by Lana Grayson
She should never have had to ask the question. “Is…he alive?”
“Barely. Got him here before he crashed. Docs have him now.”
Rose shrugged away both his hands and Martini’s gentle touch. “I should go down. Talk to the doctors. I have his…his information.”
“He’s in surgery now, Bud.”
There was one tear. She brushed it with a quick hand. “I should be there in case…where’s the rest of Anathema?”
“The waiting room.”
“Did you find Keep?”
Brew nodded. “Yeah. I saw him.”
“What about…” Rose’s voice quieted as Luke waited in the entry way. “Knight?”
Brew’s turn to hesitate. “Yeah. Saw him too.”
Martini had the sense to check the situation and realize it was spiraling out of control. She rubbed Rose’s shoulder.
“Come on. I’ll take you down to the waiting room. Keep you company.”
Rose tensed as Luke rubbed the blood from his shirt and pants. God, he was covered in it, and the only reason my heart still beat was because it wasn’t any of his.
It didn’t make a difference though. No one looked very optimistic.
“You got Thorne out?” Rose approached Luke. “You and Brew?”
Luke nodded. “Yeah.”
I waited for it. Tensed, even though the pain-killers destroyed every chance I had at hiding the stress and uncertainty twisting my insides.
But Rose wasn’t vengeful like Blade. She didn’t have Keep’s ruthlessness or Brew’s temper.
She was a queen. Balanced and graceful and accepting of the truth—even when it didn’t give her a villain to blame.
“Thank you, Luke.”
Martini flashed Brew a smile and offered me a thumbs up for my choice in Luke. The door closed behind them. Brew leaned against the counter, Luke at my side.
“You want to tell me why you aren’t dead?” Luke asked.
Brew smirked. “Thorne’s gun pulled a little to the right.”
“And that blonde?”
“Martini.”
“She’s too young for you.”
Brew wasn’t shamed. “Only as old as you feel, and I feel pretty damn good with her on my lap.”
Men.
I struggled to sit up. Luke pointed at me to stay still. For once, I was likely to take his order, but life challenged us more. The brace could stay on. I wasn’t sure how I’d get my pants on over it.
Maybe a skirt?
“Martini’s the one who gave me the intel on Temple,” Luke said.
“Lot of people died for that. I thought you could put it to good use.”
“Priest had other ideas.”
Brew nodded. “Coup split?”
“Down the middle.”
“Go fucking figure. How the hell did you sweet talk Thorne into helping you?”
“Mutual understanding. Temple’s been after Blade’s killer for a while.”
I ripped the IV from my vein. Luke swore, but I aimed a finger at him. “Both of you have it wrong. Temple was trying to kill Blade and anyone close to him. A little insurance for their club. Blade was a fucking rat for ATF.”
Brew crumbled, just like Keep, torn between defending a monster and protecting the badass who made them into the patched men they were.
“He was a traitor?”
“For the past fifteen years. They arrested him on…” The drugs made me soft. I hated to cause him pain. “On…child pornography charges. From when Rose was little. They cut him a deal to keep tabs on Temple.”
Brew rubbed his face. Mentioning Rose’s history sent him down a bad path. He darkened, stayed silent. I knew he’d never forgive himself for what happened.
Luke frowned. “So why did Temple want to kill us?”
“They wanted to kill Blade. Since we got so involved, Temple worried he told us all the secrets he collected about them and ATF. It didn’t matter if we worked with or against Blade. They were scorching the earth and eliminating anyone who might have heard him squeal and had evidence against them.”
“Jesus.” It’d take him a while to process how badly Blade betrayed everyone. “So you made the deal to give Priest to ATF?”
“I’m a woman of many talents.”
“Most of Temple showed up to help.”
I arched my eyebrow. “Sounds like Agent Greene is gonna get in trouble.”
Brew exhaled. His hair started to gray, but he’d salt and pepper before he turned forty. “I should find Bud. She’s gonna need more help than just Keep to get through this.”
