by Lana Grayson
It wasn’t right to feel jealous. We all had too many terrible memories and not enough sweetness. This wasn’t a world that rewarded anyone with happily-ever-afters. The Anathema MC destroyed fairy-tales. We couldn’t plan for them, couldn’t count on getting one, and even our most romantic dances waltzed glass slippers over bullet casings and oil stains.
I didn’t hope for it to change. I accepted the hardship and the grit, the blood and the burden of loyalty. Luke hadn’t. Wouldn’t. Refused.
And that’s why he bled. Again.
And this time, my heart bled with him.
They shoved him into Pixie’s supply closet. Reaper didn’t have to patrol the damn door, but I wasn’t telling the behemoth to leave. The only one who’d survive denying him was his best friend and stabilizing influence, Grim. But when the club split, neither Grim nor Reaper had anyone to help manage their anger or keep them sober.
Luke’s betrayal hurt more people than it benefited and caused more bloodshed than it prevented.
He knew it. I knew it. Difference was, he still thought he could fix it. I patched up a dead man so he’d look better in a casket.
“Pants off,” I said.
Luke gave me a tired grin. “Knew I’d wear you down eventually.”
“If you have enough blood left to pump into your cock, you might have a chance.”
“I’d spare some for you.”
“Oh Christ, you’re already delirious.” I aimed for his zipper. Wasn’t a stranger to it before, but I didn’t let him see me hesitate. “You are so fucking lucky.”
“I’m so fucking dead.”
“That too.”
I ignored what throbbed beneath his boxers, still stirring even with the wound to his thigh. He was all muscle. Every bit of him. Probably made the pain worse.
Pixie stocked enough medical supplies to spare on a member of The Coup. I ripped gauze with my teeth and tried to ignore the flashbacks.
It was impossible.
“Last time I did this…” I dipped a cloth in alcohol, clearing out the injury. “It was during that first night of the war. I patched everyone up that fight. Not all of them made it.”
“You’re a regular field nurse.”
“Can’t lose my best customers.” I slapped the tape over the bandage harder than I needed. It didn’t make either of us feel better. “Do you know I order my dancers to take first-aid classes? I told them I’d bump ten percent off their dues to the house if they showed their certifications.”
“Does Anathema need that many nurses?”
I brushed the hair from my face, too tired to remake the bun. “It’s not for Anathema. It’s for when an MC opens fire in Sorceress, in case they hit a dancer on the stage. The industry is dangerous enough without you lunatics making it worse.”
Luke tightened the tape over his leg. He slipped his pants on, ignoring the blood. For as much as I delighted customers with my routines, I wasn’t used to watching men dress. Even when I fooled around with the lucky few, I didn’t stay long enough for that awkwardness.
Except with Luke, I didn’t think it’d be awkward. Strip each other at night; dress in the morning. Like a normal couple.
There was a fool’s dream if ever I had one.
“You’ve changed,” he said, softly.
I closed my eyes. “Don’t start this.”
“You were always hard, Lyn. Harder than most of the guys.”
“I never had a choice.”
“And I didn’t say it was bad.” Luke hesitated. “You’ve never been so jaded. Doom and gloom doesn’t suit you, not unless you’re the one pissing in everyone’s cereal.”
The storage closet wasn’t the place to talk about this. Too many people could walk by, too many guns pointed at the door. I wouldn’t have spoken to Luke so honestly even at Sorceress.
But I had my own reasons for that.
Reasons that flittered my stomach with a weakness I needed to crush under my heel.
Or to embrace for the chaos that would come.
“I don’t know what you expect of me,” I said. Luke pressed his luck and seized my wrist. He almost died so I didn’t slap him like he deserved, but I didn’t pull close to him like he wanted. “We’ve dealt with crisis after crisis. I’ve lost friends. My business is the target of both clubs and the Feds. I’ve spent thousands in renovations and even more in protection money. And for what?”
He didn’t answer.
“Do you realize how much this has cost me?” I was too tired to lie. “Us?”
