by Lana Grayson
Ex took his sister, and I had only one question that roared louder than the ringing pain in my ears.
“Where the fuck is Keep?”
The vein in Brew’s head throbbed. “I have no goddamned idea.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Brew checked his phone. He dialed, but the call went right to Keep’s voicemail. His profanity echoed. He threw the phone onto the table.
“He’s going to lose his fucking mind,” Brew said.
Losing his mind and his sister were the least of his worries. I wasn’t about to damn Keep, but the mound of fucking evidence stacking against him was more than enough to justify tossing him in a windowless room and beating the truth from his junkie body.
Extra money. Drugs. Arguing with Brew about Rose’s safety. Somehow Ex knew everything about Anathema from beyond the bridges. I knew it was one of the Darnells, but I underestimated how fucking ruthless they were.
That was my own mistake. Despite Keep’s cheer and Brew’s intelligence, they were still Blade Darnell’s sons. If they were even half the man of that cruel son of a bitch, I couldn’t trust either of them.
The thought was enough to make me sick.
One of them sacrificed their sister, and no girl with those baby-bunny eyes and sweetheart smile would survive surrounded by the ranks of depravity Ex attracted.
Rape was the least of their crimes.
If they even considered it a crime.
I fucking did.
The pain from the concussion dulled. It yielded to the consuming vengeance that burned every last shred of pity, remorse, or loyalty that once existed for my former brothers.
They already cracked her guitar. If they so much as tangled a single fucking curl on her head I wouldn’t find peace until I flayed every one of Exorcist’s men alive.
And his heart would only stop beating once I squeezed it in my palm.
Scotch shouted from the front doors. Brew’s frustration slammed a fist in the wall instead of his brother’s head. Lyn called for help from the entry, and Scotch and Brew dragged Keep’s limp body inside.
“For Christ’s sake, prop him up.” Lyn edged both men out of the way and sat Keep in a chair. She knelt before him, snapping her fingers. Keep laughed, but his eyes didn’t focus. He lost his shirt somewhere. Lyn slapped his cheek and Keep flinched a few seconds later.
She leaned back on her heels. Keep stared down her corset. He reached for the pale, pushed-up swell of her tits. She slapped him again. Harder.
“Where was he?” Brew asked.
“Our VIP room doing God knows what. Shannon found him passed out. Just lucky he didn’t swallow his fucking tongue.” Lyn brushed the dirt off the leather clinging to her thighs. She frowned as she glanced around. “Oh, hell. What happened?”
“Not safe here.” I nodded toward the door. “Call your girls. Close early. Get the fuck away from anyone who is still dealing with Exorcist.”
Lyn hid her fear well. Her eyes narrowed, the slick green preventing anyone from turning their back on her. No woman in a fucking corset strapping her tits higher than Keep was flying deserved the power she held over Anathema.
“What happened?” She asked again. “Why are you bleeding?”
“Exorcist kidnapped Rose from her gig.” Brew leaned over Keep. “You fucking asshole! Where the hell were you! Ex has Rose!”
“Rose?” Keep slurred her name. He repeated it and rolled the R. Brew punched him in the jaw, and Keep slumped, unconscious.
“Fuck.” Lyn pushed Brew from his brother before he killed him. “Exorcist kidnapped Bud? Why?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “We’re going to go get her.”
“It’s a trap.”
“No shit.”
I stalked into the chapel. Lyn followed. She wasn’t the only woman getting involved in shit that didn’t concern her. She wisely stepped out of arm’s reach.
“I know why you’re babysitting the brat,” she hissed. “And it’s not because you want someone to serenade you in the shower every morning.”
“I told you to go home.”
“What if Ex knows you’re using her to find the rat?”
“Go. Home.”
“Call Knight.”
Now she was asking for a backhand. Anyone else might have earned it.
“Why?”
Lyn raised her chin. “Because Luke is the only sane man in The Coup. Find out what the hell is happening.”
“Luke is Ex’s second-in-command,” I said. “There’s nothing sane about him.”
