by Lana Grayson
What I wouldn’t give to make her my greatest mistake and biggest weakness. Men didn’t get chances with her—they earned her respect. But she thought she was indestructible. A woman like her didn’t wilt like a flower, she fragged like a grenade. Two nights ago was the first time I saw her bleed, and that image plagued me more than the promise of what she hid beneath a powder pink robe.
She didn’t realize the danger she was in. She refused me, but she wasn’t getting rid of me. Not until I handled Anathema and Temple and made sure she was safe.
And if that included dropping the cut and taking a sedan out for a drive at eleven o’clock on a random-ass Wednesday to spy on Anathema, all the better.
I wasn’t planning on taking a bullet for Lyn—I’d do whatever I could to prevent the gun from firing.
The highway cleared late at night. It was easy for me to drop under the speed limit as the headlights of five motorcycles filled my rearview mirror.
Even reduced in numbers, Thorne managed his men with discipline. Five bikes flanked an unmarked truck, carefully guarding whatever contents they packed inside. Cigarettes. Electronics. Anathema never had a path to get into the harder trades. The opportunity for drugs and guns died with Blade.
I wore a hat, but my blood pressure spiked as the bikes thundered beyond the sedan’s window.
I recognized my brothers. Thorne led the pack. Ace and Tanner flanked the truck, part of Gold’s crew. Gold rode next to Thorne, and he was just as much a problem for The Coup as the president. Priest had a hard-on for Gold, and it wouldn’t end well.
Reaper rolled behind the truck. I didn’t trust that motherfucker without Grim to balance him out. Before the war, they shared everything—mentalities, kills, money, women. Separating them was like splitting a fucking atom. We were lucky they hadn’t lost their shit yet.
I couldn’t see the driver. I had to try my luck. Their truck took time to get to speed, and my sedan had enough horsepower to make a mess of things. I slowed enough to glance in the cabin.
Bad decision.
Gold’s boot connected with my door with an angry profanity.
I jerked the wheel and braked, letting them pass. He hadn’t recognized me, only meant to scare off any civilians who got too close, but I saw all I needed.
A fucking prospect drove the truck.
Anathema was down one important officer for the night. My fingers twisted over the wheel.
Where was Keep Darnell?
It was too easy for my thoughts to turn on a man I once considered a friend. Then again, perspectives shifted once the cut fell and the scarred demon feasted on those who had revered it.
Blade Darnell was dead. His eldest son followed, courtesy of Thorne. Brew wasn’t disloyal, but his bond to his broken family was a noose he tied around his own neck. He didn’t know about his father’s abuses before he did everything he could to get him out of jail. By the time Brew learned the truth, Thorne sniffed out his rat, and I lost the one connection I had to Anathema that could protect both clubs from total annihilation.
Most likely, Keep would be bitter about losing his brother. Seemed even more possible he’d be looking to avenge his little sister’s honor by killing his father.
The letter wasn’t delivered with a clear motive, but shit added up, especially since I knew which dark corners to search and how a jaded man looking for revenge tended to think.
Keep couldn’t get revenge on Thorne for killing his brother—not without destroying Anathema and breaking Rose’s sweet little heart. He might have looked to me to do it for him.
Fucked up family. Fucked up club.
Christ, another war wouldn’t solve anything. If Keep was thinking of turning, he kept it quiet. But that junkie had a loud mouth and shaky hands. He killed for a lot less than protecting his family.
I pulled the car off the nearest exit and circled to the safer side of the city, beyond the river and into Coup territory. My apartment was a one-bedroom piece of shit surrounded by warehouses and abandoned storefronts. Wasn’t the pristine, beautiful slice of Heaven Lyn bought.
Not enough laps existed in the Valley for a girl to grind her way into that penthouse. I always heard Lyn came from a good family, but money wasn’t the only secret she kept. Fortunately, I only needed to pry open her legs. She could keep her silence.
I’d find someone willing to talk.
I gave it two days.
***
The dealer traded on our side of the river.
