Every time there was an attack, I was asked how they would’ve known where we’d be. How many would’ve been there. Everything. Tank never got those looks. He’d paid his dues. Wasn’t coated in Nazi tattoos anymore, unlike me. As involved as Tank was, he hadn’t been born for the sole purpose of being the Ku Klux Klan’s heir. Raised to only champion the white race. In the Ayers household, the air we breathed was Klan and Klan alone.
I wanted to just cut tail and fucking leave all this shit behind, but I wasn’t gonna back down. All this? It was my fault. I’d created this. I had to fucking end it. Least I could do right now was try to save these men.
And I wouldn’t let them see me weak. I’d never fucking do that.
“It’s called the invisible empire,” I said, and could almost smell the lingering smell of smoke from a burning cross beside me. Could feel the air charged with the cause, the need for the race war to start. Like my old brotherhood had once looked to me, dressed in green robes and standing before the fiery cross, these brothers were looking at me too. But none like I was a fucking messiah. More like a suspect.
“Invisible because we exist where no one sees. No one knows who we are. We assimilate into society. We exist among you.”
“Y’all have flags outside your houses and giant swastikas tattooed on your skin.” Some of the brothers smirked. “Hardly invisible,” Smiler said.
“And they’re the ones you need to worry about the least.” I leaned on the table. My knuckles cracked from all the tension on my body. “As I’ve said before to my chapter, the rednecks and the skinheads who fight for fun and protest outside of town halls aren’t the ones you need to fear. They’re the show ponies, the distraction. They’re the waving hand, making you look one way while the real soldiers, the true army of the invisible empire, tear you down with the other.”
“I don’t fear none of you cunts,” Crow, the New Orleans president, said. The fucker was smiling, rolling the dice he always held in his hand.
“You should.”
Crow smirked. In fact, all the others did. It made my blood boil. The Klan—me, my brother, my father, my uncle—had worked all our fucking lives to make people think the way they did about us. To make us look a joke. But in secret we’d built the empire of thinking men. Of men and women who would allow the skinhead jokes to smash down your front door, while we, the true brotherhood, would sneak in through the window.
“We?” I followed the sound of the question to Hush. Cowboy had his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You keep saying we.”
I did? My heart fucking pounded. I hadn’t meant to say we. I didn’t think of myself as Klan anymore. Not at all.
“Them,” I rasped, feeling my stomach drop. “I meant them.”
Hush never moved his eyes from me. And I knew why. Bastards, shitty assfeeder members of the Klan, took out his folks. And he’d seen them die. Watched them burn. “Them,” I said again, all the fight draining from my body. “They are an organized unit . . .” I trailed off, stopping myself from telling them how they were so well trained. But what was the fucking point? Most of these brothers still thought me a Nazi anyway. Saw me as the White Prince no matter how much I tried to escape it.
“I taught them,” I said and felt Tank tense beside me. He loved this club. But he’d also kept a shit-ton back from them because of me. Never even told them who I was until some of my old brotherhood had taken Ky’s old lady back to the cult we used to work with. I knew he hadn’t wanted me to tell all these Hangmen that it was me who had crafted them into the men they were now. The fighters. And that it was Beau who had taken control where I’d left off and made them unstoppable. “I trained them up, along with some other ex-forces members. I made them who they are now.”
“Tanner. Think it’s best if you step outta church right now.” I looked at Ky. He wasn’t speaking for Styx. He was speaking for himself. Styx was just staring at me.
“Come on, Tann. Let’s go.”
Tank led me out to the hallway. His hand stayed on my shoulder until we got to my room and I slumped to the bed. My head dropped, and I stared at the wooden floor. There were years of marks on the grains, showing just how long this club had been around. How many brothers had passed through these doors? How many men with fucked-up pasts? Needing the outlaw life, too messed up to be normal.