“Just fucking call him. See what they want for her.”
“They’re sending a message.”
“You don’t kidnap Blade Darnell’s only daughter to send a message,” she said. “They want her for something.”
“Probably to rut her like fucking animals!”
Lyn’s expression faltered. Mine did too. We shared a hard-wrought breath and images neither of us wanted to imagine. I grabbed my phone.
“Last time I saw Luke, I had a gun pointed to his head.”
Lyn shrugged. “Name of the game.”
I dialed. Waited. The phone rang four times before the call connected, but Luke didn’t answer. The muffled echoes of a group of men muttered instead.
Ex spoke over the rumbles.
“Give him a hello, Rose.”
She screamed. A shot fired. The line went dead.
My heart stopped with it.
Lyn didn’t bother asking any questions. I grabbed a shotgun from the crate and pushed a twenty-two into her hands.
“Get your ass somewhere safe. Stay in Pixie. Run out of town. I don’t care where you go, just don’t get killed.”
She knew how to shoot. No one owned a club like hers without knowing how to defend their goods. She rubbed her forehead.
“I’ll bring a few girls down.” She frowned. “Someone will have to patch you guys up.”
If any of us survived. I met Scotch at the door.
“How many men did we get?”
“Fifteen in an hour,” he said. “But only three are here now.”
“Then we’ll take three.” I waved for Brew to follow. I tapped Scotch’s chest. “Stay here. Lyn’s bringing her girls. Keep an eye on them.”
“Sure, you gunfight. I’ll stay with the strippers.” Scotch’s smile was short-lived. “You bring me back my goddaughter.”
One troublemaking kitten served alongside Ex’s head.
It’d be a good night for vengeance.
I texted Gold. He had the location cornered, but he wasn’t investigating without backup. That was fine by me. I planned to be the one leading my men in.
I’d take the first shot. Make the first kill. Be the first to go down if that’s how God or the Devil or whatever malevolent force cocking up my club wanted to play it.
Brew, two prospects, and three other brothers—Chip, Ace, and Tanner—revved their engines with mine. My club. My men. My city.
I’d rescue Rose by spilling blood and destroying lives.
The streets cleared as we rode. The valley wasn’t big enough for a scene after midnight, and the citizens weren’t stupid enough to linger once the night yielded to us. The industrial district might have fostered a third shift, but the workers ignored us and drove alternate routes to avoid the five bikes riding in formation. Gold swung out after us, rolling to my side with a frown.
“They cleared out quick. My guy in Dantry said Temple MC is making a run.” Gold shouted over the engines. “Didn’t see Rose with Ex, but The Coup bolted out of here to meet up with Temple. Want us to follow?”
Christ. One hell of a trap.
“We gotta get Rose.”
“But if they’re getting more drugs—”
“Rose first.”
Gold backed down. Didn’t understand it, but he backed down.
Brew and Keep might have been grateful we rolled to grab their sister, but I didn’t drop why she was so goddamned important. It didn’t matter what drugs or
guns or women The Coup and Temple traded. Without Rose, I couldn’t find the rat. And, without squealing on one of the brothers, Anathema was as good as dead, even without Ex’s grenade tossed inside Pixie.
Exorcist’s warehouse was some makeshift piece of shit moving company he pieced together from two stolen trucks and an unpaid gambling debt. The company didn’t make money and owed on taxes, but it served his crew well enough. Secured location, plenty of friends on his side of town to keep an eye on the front, and far enough removed from my assets he was practically impervious to my crew.
He’d move the drugs from the trucks. That much I figured out. I just needed to know how he planned to get the merchandise.
And where Rose fit into his plan.
We parked across from three unattended bikes. No one fired on us. No one defended their rides. It wasn’t the welcome I expected. Brew drew his gun.
I waved for Gold and his men to circle the building. They sprinted into the darkness, weapons readied against the silence of the night. I reached for the knob. The door wasn’t even locked.
My gun raised into an empty room. Brew strafed a wall around a bared reception area. No computers. No files. Just a forgotten counter etched with graffiti and a putrid scent of fucking disaster flooding the room.