“You’re staying?” I asked. “What about…?”
“Anathema? Hell if I know. But my daughter needs me. I gotta do something.”
“If they know you’re alive—”
Brew snorted. “You think me showing up is gonna cause more of a shit storm than partying with The Coup in Temple’s warehouse? Christ. I know what it’s like choking on a secret. Ain’t healthy for anyone or any club.” He nodded to me. “Sorry about the leg.”
“At least it’s not my tits.”
“Shame they couldn’t wire your mouth shut.” He snorted, slapping Luke on the shoulder. “Glad someone gets use out of it now.”
The door closed behind Brew. I wasted no time. The brace squeezed my leg, and I struggled to get out of bed. I moved entirely too quickly. Luke didn’t have to push me into bed.
The pain did it for me.
“What the hell are you doing?” He threatened me with the call button for a nurse. “Christ, Lyn, I’ll find someone to sedate your ass—”
“You know damn well what will happen if Thorne dies,” I said. “We have to be ready to run.”
He still wasn’t moving. “You think the club will turn?”
“I think everyone is going to howl for blood.”
His eyes darkened, that same noble blue that poisoned us with fairy tales and fables. “I gotta end this war, Lyn.”
“Don’t be stupid. Stop trying to be the hero.”
“What else am I supposed to be? I can’t keep playing the villain. It’s not me. It’s never been me.”
“They don’t see it that way. Downstairs is a club, a brotherhood of men, who are going to tear themselves apart if their leader is killed. Especially if it was because of The Coup. Especially if the traitor was there when it happened.”
“So you want to run?”
“Yes.”
“On one leg?”
I’d rip the damn thing off if it meant I could better protect Luke. “I’ll hop if it makes you happy.”
“I can’t fit both you and your delusions on my bike.”
“It’s easier to seat than your fucking idealism.”
He approached the bed, sitting in the chair opposite me just to take my hand and kiss my fingers and brush the hair from my face.
I wasn’t in the mood to be pampered. We needed to run.
“You’d give up Sorceress?” He asked.
“In a heartbeat. We’ll get somewhere safe.”
His smile used to slay anyone unprepared. It still pierced me, but not for the right reasons.
I wouldn’t let him surrender.
“I fucking love you,” he said. “But you and I? We’re not runners. We don’t make the best choices, and we dig into our decisions.”
My chest squeezed. “You’re going to stay.”
“We were close to peace, Lyn. Still are. This war has to end. We gotta be ready for whatever Temple’s survivors do. I’ll meet with the men.”
“Their president could be dying.”
“That’s why I’ll talk. Make amends. We need these men unified before the worst happens. It ends now, Lyn. And if I answer for it, at least it’s done.”
“If you die, I’ll never forgive you.”
“If I live will you forgive me? Finally? After this goddamned year?”
I pulled him close, savoring a kiss that warmed everything exposed, swollen, and throbbing—and not in the good way.
“If you live, I’ll work on it.”
He stood. I bundled the blanket and tried to follow. The damn brace prevented me from escaping the bed.
“You’re not coming,” he said.
Did he know me at all? “You need backup. Rose won’t be able to do it on her own, and Brew’s appearance will just stir up shit. Let me help.”
“You can’t walk.”
I hobbled out of the bed and pointed to the robe folded on the counter. It was thin, faded, and a horrible blue, but it covered my ass, which wasn’t something I normally did around the guys.
First time for everything.
Luke muttered something he’d regret, but he darted to the hall and returned with a wheelchair. “I’m the one facing a firing squad. Sit your ass in the chair.”
I smirked. “I kinda like it when you get tough with me.”
“And that’s enough morphine for you too.”
He guided my leg into the chair, raising it up before the pain swung around and threatened to knock me out. He kissed me.
“You sure about this?” I whispered.
“Yeah. It’s time.”
I disagreed, but the chair already rolled to the elevator and down a floor. It opened, and the sea of mint green walls led us to the waiting room.