That was a problem. As soon as I got the information I needed, I’d send my men to blow the nest. I didn’t need that shit polluting our territory unless we were getting a cut of the profits, and I doubted Temple MC felt much like sharing.
The dealer conducted his business in a lot behind a battered chain link fence. He bordered the river and not much else. The parking lot attracted trash, both human and refuse, and the factories upriver dumped into the water. The lowlands smelled of shit, tar, and exhaust.
I tasted it on my tongue. Still hated it. I grew up with it poisoning my house, and it was a burn that set me on edge. Gave me a dry, scratchy throat that had me reaching for my gun before a cough drop.
I moved from the shadows. The dealer hired a man for protection, some tweaker with bigger balls than brains. He crumpled as the gun cracked behind his head. I didn’t bother moving him. I kicked his legs closer to the dumpster and figured he’d rather wake up there than whatever shit-stained mattress he called home.
The dealer was trickier. He aimed a gun in my direction. I didn’t let him shoot. My piece presented him with two options as I tapped the metal against his skull.
“Drop the goods or you rot in the river.”
He wasn’t more than a teenager, some twenty something delinquent who heard his calling and should have hung up before accepting.
He had sense to drop his goods and scurry away to his handler. I wouldn’t be around long enough for any retaliation. I pocketed the cash—a levied tax for the club.
The dealer hadn’t carried too many drugs. Just a couple dimes of powder. Hardly more than a hundred dollars’ worth. I tucked the baggie in my hand and waited.
It didn’t take long. Keep was smart enough to drive his truck instead of his bike. Trying to protect that good name, I supposed. The truck parked, and the red flare of a burning cigarette bobbed as he walked. I stood, pulling the gun before Keep did.
Keep spat out the cig. “Wrong fucking day for this bullshit, Luke!”
He wasn’t as high as I thought. I expected a twitching opponent more concerned about his stash than the man meeting him in the dark.
Anathema’s hold on Keep was stronger than the junk. That was good for them.
And a goddamned bad decision for me.
Keep pulled two guns from the holsters at his belt. Just my luck, they both pointed at me rock-fucking-steady.
The parking lot offered no protection, no places to hide, and no reason for two men to kill each other point blank. This wasn’t a western, but Keep had a reputation for shooting more than just heroin. He was quick, even with the remnants of whatever thinned his face and edged his jaw hard.
He still shaved his head before the blonde curls took hold. He didn’t look much like Brew, even less like Rose, but he had that Darnell streak tightening his fingers over the triggers—shoot first, fuck the apologies, and let the devil sort out the dead.
It wasn’t the first time I almost took a trip to the pearly gates this week. Wasn’t keen for a tour of the inside. My ass didn’t belong there anyway.
“Not here for a war,” I said.
Keep gestured toward my gun with his, and I wished he wouldn’t. “Got a funny way of declaring a truce.”
“Didn’t know how you’d react to meeting me. Took out a little insurance before the chat.”
“Unless you’re some punk-ass kid selling dope, I don’t got much to say to you.”
I moved slow, dropping the baggie of heroin to the ground. To his credit, Keep didn’t d
ive after it. Then again, the Darnells had more pride than sense. Even addiction couldn’t touch them when their name was threatened.
Keep smirked. “You dealing now, Lancelot? Heavy fucking penalty. Might actually spend some time meditating on your poor life choices in County.”
“You gonna turn me in?”
“You know I’d love to see you clinging to that soap-on-a-rope. I’d share your damn cell just to watch you turn castrato.”
“Castrato?”
“Yeah. Some dude singer. High-pitched.”
I snorted. “Doing Rose Bud’s homework?”
“Mother-Fucking-Music-Theory. Studied my ass off with her for finals.”
Yeah, right. “She’s babysitting you during the high? That girl’s got enough shit to worry about without her only living brother killing himself.”
Keep tilted his head. “You come all this way just to hurt my feelings, Knight? Better apologize to the man holding two guns to your traitor skull.”
“Had more guns than that pointed at me this week.”
“Can’t say I’m sorry to hear it.”
