by Lana Grayson
He was serious. Absolutely serious. Not only did he think I was in danger, he thought he would protect me from it. He offered to save me from the invisible demons lurking in the shadows.
And I believed him.
He trapped me within the heart of Pixie. In the very lair of the beast, tucked inside the darkest corners and under the gaze of the dangerous man balancing loyalty, anarchy, and violence. No one dared challenge Pixie, not even during the worst battles with Exorcist.
His gaze seared through me, trailing heat everywhere it looked. I couldn’t speak. My throat burned over my questions. He liked reducing me to silence, stealing my song. The quiet proved him right and me wrong and savored all the confusion in its wake.
The victorious smile suited him. Predatory. His amusement was a crack in a mask of hardened rage. He didn’t offer it with kindness. He transformed a vulnerable quirk into a hostile threat, and, despite the darkness hardening his expression, even the cruelest of smiles only enhanced his features.
It was a look that fractured pavement and ricocheted a bullet, and the unwanted heat burning low in my belly had no defense.
My pulse quickened. The halo of understanding cracked, and what should have blessed me in sweet offering instead tormented me with profane truth.
I feared Thorne, but so did everyone else.
And that made him my greatest ally.
I didn’t know why my champion defended me, but I wished I had found him sooner.
“Why are you protecting me?” I hadn’t moved from the door. Thorne didn’t care. We both knew I didn’t have the courage to bolt. “Am I really in that much danger?”
He studied me. My freckles. The curls of my hair. The frantic breathing that wavered my chest and pushed it high. His masculine scent of leather and wind teased me.
Why was he still staring at me?
His arms tensed. What might have terrified me before now thrilled me with a freeing shiver.
No one would ever challenge this man and win.
He pushed away from the door and grabbed the gun from the table. It tucked into the holster around his waist.
“You better hope you’re not in as much trouble as I think you are,” he said.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He frowned. “Things are going to get real fucking messy, real quick.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Be glad you’re here. Believe it or not, I’m not fucking with you. I’d rather grab you now when I only have to wade through shit instead of saving your ass when we’re knee deep in blood.”
“And you think I’m going to be...what? Some sort of target?”
Thorne grinned, the coldness of his smile binding me with lacey rime against the door.
“Target? Sweetheart, you’re the bait.”
Keep and Brew said their kid sister had a voice like an angel.
Easiest way to test it was to let her go all starry-eyed and give a performance in the heart of Exorcist’s territory. Either we’d be in for one hell of a show, or the sweetest ass to ever grace my bedroom was one meth-head with good aim away from debuting with her swan song.
Of course, I promised to keep her out of trouble.
And what did I get for my benevolence? Two pissed off brothers who thought I’d trade their baby sister’s safety for her virginity.
I figured she was a virgin. Whoever wanted to taste Rose needed to get past her brothers before opening her legs. I didn’t mind the challenge, but I wasn’t going to deal with the bullshit.
It didn’t matter how she stared with those baby bunny eyes, or how she nearly fell to her knees when I got tough with her. I fucked enough with her just holding her in Pixie. It didn’t get either of us off, but I wasn’t a monster.
Not yet.
We didn’t usually hold church on Friday mornings. And I usually didn’t have a woman holed up in my bedroom through the night. Anathema suffered all changes since The Coup nearly destroyed it.
Rose cornered herself in my bedroom. Far from the bed. As if I couldn’t do horrible things to her in the love seat by the window. Or on the floor. Or against the wall. She hadn’t spoken to me all morning. Usually I liked a girl who looked pretty and kept her mouth shut. But I didn’t like attitude.
And hers needed to change.
“Let’s go.” I didn’t give her a chance to argue. “We’re heading to the warehouse. Church.”
Rose didn’t like that. I didn’t care. She closed her laptop and huffed.
“Why do I have to come?”
“Because where I go, you go.”
“And if I refuse?”