“It wouldn’t have affected us.”
I pulled away from his hand. The heat remained, spreading from my wrist into other inconvenient areas. “Don’t be stupid.”
“How is that stupid?”
“Because everything you did, everything you still do, affects every decision we never got to make.”
Luke rubbed his face. The hard angle of his jaw flexed, but the princely charm never faded. I fought so hard to ignore it.
Too long.
“You don’t wear a cut, Lyn.”
Like that mattered. “I’m usually not wearing much at all.”
“This wasn’t your fight. You didn’t have to pick a side.”
“Maybe you aren’t remembering things right—Exorcist? Priest? Those men wanted three things—power, blood, and girls, and if I hadn’t picked a side, my dancers would have satisfied them. I wasn’t putting them at risk.”
“Sorceress is neutral.”
“The property is neutral because I sided with Anathema, and they honored it.”
“I would have honored it.”
I believed him. “Jesus, Luke. I had no idea you’d live this long. What was I supposed to do?”
“You didn’t think I would live?”
“I still don’t!” I batted his hand away. “You’re such a goddamned idiot for betraying us. You are worse than a martyr, Luke. At least a martyr dies alone. Every time you try to fix the club or rescue the girl, you’re only making it worse. Not everything can be fixed.”
His voice lowered. “Can we be fixed?”
“There is no we. There can’t be. I deal with enough chaos every day. Yes, I’m hard, but my line of work rewards kindness with sexual assaults. And yes, I’m pessimistic, because I see what this MC does to good people—girls like Rose who are too afraid to speak out because of a couple patches on a jacket.” I released my breath, surprised it trembled. “I’ve prepared myself for every consequence of this life. But there’s one I can’t handle.”
“What’s that?”
I admitted it. “Losing you.”
He loomed over me. I didn’t retreat. I faced him, heart pounding, body tensed with every confusing shade of rage it conjured in my core.
I didn’t like being confused. I didn’t like losing control. I suffered from both, and I didn’t care so long as it was Luke’s shadow casting me into humility.
He cupped my cheek. I should have pushed him away. Rebuked him. Fought his touch.
Except this wasn’t something to refuse. Not when the rough press of his fingers against my skin was the only damn thing that made any sense.
He wasn’t a gentleman, never would be. His hands immediately grasped my hair, twisting the locks cascading from the bun. He gripped me, tilted my head.
He didn’t wait for permission.
I might have given it this time.
His lips commanded mine, but I never responded well to authority. My fingers curled against his shoulder, welcoming a tongue more adept than it had right to be and far more dangerous than I should have enjoyed.
He kissed me, and I let him, and I wished I had done it sooner, but most of life choices were regretted on a deathbed. I could either get fucked on it or die, choked on every unspoken word.
I didn’t let him push me into the wall. I wasn’t getting pinned—not even by a man like Luke. Instead I pressed forward, sliding my hands over his broad shoulders.
I wore a borrowed sweatshirt to bed, but the halte
r beneath gave me every ounce of confidence I needed. Luke cupped my ass, squeezed, and pulled me closer. He didn’t care if I was pressed against the wall or if he laid over me on the floor. As long as his tongue grazed mine, he had what he wanted.
And so did I.
Christ, crushes weren’t supposed to last for years, weren’t supposed to heat me beyond the fluttery rush of excitement when the prince bought the princess a drink and plunked down enough money to steal her to the backroom for the night.
I wanted to forget him, but I couldn’t ignore the perfect obsession of his touch. My core punished me for denying the simplest, most uncomplicated of complications.
“Goddamn, Lyn.” He growled over the kiss. I needed that too. More of his words, his tongue, the grip of his fingers into my skin. He could bruise me for all I cared, at least I’d have something to remember this night beyond blood and nightmares. “I’ve never wanted anyone more than you.”
Likewise. “Tell me something you haven’t said before.”
“I’d fucking do anything for you.”
“Yeah? What would you do to me?”