“You might be.”
“Only that they’re piss-poor shots.”
I took enough abuse from Lyn. Didn’t need any from him, especially since the note he probably sent burned a hole in my pocket. It wouldn’t do a damn thing if he decided to swing the wrong way during the high.
“Need some information,” I said. “Figured you had a couple words for me.”
He laughed. “Absolutely, Knight. Take your pick. Fucker. Cocksucker. Dead man. You ask me real nice, and I might just go motherfucking Shakespeare and share your eulogy right fucking now.”
“Didn’t come here for a fight.”
“Here lies Luke Knight Halley—valiant traitor and goddamned prince of the usurpers. Sodomized to death with his fucking gun.”
“Where’s your father?”
That shut him up. Keep didn’t hide his smile.
“No idea.”
“Bullshit.”
“You know I wasn’t his favorite son. Never told me a damn thing except how worthless my junkie ass was. Daddy didn’t poke his head up unless he needed a whipping boy.”
“Or girl?”
Keep’s voice lowered. “You even breathe a word wrong about Rose, and I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
“Easy. I got no problems with Rose.”
“She’s goddamned innocent.” Keep edged closer. I offered him a moment of free therapy to get the guilt off his chest. “You caused enough bullshit. Nearly got her killed a couple months ago. Maybe I should break your wrist, give you a concussion, and kill your fucking brother? Make it even.”
“I never meant to get her in trouble.”
“You stay the fuck away from her.” Keep wavered. “It ain’t Thorne you gotta worry about. It’s me.”
Message received. “Rose isn’t my concern. I’m looking for your father.”
Keep relaxed. His shoulders shrugged, but that only aimed the gun at my cock instead.
“Ain’t seen him,” he said.
“He’s been missing for three weeks.”
“He was locked away for years,” he said. “Maybe he’s balls deep in a hooker. Maybe he’s on a binge—had to get my genes from somewhere.”
“Maybe he’s dead.”
“Yeah.” Keep didn’t deny it. “Maybe he is.”
“You know anything about where he might have ended up?”
“I knew you two were tight, but I didn’t realize you were that fucking cozy. Missing your visits in the conjugal trailer?”
I wasn’t in the mood. “Temple MC knows he’s dead.”
“They didn’t send flowers.”
“They’re gonna send an army.”
Keep laughed. “Is that what this is about? One if by bike, two if by Feds?”
“I need to find the man who killed Blade.”
Keep snickered. “Hard to prove a man is dead without a body.”
“Hard to prove he’s alive if he’s missing for almost a month. Temple’s gonna assume some things.”
“And you know what happens when people assume things.”
“Yeah, we all get fucked.”
“That’s the life we picked. Just gotta hope you kick it with your dick in a tight little gash and six ways to dull the pain.”
Keep pocketed one gun, as much of a truce as I’d get. He did it for the wrong reasons—a free hand to pick up the drugs.
My gut churned. I was better off using the LSD the dealer dropped and hallucinating an answer than talking to Keep Darnell—who seemed less and less like the man who might have written the note to betray Anathema.
“Owe me a hundred for that.” I watched him pocket the heroin. “I’ll give you a free taste this time.”
“Good, it’s only worth fifty.”
“Cutting back?”
The gun rose again. “Yeah. Imagine that. The junkie has some self-fucking-control.”
“Won’t do a lot of good if Temple rolls over Pixie looking for a body stashed under the bar.”
Keep grimaced. “I have more respect for my bar than to let that bastard rot under the floorboards.”
“You kill him?”
“Me?” The guns dropped again. “I’m not that goddamned lucky.”
“Don’t tell me Rose picked up a gun.”
Keep didn’t like me talking about her. He warned me once. I doubted I’d get a pass the next time.
“Ain’t gonna tell you again,” Keep said. “Don’t know where Dad is. Don’t care. Hope his cock rots off and the worms take the rest.”
“It’s gonna be a problem. Temple invested money and time into Blade. They’re looking for someone to blame.”