I hoped she would. “Then I’ll strap a collar around your neck and drag you there with a leash. I’m sure your big brothers would love that.”
The laptop slammed on the loveseat. I waited for her to say something stupid. She didn’t. For any other woman, it was a wise decision. But she should have thought twice before challenging me.
But I didn’t need a leash over her delicate little neck. One slap to the ass when I laid down the rules and she learned what I expected. She followed me from Pixie and didn’t waste my time with questions when I shoved her into the warehouse. Babysitting the brat wasn’t a job I anticipated, but at least it was Blade’s kid. Life in the club taught her things other women didn’t get. Like to wait for us outside the chapel. How to keep quiet. Never to interfere.
For that, I couldn’t ask for a better charge.
Then again, she knew exactly the type of shit we were discussing.
That made her more dangerous than any other gash.
Brew owned the warehouse and conducted his own shipping and receiving outfit. Keep did the books, but it wasn’t like he had much to track. Just enough to offer Uncle Sam his due and afford us the privacy we needed to conduct our business.
I pointed Rose to a crate just outside the chapel door.
“Not even a smile?” I asked. She leaned against the crates with a pout that wouldn’t intimidate a kitten. She didn’t want to get her skirt dirty. She wouldn’t have much luck. Not many things left the chapel clean. “Here I thought you’d like a change of scenery. You haven’t ventured far past my bed.”
She stiffened. It was true, but she didn’t share my amusement. She might have tucked under my sheets, but her curves were wasted on the fetal position. She hid on the edge of my bed, fully clothed, blankets to her ears.
First time that ever happened in my bedroom.
A girl like her needed to sprawl. Hands over her head. Blanket covering only her delicate hip.
Or maybe that’s all her brothers needed to imagine.
Brew’s leaded steps slowed before he reached me. I braced in case he shouldered me into the wall. To his credit, he tempered his anger. Didn’t punch me. Keep wasn’t as smart. His profanity promised more than anything I threatened to do to Rose.
Brew grabbed Keep before he made a serious mistake. Keep stared me down.
“You okay, Bud?” Keep asked.
Rose didn’t even look at him. “Fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m safe, aren’t I?”
The kitten scratched. Didn’t do much, but it was irritating. Brew tensed his jaw. Eyed me.
“Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”
“You sit here.” I pointed to the crate. “Don’t cause any trouble.”
She crossed her arms. “I’ll work on my set list for tonight.”
“I haven’t decided if you’re going.”
“I already confirmed with the venue.”
“Oh.” I nodded Keep and Brew into the room. “Clear my goddamned day planner then. I guess we’re stuck.”
Keep laughed. That didn’t help his case. Rose ignored us. At least she planted her ass where I told her to sit. She might have hated her brothers, but they taught her obedience. Then again, I didn’t know many people who’d test Blade. Nothing like a good, old-fashioned Daddy’s girl.
Gold and Scotch waited for us in the chapel.
Scotch puffed a cigarette and pointed behind him.
“Got us some donuts,” he said. “Little joint next to my church makes the best goddamned fritters.”
“When did you start practicing again?” Keep picked through the box.
“A gun to the head and a territory sewn in half will make a man think twice about a few things.” Scotch exhaled the smoke out through his nose. “Got a good ten step program over at St. Anthony’s.”
Keep pretended not to hear and took a second donut. Brew rejected the offering. Gold seized the box.
The gavel pounded the table.
“No cake ones?” Gold asked.
“I got the assortment.” Scotch talked with his mouth full.
“But I like the cake ones.”
“Christ.” I knocked the donut from his hand. “What the hell did you find out last night?”
Gold swore but retrieved his breakfast. “Ex is looking for drugs. Scripts, crank, dope, anything he can find.”
“Damn.” Keep shifted. His chair creaked as he wobbled his weight and rocked the uneven chair against the floorboards. “They moving it?”