“Everything I should have done years ago.” His words whispered with a feral aggression, but his hands hadn’t punished. Just the opposite. “You think that dance was the best you could feel? Princess, when I’m finished with you, every fucking dance you give, lap you grind, or pole you ride is gonna remind you of me.” He pulled my hair, forcing me to meet that bandit gaze. “You’ll want no one but me. You’ll beg for me. You’ll suck my dick, offer that slit, and crave my cum because you know the truth.”
My mouth dried. “What’s that?”
“That the next time you dance on that stage, you’re going to be wearing only one thing.” His voice lowered. “My property patch.”
He didn’t let me protest, and I fought against his mouth only until his crushing grip pulled me against him and enveloped my body in territorial, masculine possession.
I pushed away. “You talk big.”
“Got the cock to prove it.”
I remembered—every fucking night. “Can you keep it alive long enough to use?”
“For a chance at you? I’ll take out both goddamned clubs.”
Too much, too fast. I sweated, trembled, needed. His cock strained against his jeans. The damn sweatshirt had to go, and the pants, the thong, anything and everything that kept me apart from him.
But the profanity outside the door heralded either another bullet to his body or a final parade to the gallows, whichever Anathema decided was more fun. I pushed from Luke, lips puffy and hair wild and loose from the bun as the door opened.
Thorne didn’t care. He didn’t look at me.
He blamed me for Rose’s kidnapping. Fine. Maybe he’d give Sorceress more protection now, another man besides Keep to act as a bouncer at my door. I trusted him to keep the rabble out until his habit lined up outside the velvet rope.
I reworked my hair into a pony tail. The guns aimed, but with steadier hands this time.
“Heading to Sorceress,” Thorne said.
My eyebrow quirked. “Excuse me?”
“It’s neutral ground.”
Was he that blind? “Not once you haul hostages there and threaten The Coup.”
Gold presented Luke with zip ties. He didn’t fight as the binding wrapped his wrists. It hurt him, but Gold didn’t apologize. Gold also didn’t smile, and that made me more nervous than Thorne’s gun.
“Get him in the truck,” Thorne ordered.
“You didn’t ask to use my club,” I said.
“I don’t have to.”
“Excuse me?”
Thorne brushed the hair from his face. Now that Rose had returned, fear didn’t soften his gaze. “That five grand goes both ways, Your Majesty. You pay me to watch out for you, but that money is reason for me not to roll over your damn club and take it for myself.”
“I’d love to see you try.”
“Don’t test me.”
Gold pulled Luke away, and I let my voice drop as they both passed from the closet. Thorne didn’t want to listen to me. I made him anyway.
“You’re upset, I get that,” I said. “And you’re pissed at me. But you know damn well I wouldn’t let anything happen to Rose. I’ll let you bitch now, but I swear to God, Thorne, you push me, and our arrangement won’t be so friendly.”
“That a threat?”
“If you knew what was good for you, you’d get on your knees for once and pass the favors on.”
Thorne had a talent of making Pixie’s halls seem smaller, darker. “You forget you’re not part of this MC. The only fucking cock you have is that traitor’s dick you suck.”
Lesser men might have been castrated for that kind of attitude. “Be careful who you’re insulting.”
“Not afraid of you.”
“And you shouldn’t be. I might be the only fucking friend you have left.”
He didn’t get it, but I saw what happened in Anathema. Whoever sent the messages to Luke did it without Thorne’s consent. If the president ever wanted to know who whispered in the dark, pissing me off wasn’t the way to learn. I hadn’t told him about the rat yet—if only because I thought I might be able to root out the traitor myself. Spare some blood from spilling.
“You can have my club—for a price,” I said.
“Christ, don’t I have enough bullshit to deal with?”
“Another man or I’m not paying you this month.”
Thorne waved a hand, joining Gold and the others. “You get what you get, Lyn.”
Fine. So did he.
I steeled my spine and followed. Rose ran to my side, tucked inside Thorne’s jacket. She fixed her hair into a bun.