Keep hooted. He got it. Didn’t think he would, but he’d learn sooner or later—especially when Temple crucified me and left my corpse hanging in the desert as a warning of what was to come.
“Looks like you choose to stand on the wrong side of the gun, didn’t ya, Luke?” Keep grinned. For a second in his perverse glee, he looked like the man I remembered, the one who was a slave only to his cock and the club. The way it should have been. “Picked the wrong friends, made the wrong enemies, and now you’re looking to protect yourself?”
“Looking to warn people.”
“Ain’t no one trusting the word of a traitor.”
“Goes beyond the clubs.”
“Nothing goes beyond the club.” Keep’s voice hardened. “You betrayed Anathema. I don’t care if you did it to jerk off Temple and spring my old man from jail. You pulled that goddamned trigger, and, had you been man enough, you would have sucked down a bullet weeks ago.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“Bullshit. It’s always about you. Poor golden child Knight, pretty-boy-fucking-Lancelot. Never got tossed in jail, never meant to start a rebellion. Blame the war on whoever you want. You’re the fucker who cast the first stone and ducked when someone pitched a rock at you.”
I held my arms up. Never trusted Keep when he was agitated. He had the temper of his father without the restraint of his brother. He also didn’t seem level-headed enough to send me a message, regardless if it was a warning, invitation, or trap.
And sitting in the dark parking lot with him felt like a worse idea than just pissing with Temple myself.
His guns took aim again. I sighed.
“Kill me, and Priest takes control. He’ll be up Pixie’s ass in a day.”
“Don’t tempt me. Getting boring around here, kinda miss the adrenaline high.” He shrugged. “Cheaper thrill.”
“And Rose?” I risked the bullet just speaking of her again. “Priest won’t kill her. He’ll make an example of Anathema’s little queen. Don’t put her through any more shit than she’s already dealt with.”
The gun shook, not in a way that gave me any hope beyond wishing he’d aim for my brain and not my kneecaps. I tasted bile. I didn’t want to kill him.
Couldn’t afford to die either
.
My gun aimed, but I didn’t have time to shoot. The raging headlights of a speeding pickup careened over the parking lot. Tires screeched.
I dove over Keep and rolled us behind his truck as the first blast of gunfire flashed over the parking lot. I waited to get struck, but I only bruised my knees and elbows against the pavement.
“Son of a bitch!” Keep shoved at me. I forced him down. “Your guys?”
“My guys wouldn’t shoot at me!”
“Everyone would fucking shoot at you!”
The truck ripped through the parking lot, spinning near the exit for a second round of blistering gunfire. I shielded my head, but we had no cover. Temple had found me.
My ears popped with the gunfire, and the shrill ring muffled everything but Keep’s swearing. He didn’t need drugs to feel indestructible—or maybe he hoped for a reason to finally detox for good. He sat up, guns poised, and returned chaotic fire at the speeding truck.
I aimed my own piece and grazed the back tire. Sparks flew, but it wouldn’t slow the assault.
I was fucked.
The parking lot fenced us in, and the only path to the street wheeled through the same road the Temple assholes used as their shooting range. Keep grabbed his keys. He gritted his teeth.
“I always win at chicken.”
Motherfucker. Keep yanked open his door, nearly decking me with the metal. He squatted down as he started the truck.
“They’ll fucking kill you!” I shouted.
“No, they’ll kill you!” Keep grinned, jamming the truck in gear. “Get in or get fucked.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Then I’ll see you in Hell.”
Son of a—
My bike was nowhere near, but at least it wouldn’t get destroyed in a goddamned fireball if Keep decided to blast his truck into oblivion. I didn’t have a choice to escape. I wouldn’t make it if I bolted across an open parking lot to my bike.
Besides, if someone was going to shoot me, I’d take it in the forehead like a man, not running through the darkness like a coward.
Keep’s truck sped towards Temple’s. If nothing else, it gave me a bit of time for a prayer or a plan. The plan came easier. I turned away from the alley and sprinted, escaping while Keep’s headlights blinded the shooters.