Gold shook his head. “Here’s the thing. Temple’s not cutting them a discount. They’re buying whatever they can at cost.”
“Why?” Scotch asked. “What’s the benefit there?”
“Is he gifting it out?” Brew asked. “Trading favors?”
“Trading for guns.” The word practically tasted like blood. “Ex is buying drugs. Either he’s buying it because he has a source that’ll pay extra for Temple’s goods, or...” I hated the thought. I glanced to Keep and Brew. Neither moved. “They have a line on guns. Making a trade and gearing up for war.”
“Too expensive,” Scotch said. “Ex has a small crew. Knight’s working with him, but the rest of the guys?”
“They’re all fucking crazy.” Gold spoke over a mouthful of donut. “Who the hell knows what piss-ant contacts he found. He might have any number of gangbangers tipping over 7/11s.”
I growled. “No. That fucker is squeezing Lyn. He’s making a move on Sorceress. Easy couple grand by bullying the girls. He’s making a move on our territory.”
Scotch drew on his cigarette. “Start-up costs are a bitch. Might as well find a bitch of your own to pay for it.”
“Sorceress is and always will be Anathema’s.” I eyed Keep and Brew. They didn’t blink. The frustration would snap my fucking ribs. “We can’t let Ex build a damned army in our town.”
“Can’t afford another war either,” Scotch said.
“And neither can Ex.”
Keep shrugged. “So what do you want to do?”
Good question, but we only had one answer. The Coup tore the club in half and also decimated our territory. The blood washed away. The insults silenced. The uneasy brotherhood that existed between our men fractured into animosity.
I let Exorcist escape to end the death, call off the cops, ditch the Feds, and prevent the city from descending into war.
Everyone had time to heal. But some wounds needed more than time. They needed vengeance. Retribution. Destruction.
Ex’s desecrated heart wrenched from his chest would cleanse my club. And I’d be the one to do it.
“It’s time for a visit over the river,” I said. “And I know exactly where we can go tonight.”
Brew tensed. “You’re not serious.”
“Rose has a gig. She’s singing at some club near Exorcist’s territory.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“You heard her.” I jerked a thumb toward the door. “She already confirmed with the venue.”
Scotch sucked in a breath but hacked two-packs-a-day worth of smoke from his lungs. “A presence over the river might not be a bad idea. Let Ex know we’re watching.”
Keep sided with Brew. “I didn’t even want her here.”
“Put it to a vote,” I said.
He swore. “You can’t keep voting on my sister’s life.”
“You want to abstain?”
“No. My vote is a fucking no.”
Brew grunted. “Mine too.”
My eyes passed to Gold.
He crumbled the last bite of his donut. “Christ. None of this sits good with me.”
“You did the recognizance,” I said. “Think visibility will put the fear of God into The Coup?”
He avoided the brothers. “Dude, we have to do something. Ex’s balls won’t fit on his bike anymore. Nothing’ll happen to the kid.”
“That’s cause she’s not your kid sister,” Keep said.
I spread my arms. “She’s just singing. We’re just riding.”
Keep tensed, and every vein from his jaw and over his shaved head popped out. “She’s my sister, not your whore, and not your goddamned catalyst for war with Exorcist.”
“You want to stay her brother?” I didn’t like his tone. Or his shaking hands. Or his waning loyalty. “Or you want to be some cement tombstone she can visit on the holidays?”
“And her singing will keep me out of the ground?”
“It’ll delay it.”
“Or we might end up with bullets in our skulls and my little sister mopping up our fucking brains.”
“Little housework never killed anyone.”
“Fuck you.”
“Motion carries.” The gavel slammed down. “See you tonight.”
Keep ripped away from the table. Brew swore and stood, but I called to him before he stormed from the chapel.
“She needs a guitar,” I said. “Might want to find her something so she’s prepared.”
Brew narrowed his eyes. “Right. Hate for her to walk into something she isn’t expecting.”