“How’s Luke?” she asked.
“About to die. Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m coming with you.”
Thorne didn’t hit his women, but Rose would make him slit his goddamned wrists. “You aren’t getting in.”
“Try to stop me.”
Someone would, but it wasn’t my responsibility. Thorne and his men suited for the ride. I didn’t see Luke before Keep loaded him in his truck, but at least he got to ride in the cabin and not the bed.
This was a disaster waiting to happen.
I followed the MC into hell because I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t abandon everything, flip them off, and leave the bastards to their bullets.
I had the money. I had the opportunity.
But I didn’t have Luke, and Jesus Christ did that piss me off.
He’d die and I’d suffer in my own terrible regret, or he’d live and every move we made, conversation we had, and moment of freedom we enjoyed would be stalked by Anathema, The Coup, and Temple.
It wasn’t a life if I denied everything I ever felt for him, and it wasn’t a future if we counted the minutes until we were separated.
What was I supposed to do? Luke pissed on fate, and we suffered the consequences.
Someone had to help him.
And now I was the only one who could save him.
If Anathema wanted me to stay alive, they shouldn’t have given Keep my reigns.
He slammed my head against the truck door. My vision blurred, but it was probably better than his. God only knew what drugs Keep took to amp up for this ride.
“You bleed on my truck, and I’ll kick your ass,” Keep said.
I blinked to avoid the trail of blood. “You got your father’s temper.”
“Bullshit. I got nothing from Blade.”
Well the cut on my forehead wasn’t a present from his fairy fucking godmother. “Your brother was easier to work with.”
Wrong thing to say. Keep’s eyes dilated too much. He slammed his foot against the clutch and peeled onto the road. The engine groaned, and he kicked it into gear a few seconds too late. Didn’t stay in the lane either.
“Don’t know why the fuck my brother partnered up with you.”
“Because he knew I had the right idea.”<
br />
“Betraying your club?”
I owned up to the mistakes I made, but I was tired of people not seeing beyond their own goddamned patches. “Did what I thought was right. Just like tonight. You gotta know I was trying to save your sister.”
“Did a bang-up job.”
“Brought her back, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, and this time she didn’t get forced into trading drugs or almost raped.” He grunted. “We should erect a fucking monument for you.”
“Put it next to yours,” I said. “The junkie fuck-up who’s still loyal to the bastard who killed his brother and ruts his sister.”
Keep pulled his gun. “Screw the truck. I’ll get your brains detailed out of the seat.”
“Maybe you have a reason to stay loyal to Thorne?” I ignored the barrel jammed against my head. Not like I could unbind my hands or trust Keep to drive in the correct lane at eighty miles an hour. “Maybe there’s a reason Rose spreads those legs for Thorne?”
“Fuck you, dude—”
“—Just like there’s a reason you sit at his side in church, playing lapdog while your brother rots six feet under.”
“World works in mysterious fucking ways, don’t it?” Keep lowered the gun. “Don’t need to collapse a vein to believe in conspiracies anymore.”
“This shit doesn’t add up.”
“Let me get you a new calculator then, one that has keys for fuck and you and traitor.”
“Tell me what happened with Blade so we can stop Temple before they kill us all.”
“If we’re a couple harps away from that pearly gate quartet, I might as well enjoy the time I got left.” Keep grinned, almost lucid. “At least I’ll see you die first.”
“Yeah. Reassuring.”
“Gotta get my kicks somewhere. This junk isn’t as potent as it once was.”
Go figure.
I eyed the mirrors. Bikes led, flanked, and followed the truck. Full fucking artillery in this procession.
Anathema outnumbered The Coup, especially as a few of my members still partied behind bars. But numbers never mattered—Priest liked to be the underdog, said he got off on the odds. A prayer and a cig were better than a roll of the dice, and neither was cruel to him before.
War was coming. Everyone was in danger. The lone car following the bikes carried the only goddamned thing that mattered now that I’d destroyed my life, my club, and my plans.