It wouldn’t look good splattered with blood.
The cluster of Anathema men shaded the tiny room in leather and misery. Brew’s arrival clustered them around the walking, talking ghost. Gold was the first to envelop him in a fierce hug, slamming a hand against his back as he welcomed him from the grave. Reaper and Ace followed, though the room quieted when Brew asked about Scotch.
And they silenced as Luke stepped inside.
Rose gripped Brew’s hand. She stepped forward to speak.
Luke beat her to it.
“How is he?” He gently positioned my wheelchair. I refused to sit in it, choosing to haul myself into the seat next to Martini for this show. “Did we hear anything yet?”
“Heard a lot of shit.” Gold’s voice pulled the pin on the grenade. I waited for the explosion. “Heard you went in alone. Heard you were the one to drag him out.”
“I didn’t stab Thorne.”
“Yeah. One of your men did.”
Luke didn’t have much of a defense covered in Thorne’s blood, but he tried.
“I tried to stop it,” he said. “Lash stabbed him. I got there too late. Believe me when I say I did everything I could to help him, including nearly running down three federal agents to get him to the hospital.”
Reaper glowered, fucking terrifying without Grim to mellow him. “Did you know Brew was alive?”
Brew answered that, quietly, with every authority in his voice his position once earned. “No. That was our business.”
Gold grunted. “Why?”
“I was seventeen years old and I handed Blade a baby to raise for me,” Brew said. “No one knew she was mine. I didn’t even tell Keep she was my daughter. But Blade hurt her, and I wanted to kill him.”
“Jesus.” Ace crashed into a chair. “What the fuck is happening to this club. Killing fucking VPs? Goddamned exiles? No one told us any of this shit.”
“There’s more.” Luke earned the wrong kind of attention from the men. “Blade was a rat. He worked with ATF. He squealed on Temple, but who the fuck knows what he said about Anathema.”
The club silenced. Splintered.
I saw it fracturing. Just like Thorne warned so many months ago. The brothers that remained where hardly whole, still traumatized and vengeful for the ones they lost and the battles they fought against their own brothers.
It took only a few deaths, a little blood, and all other secrets to rend it from the inside. With Thorne hurt, the heart of the club ceased beating. And in its wake, secrets and lies and every shred of doubt took hold.
Anathema would fall apart.
But only if we let it.
Luke spoke, glancing over the guys. “This year has destroyed the Valley, the club, and too many lives. I’ll be the first to admit it. I made mistakes. I followed the wrong instincts. Men paid for my sins.”
He hadn’t washed the blood from him, and I was glad he hadn’t. With that crimson splash and Brew at his side, Luke offered the men a dose of realism. It wasn’t noble. It wasn’t based on fantasy or impractical optimism.
He spoke the truth. Just as the world was, not how we could fix it.
“We need to join together,” he said. “We won’t survive without each other. This world wasn’t made for men like us. We take what we can get, and we make the rest. Blood unites this brotherhood. And too much of it has spilled for the wrong reasons. For selfish reasons. For mistakes that should never have threatened what was so strong to begin with.”
“You think he’s gonna die?” Keep asked. His voice cracked. He claimed a seat next to Rose and trembled. Chilled. Uncontrolled. I didn’t know when his last hit was, but he sure as hell remembered.
Luke frowned. “Thorne is too tough of a son of a bitch. He’s not going anywhere. But neither are we. When he wakes, this club will be unified. No matter what it takes, no matter who has to pay for what happened. Anathema will be whole and healed and ready for our president to take command.”
The men heard his declaration of loyalty. An abdication of his own position as a member of The Coup.
It was probably the only thing that saved his life.
That, and Rose’s hug.
The queen reigned with the gentleness no one in Anathema deserved, but everybody longed to experience. She tamed Thorne, and she’d do the same for the rest of the men. All the men. Including the man who left, the man who betrayed, and the man who asked for forgiveness.