“I don’t know how to do it,” I finally said. My voice sounded like a boom of thunder in the quiet room. I lifted my head to see Tank standing still. He ran his hand over his shaved head. I caught the shank scar. Remembered waiting for him outside of the prison when he got out. When he walked away from the Klan. I’d been so fucking angry at him. Turning on Landry in prison for some kid he’d roomed with who Landry planned to kill. I was so fucking mad that he was walking away from what we’d been building. Couldn’t understand how he’d lost faith in us—the motherfucking Ku Klux Klan.
His home. Our home.
“I don’t know how to put that life behind me once and for all . . . it always finds a way to catch me. No matter how fucking hard I try.”
Tank sighed, his shoulders dropping. I knew how to read my best friend by now. He was feeling sorry for me. I didn’t want his damn pity. I just needed to know how to move the fuck on. To be free. “It’s all I know. I was born, then crafted into the perfect White Prince. Beaten if I dared speak to someone outside of the white race. You know me, Tank. I was all in. Was made to not even entertain any other way of thinking.”
“I know.”
“I don’t believe the rhetoric now. I don’t.” Mi amor, forget what you’ve always been told and just feel . . . Adelita’s husky voice cut through my brain, and the dead feeling that had resided in my chest immediately warmed the fuck up. Just thinking about her dark eyes, her long dark hair . . . her voice, her hands on my chest when I needed her most . . . “I fucking don’t believe it.”
“You’re a Hangman now. Patched in.”
I nodded. “It’s so fucking hard.” I ran my hand over my stubbled chin. I squeezed my eyes shut. “And I’m at fucking war with my brother . . . and with the family the bitch I want more than anything works for. The bitch I fucking love . . . but haven’t seen in two years.” I sighed, feeling my damn throat clog. “Don’t even know if she still wants me.” I laughed to disguise the massive lump in my throat. “Why would she? She’s perfect, smart, funny. She’s everything. I’m the Klan heir. Or so she probably still thinks. I’m the fucking dirt on her feet. She’s better off without me.”
Tank came forward and kissed my fucking head. “Tann. I know you don’t think any of the Klan shit is true anymore—”
“The other brothers think I do,” I interrupted. “Maybe not our chapter. But you have to see how the others look at me.”
“Fuck ’em.” He sat beside me. “When I came here, it took me a while to get in with them. They didn’t trust me either. They’ll see in time.”
I turned to face Tank. “I don’t think I could kill him . . . if it came to it.”
“Beau?”
I nodded. “He’s the one leading the Klan now. He’s the one who’s coming at us.” I sucked in a breath. “Fuck, Tank. He’s the one who needs to be killed to really fuck up the Klan.”
Tank put his hand on my head in support, but didn’t say shit. What could he say? He knew it was true. My brother had to die. Tank got to his feet. “I need to get back to church.” He eyed me weirdly. “You gonna be okay? You want to stay with me and Beauty for a few days? Get away from this place?”
“Nah. Gonna contact my Klan mole and find out what the fuck is going on.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Tank left the room, and I went to my computer station at the corner of the room. I log
ged in to my email and sent a message to Wade.
What the fuck happened today?
I only had to wait a few minutes before he replied.
Been away, inner-circle shit. Just got back. Didn’t know they were planning anything. New Dragon took the lead. Ex-Marine. Knows his shit. I’m here for a while now unless your old man calls me away. I’ll keep my ear to the ground and give you a heads-up on anything new going down. I fucked up. Won’t happen again.
I stared at the email and wondered for the millionth time if I was being played. But Wade’s intel had come through too often for me to doubt him.
Finally, I wrote: Make sure it doesn’t.
The Hangmen were setting Wade up nicely in exchange for the intel. Money that could get him the fuck out when the time came.
My hands hung, frozen over the keys, before I finally lowered them and wrote: Beau still in charge?
My fucking heart beat like a damn bass drum in my chest as I waited for the email to come back.
Fucker’s hell-bent on destroying y’all. Never thought I’d see the day that Beau spoke more than a few words or stopped hiding away on his own. Now he’s like Hitler on crack . . .