My boots crunched over shattered glass, but they at least boarded the front window up. Brew’s steps chewed over the same debris. I edged to a closed door sectioning off the front from the warehouse behind. Brew nodded.
I silently counted to three.
I kicked the door in and aimed the shotgun. The greasy, polluted grime of diesel fuel instantly coated my lungs. My boots rippled through a puddle. Brew swore.
“Son of a bitch!” He ran into the warehouse, gun drawn. “Rose!”
Our steps splattered over the fuel-soaked hall and through the deserted warehouse. Ex had the entire goddamned building laced with diesel. Brew retched as he ran. I didn’t have that problem. The concussion dizzied me enough without worrying about choking over fucking chemicals.
The hall broke into a huge garage. Broken glass shattered everywhere, the florescent lights above completely destroyed by gunfire. A muffled cry broke the silence.
Brew fumbled for his cellphone. The screen brightened and he cast it over the room.
Rose wiggled against a wooden chair. Ropes lashed over her neck, her arms, her waist, her legs. They shoved a dirty rag soaked in fuel in her mouth, and she cried as I untied the rope forcing the cloth between her lips.
She sputtered and spat, but I slapped a hand over her mouth before she spoke. Brew grabbed the knife from his boot and sliced through the ropes as rolling, black smoke poured through an opened hallway. A lone figure emerged from the shadows. A glint of metal reflected in the circle of white cast from Brew’s phone.
I leapt over Rose before she was free. Brew shouted. The gun fired, but I covered her. She grunted as she hit the ground, cradled in my arms.
They didn’t aim for us. The bullets struck the iridescent cement floors. Enraged, orange fire burst to life at Brew’s feet. He kicked, but the spiraling fuel fed the fire. The shooter fled.
I wished we could do the same.
“Get the ropes!” Brew sliced through the thick cords binding Rose to the chair.
I pulled as Brew cut, slamming the chair away as we freed enough of her to bolt. The billowing smoke enveloped the warehouse, trading blows with the erupting fire consuming the space the darkness hadn’t claimed.
I grabbed Rose, but my hands slipped from her arms. Slippery, grimy fuel coated her body.
And blood.
Rivers of blood. Every straining step she took shook handfuls of glass from her hair and body. Her arms and legs, face and chest bled from the nips and cuts of the shattered glass from above. Her little yellow sundress tangled with crimson, dirt, and soaked chemicals.
She panicked, breathing in too much of the smoke. I caught her as she fell, hauling her into my arms and breaking for the door before the flames scorched her with the hellfire reserved for me.
The stench of the fire choked us. Brew ripped off his shirt and pressed the material against Rose’s face. I doubted it would help.
I struggled for a clean breath of air, but nothing in the foul, acrid, mechanical sludge tasted clean. The fire spread behind as we ran. A serpentine rampage of flame that swelled faster than it should have, flared hotter than possible, and aimed for us with such unrepentant absolution I swore the gate of Hell opened to swallow us whole.
The warehouse groaned against the pure destruction. The blistering, rupturing cries of weakening wood destroyed by rounds of automatic weapons roared against the howl of the blaze.
We sprinted through the building as the hungry fire licked up the walls and along the floor, jumping rooms and feasting upon our path to freedom. Brew didn’t hesitate. He threw himself against the door and forced it open. We collapsed on the sidewalk a mess of sweat, fumes, and gagging agony.
Gold and his men sprinted to our side. He shouted some shit about the fire company being dispatched. I didn’t listen.
Rose crawled from my arms and threw up. Brew did the same.
There wasn’t time to recover. I grabbed the straps of her dress and hauled her to her feet.
Back to my arms.
“Police, fire, EMS.” Gold tapped the scanner on his hip. “Dude, we’re gone yesterday.”
I spat the smoke from my tongue. Didn’t help. “Where’s The Coup?”
“Not here. Some punk ass prospect fired at us. Got Ace and Tanner chasing him down. The others split. She’s the distraction for their getaway.”