The meeting ended as Brew slammed the door against the wall. The thud reverberated through the entire warehouse. Scotch waved a hand as Gold hurried after the brothers.
“Thorne,” Scotch said. “Got a sec?”
I eyed the doorway. Rose waited. A flash of dark curls peeked inside the room, then thought better of darting inside. Smart kid.
“Keep’s got a problem,” Scotch said. “That addiction will kill him. What do we do about it?”
“Nothing.”
Scotch lit another cigarette. “He’s got it bad. Hitting him harder than it did before. We got to do something or it’ll eat him alive.”
Compassion wasn’t part of my plan, but neither was losing one of my childhood friends, partners, and brothers to an evil fucking monster.
Only I needed that monster. A strung-out Keep was more likely to make a mistake that would out him as the traitor. The drugs poisoned him, but that sickness wasn’t infecting my club for much longer.
“He’ll be fine.”
“If he gets worse, we can’t have him holding rank.”
And if he was the one feeding Exorcist information, I couldn’t afford him sitting in our church either. I shrugged.
“Brew will take care of him. It won’t get bad.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not removing Blade’s son from this table.” I stood. “We’re done here.”
Scotch extended his palms in surrender. Rose flinched as we filed out. I gestured for her to follow, though she searched over her shoulder for her raging brothers.
“You have a couple hours.” I didn’t wait. She hurried to match my steps. “You’re playing tonight.”
The bunny eyes were back. “I am?”
“Behave and do as I say, and you’ll be on stage tonight.”
She smiled.
My heart fucking stopped.
The blood thudded straight to my cock.
Zero to fucking mistake in two seconds. Not what we needed.
I ignored her until I shoved her in my room at Pixie. She didn’t fight. Didn’t protest. Just...smiled. Like the greatest fucking thing in her world was the opportunity to sing at some dive bar surrounded by more beer bottles than lights.
And she considered us the psychopaths.
Her brothers handed her a guitar som
etime in the afternoon. Their shouting carried from the bar. They didn’t let Rose backtalk, but I doubted they ever did. Not the way she tip-toed around her brothers. Not the way she used to avoid her old man. Twenty-five years to life was a long time for a girl to be without her daddy.
Rose didn’t seem to care.
I gave her till nightfall to strum her guitar before collecting the diva.
She wore a damned dress. Yellow. Like a sunflower or something. The folds of material just wiggled over her hips when I opened the door. She yelped and turned. The dress danced over her skin. Perfect for a picnic. I wondered if she expected to serenade a bunch of teddy bears.
“You didn’t knock.” Her hand stilled over the neckline of her dress.
“It’s my room.”
“I might have been naked.”
“A lot of women get naked in my room.”
“Charming.”
“I never had any complaints.” The dress didn’t fit tight enough over her form, but I imagined what she hid underneath. “Wearing that?”
She tossed a sweater over the sleeveless dress, covering an arm dotted with enough scars to make most of my men envious of her prior battles. She might have blushed. She turned too quick for me to see.
“Yes, I’m wearing this,” she said.
“You sure?”
“Motorcycle club president and fashion mogul?”
“I know a lot of women who perform.”
Rose perked an eyebrow. “This dress will be staying on all night, thank you very much.”
“We’ll see.”
She answered me with a frosty little huff that might have pissed me off had I not imagined the sounds she’d make on the back of my bike in that sunflower dress. She seized her guitar and marched from the room. The clip of her heels matched the swishing of her dress. Wasn’t a bad view, but I pulled her away from the door and led her outside myself. Last thing we needed was the starlet gunned down in the parking lot by some opportunistic gangbanger for Ex. She wouldn’t get a VH1 special unless she actually sang somewhere first.
I stopped her in front of my bike. Brew, Gold, and Scotch trailed behind, zipping their jackets and sliding onto their rides.
I handed her a helmet. She stared at it like a severed head tucked inside.
“Get on,” I said.
“Get on what?”