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I couldn’t imagine it either. Beau was a hard bastard. Brought up the same as me. Ruthless. Smart, but much more reserved. As the second brother, he could afford to be. He was quiet. A thinker. But so fucking quiet that you never knew what he was planning.
He’s lethal, Tann. Fucking lethal. Whatever had been sleeping inside him all this time has woken the fuck up.
I read that email over and over, until I pushed my chair back and went to move away. But as I did, the necklace I kept in my jeans dug into my leg. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the golden cross. The tarnished gold barely caught the light. It was old . . .
I want you to have it, mi amor. I want you to keep it. Think of me. Even when you doubt how much I love you, look at this and know that I am thinking of you too. Missing you too . . .
I’d managed to stay away from a particular program on my computer for too long. And like a man in a desert, gasping for water, I let my fingers move over the keypad and pull up the screen. My hand fisted into a ball and I closed my eyes. I knew I shouldn’t press the key for “play.” But nothing was keeping me from her for a minute longer.
So I fucking pressed play.
The minute my gaze focused on the screen, my chest tightened, then ached like I’d taken a crowbar to the sternum. Heart pounding, I watched Adelita walk into the path of the camera. I froze, fucking froze as she turned, book in hand, and her face came into view. My lips parted and my breath shot out from my mouth. Adelita smiled at something she was reading, and my hand balled up again. Her golden cross stabbed into my palm, but I welcomed the pain. It was the only thing that made me feel like I was alive.
This, and her. Always fucking her.
Her dark hair hung down her back, and her big brown eyes were bright. Her skin, her body . . . everything was perfection.
I reached out with my free hand and ran my finger down the screen, over her face. Her lips. Those lips. I could taste her on my tongue, hear her fall apart as I took that mouth.
“Adelita,” I rasped. She turned at that moment, as though she could hear me. But she couldn’t. We hadn’t spoken for years; it had been too dangerous, too risky to her safety. But it didn’t mean she didn’t still own my dark heart. The bitch had it. Would be the only one who ever did. Without her I was dead inside, had been for two years without her. Two long fucking years without having her in my arms. Two years without contact. Wondering if she was still mine. But knowing, with every new day that passed, that I was no good for her.
She didn’t need me in her life.
We were at war.
She was beautiful, and she deserved someone who could give her more.
But even knowing that, I couldn’t walk away from her. I was a selfish prick like that.
I didn’t take my eyes off the screen. I didn’t move even as she moved out of shot. I watched the dark screen for any sign of movement until it was dawn . . . her golden cross still in my hand.
Chapter Two
Adelita
Mexico
The tap of a spoon on a champagne glass snapped me from staring, unseeing, at the roses in the center of the table. I blinked, the landscaped garden coming back into focus. Lights had been strung up around the veranda, and all of my papa’s associates sat around the long, extravagant table. I cast my gaze to Diego, who got to his feet—Diego Medina, my papa’s second in command, and the boy I had grown up with.
Diego smiled at the associates. He was dressed, as always, in an Armani suit, his crisp white shirt showcasing his light brown skin. His sky-blue tie sat perfectly over his chest. Of course my maid had dressed me to match—they always did, when my father ordered it. I wore a blue silk Armani dress that fell to my feet. My hair hung down my back in loose waves. I glanced at my papa’s newest girlfriend. She was dressed to match his tie too.
I fought the need to roll my eyes. We women were sitting as the perfectly crafted dolls my papa had made us into . . . a fact that grated on me every single day. Only, Charley Bennett, my best friend, grew as frustrated with this patriarchal way of life as me. Her father was in partnership with Papa. Mr. Bennett was the cocaine distributor for California. It was where they were from. I never got to see Charley nearly as much as I wished. Charley was sitting beside me in her pale pink dress which suited her blond hair, gray eyes and sun-kissed skin perfectly.