That much I knew.
I pushed Rose across the street toward our bikes and pointed at mine. “Get on.”
She didn’t listen. Brew shouted as she sprinted to The Coup’s abandoned bikes. We crowded her, but she knelt beside the seat, reaching inside and ripping wires from one of the engines.
“Revenge later, Bud.” Brew reached for her elbow. She coughed as she batted him away.
Her attention focused on another bike. I argued until I realized what the diva did. Rose’s hand slipped under the handles, jamming into the wires underneath. She followed the trail to the starter on the side of the bike. Disconnected it. Then she wound the wires in her hand together, shoved the edges into the starter’s plug, and listened for a second over the howl of sirens threatening the street.
Brew swore at her. “Rose—”
She hopped over the seat and flipped the switch.
The bike rumbled and started.
Jesus Christ, how did this girl know how to hotwire a motorcycle?
She met my gaze. The smoke and fuel, terror and pain, destroyed her voice. She whispered, but I didn’t doubt the threat.
“I don’t ride as a passenger,” she said. “Now we can go.”
Despite the blood pouring off of her, the kidnapping, concussion, and torched warehouse, my cock hardened as she gripped the handles of the bike.
I passed her my helmet. Her hands trembled as she buckled it. Brew offered to help, but she turned from him before he touched her.
“Ride to Pixie,” I told her. “And don’t fucking stop for anything.”
I straddled my bike. Rose waited for me.
“We’ve got to go fast,” I warned.
“I can ride fast.”
The grim determination in her voice almost overshadowed her fear.
Almost.
The sirens and flashing lights chased up the road. I took off. Brew and the others waited for Rose. She wobbled pulling out onto the street. One glance at the smoke filled sky behind her and the groaning warehouse shuddering under its supports and she was out like a shot, bursting out in front of me and accidentally leading the Anathema MC away from her own kidnapping.
It shouldn’t have gotten me off.
I didn’t care.
For the first time I didn’t regret stealing the kid and forcing her into the middle of the MC.
Rose wasn’t s
ome helpless little girl.
She was as Anathema as her older brothers. As her old man.
And she’d help me restore the club, even if it meant I’d force her to betray her family.
And when I had enough evidence to prove Keep was the one responsible for getting her kidnapped, bloody, and nearly incinerated, he’d be tossed in the shallow grave right next to Exorcist.
I hadn’t ridden a bike in years.
Not since the last time Dad forced me onto his bike. When he had one too many and told my brothers he wanted to take me around the block.
They thought he needed the fresh air and an excuse to duck out of a bad poker hand.
I knew better.
And they should have known too.
I wished they had known.
Dad had wobbled onto the bike and buckled my helmet for me. He rubbed my shoulder, squeezing it, before pointing behind him and ordering me on. He’d warned for me to hold tight, and wouldn’t leave the parking lot until I wrapped my hands low over his waist. Pressed my chest into his back.
He always liked that.
He’d laid the bike down just outside the theater on Washington. Passed through a red light going fifty when he should have been traveling twenty-five. He fell off. I wasn’t so lucky.
The right side of my body eventually healed. It was the one scar my brothers didn’t ignore.
I was eighteen, and, for the first time, they defended me against Dad.
And he had beat me mercilessly for it before I left the hospital.
I didn’t have the experience or skills of the rest of the club. I sped away from the warehouse in blind panic, away from the fire and the guns and the favors.
Except I didn’t realize what I had done. Thorne passed me in seconds, overwhelming my motorcycle with the confidence of a rampaging warlord charging down the unfortunate prey falling under his sword.
He didn’t look at me. Didn’t shout. Didn’t do anything but push his bike ahead of mine and glance in his mirror to ensure I fell into the proper formation behind him.
I didn’t care if I was the first to Pixie or the last, so long as I got away from Exorcist.
My arms burned where ropes dug into my flesh. I still tasted the oil soaked gag they shoved in my mouth. That wasn’t as bad as what glistened on my skin under the streetlights.