For the first time in a year, a genuine peace settled over the club. Luke sat next to me, taking my hand and waiting, just like the rest of Thorne’s men, just like a member of Anathema waiting for news of his president.
The guns rested. No threats were made. They didn’t need to. The greatest fear, the worst pain was yet to come.
Four hours we waited.
Finally, the doctor approached, eying the men in the cuts and looking relieved when Rose rushed forward to speak to him. He offered her a smile, patted her hand, and gave us hope.
“It’s rough,” he said. “But I think he’ll survive.”
So would Anathema.
So would Luke.
And so would we.
Five Months Later
Front and center to the stage, and, for once, it wasn’t a gallows set for my neck.
The lights dimmed low. I had enough crimson in my life, but the stage glowed in a furious red more sexy than sinister. Thrumming music with a deep-seeded base rocked against the renovated stage, lights, walls. It was the third time Sorceress had a makeover.
I liked it.
Especially now that the star had returned.
And Lyn wasn’t afraid to return to the silks and conquer what had pinned her in a full-leg cast for four—exceedingly long—months.
The men hooted as the lights flashed, and a single, beautiful figure posed on the stage. It didn’t take much for me to harden for her, but the thigh-high boots and red thong were enough.
But she also wore a cut tonight.
And it was mine.
The leather hugged snug and tight around her swelling tits. That Anathema VP patch was still cocaine white and pristine over her curves.
The music swelled. Lyn’s steps slammed her heels against the stage in rhythm to the beat. Not a limp grazed her perfect legs, and she defied anyone watching to judge her for a weakness only I knew she still hid.
The silks glistened on the stage, and Lyn’s pale skin and golden hair wrapped within the crimson like a sultry cocoon. The men hooted. Brew reached over the table, hiding Rose’s eyes. She batted him away, giggling as Martini settled in his lap and whistled, waving a handful of money towards the dancer.
“How long until you get up there?” Thorne entertained Rose with a kiss.<
br />
Rose snorted, biting her lip. “Let me wear your cut, and I’ll scurry on up there.”
“I’m not Lancelot, sweetheart.” He eyed me, a subtle nod for abdicating the role as soon as his stitches healed, lung re-inflated, and he could stand-up straight. “Cut stays on me. But you’re more than welcomed to wear the thong.”
“Hey.” Brew pointed across the table. “Careful with my daughter.”
Rose grinned. “Thanks, Dad.”
I ignored the bickering. Hard not to when the most beautiful woman in the damned world tangled herself in silk as she twisted, gyrated, curled with an unbelievable strength. She exposed every seductive curve of her body.
I should have been jealous, but this show was for me.
Lyn knotted herself in the silks, unbuttoning the cut. Enough of her breast revealed to tease the men. She twirled fifteen feet in the air, widening her legs and twisting just right. It gave the guys another show of that perfect ass.
I earned compliments for her. I accepted them too, even though Lyn pretended she hated it.
The music lowered to a quick, hardened beat. Lyn coiled and played in the silk. Every stroke of her hands along the material became a perfect tease to the men who could look but never touch.
All this time, I thought she’d hate being patched, but Lyn found her own uses for it. Primarily in teasing, tempting, and transfixing every man who dared to get ensnared. The silks weren’t just a trick. They were a web.
And I was the son of a bitch bound the tightest.
Couldn’t have been happier.
The music cresendo’d, and Lyn sped down the silks, unraveling ten feet before depositing her without so much as a stumble onto the stage.
The lights brightened, and those lovely legs stalked to the end of the catwalk. She accepted the whistles and hoots of her patrons, snapping a finger and calling the rest of her girls to the poles, the stage, the bar. Belly shots and music roared.
Just the type of party Keep would have wanted, but, according to Rose’s text, he was clean, at home, and resisting temptation. Hadn’t earned his officer patch back, but it was a start.
Anathema launched into a full-scale bash, and Lyn strutted off the stage directly into my lap.
“Hey, no fair!” Grim extended his arms. “How come he gets a free dance?”