As the table hushed, Charley reached out and subtly took hold of my hand under the table for a few seconds before letting go. I cast her a discreet nervous glance. Her eyes widened in panic. Charley didn’t know about Tanner. But she knew I was being pushed toward Diego by my father. And she knew I didn’t love Diego, nor did I want him as more than a friend.
Diego cleared his throat, and I focused my attention back on him. His dark eyes quickly set on me. I froze, uncomfortable, when he didn’t look away. He smiled the smile I had seen countless women fall for over the years. The smile he had been giving me for years, but one I had managed to resist.
I gripped my champagne flute tighter, nerves suddenly accosting my body. “You all know me around this table. You all know me as Alfonso Quintana’s right-hand man. You know me as the man who would die for this family. Our businesses.” He paused, then turned his entire body to face me. I cast a quick, unsteady glance at my father. He was already watching me, a small, proud smile on his face.
A fire ignited in my blood and traveled directly to my heart. My heart raced in frantic, irregular beats when I realized what was happening . . . when I realized what Diego was about to do.
“What many of you don’t know is the man I am in private.” Diego’s head tipped to the side slightly as he looked at me adoringly. Lovingly. The same possessive look he had cast upon me from childhood. The grip on my champagne glass was the only thing keeping me from falling apart. From showing my nerves and my fear. But I was Adelita Quintana. I was my father’s daughter and could never, would never, show my fear to anyone. I had never let anyone see me vulnerable . . . except one man . . .
“What you haven’t seen are the years gone by where I have loved and adored a certain woman. A woman I’ve known since we were children. We were raised together.” He laughed and shook his head. “We played together . . . and in all that time she never noticed me. Not until six months ago when she finally agreed to dinner after thousands of refusals. And then we never looked back.” We had only ever kissed a couple of times, and even then, each second had felt like the worst kind of torture. I could no longer evade my papa’s greatest wish and Diego’s persistence. But as I kissed him that first time, I remembered the last kiss I received . . . one that I could still feel, imprinted on my lips like a brand. The mouth I could still taste. The strong arms and body of the man that lay above me . . .
But I’d had to pretend. Because no one knew who had sto
len my heart. No one knew who I had attached my soul to . . . even I didn’t know anymore. No contact for over two years. No word. I was empty inside. Dead. Only one man could bring me back to life.
A man I wasn’t sure still wanted me. A man I should never have loved, and who should never have loved me. But we did love each other . . . so very much.
Diego took a long breath, then addressed me directly. I fought the lump in my throat that had built just thinking of Tanner. Of his blue eyes and tattooed arms. I love you, princess . . . Never forget that, even when I’m gone from here . . . I’ll only ever protect you . . . I’m gonna find a way for us to be together . . . someday . . . no matter how long it takes . . .
“Adelita Quintana, I have loved you since I was old enough to understand what love was.” Diego walked toward me, placing his champagne glass on the table. He reached into his jacket and brought out a ring box. I stared at that black velvet box like it was the very thing that would destroy my soul. I felt Charley’s eyes burning into me, but I couldn’t look at her. I would fall apart if I did.
Eventually I looked up at Diego. He dropped to his knees, under the sparkling garden lights and with all my papa’s associates’ eyes fixed on us. My eyes pricked with tears, but I didn’t worry. The family here would put it down to emotion from this moment. And they were correct. But they were tears of sadness and frustration and fear. Not happiness and elation. My blood had turned cold, and the flicker of joy I occasionally felt had disappeared completely. I felt nothing but the gutting hole that was Tanner’s two years of silence and absence.
Diego dropped to his knee and opened the box. The massive diamond he was offering me glittered in the twinkling lights above. “Adelita Quintana, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
The air was sucked from my lungs as Diego’s question washed over me. The light wind around me seemed to freeze, as if God had pressed the pause button on the world just to hold me in this moment. My heart beat a rhythm that instructed me to refuse. To get up and walk out, leaving Diego with the ring he so proudly offered. But one subtle glance at my papa and I knew I could never do that. I couldn’t embarrass him that way.