by Lana Grayson
This wasn’t good. My voice shrilled, but it wasn’t my acting that called to Toviel, it was the pure, unconsecrated fear he so preferred.
His fist rose again. I shouted.
“I don’t know where Brew is!” I cried. Red swore through the hit. “He left me. He found out I was supposed to kill him, and he said he would hunt me down and hurt me if I told anyone he left—”
“Save it.” Toviel laughed. “Baby, you better just shut your mouth while you’re still ahead.”
The Sergeant-at-Arms studied my lips. “Or while she can still give head.”
Shit.
My stomach quaked. The lashes and welts over my skin were nothing compared to the hollow dread that ate me from the inside.
Brew warned what Temple would do to me. I hadn’t believed him. I thought I could handle myself if the worst came to the worst. A smile. A giggle. A gentle touch to someone’s arm and a quick pout when I needed to earn a quicker friend.
It wasn’t going to work this time.
Flirting only worked when men weren’t murdered and money wasn’t on the table.
And sex only worked when it was my choice to spread my legs.
I lowered my head, stroking my eye as if wiping a tear away. The motion hid my glance under the counter. A candle lighter rested against a dried rag and a few piles of cocktail napkins tangled in silverware. Whoever took my missing shifts left the area a freaking mess. The shot gun tucked tight under the countertop. At least that was still there. The bluff of all bluffs.
Sam stepped forward, casting a miserable look at my bleeding cousin heaving over the table.
“Okay,” Sam said. “Martini told us the truth. We don’t got any more secrets. We told you about Kingdom’s offer. No one attacked your men. So far, you’ve only hurt us—especially poor Red over there—more than we’ve hurt you. Let’s call a momentary truce. Just talk this out.”
Temple didn’t look to be big talkers, and they weren’t the type to honor a truce. The attention passed from me. I took the gifted moment and seized the one bottle of liquor stashed under the bar. I moved it next to my lighter.
Gin.
As if the world hadn’t fucked me enough.
Toviel waved a hand. The Sergeant-At-Arms backed off of Red, though the fucking snake kicked his knee before parting from him.
“This isn’t gonna be easy,” Toviel said. “You were hired to kill us.”
Sam nodded. “We got approached by a bigger club with more weapons than neighborly goodwill. We didn’t have a choice.”
“Oh, you always have a choice. I’ll give you one right now.” Toviel wiped the blood from his hands with a handkerchief. “I propose a new alliance. Temple owns Sacrilege. Do as we say, or we’ll skin every one of your women and children alive.”
“Jesus,” Sam swore.
“You work for us. And your first job is to go find every last one of those Kingdom MC fucks and slit their goddamned throats. Think you can do that?”
Goliath nodded when Sam paled. “Yeah. We’ll do it.”
“Good.” Toviel stared at me. “Next order of business. We took out the Kingdom officers in the cottage, but we got two witnesses who can still talk.”
Sam grunted. “Martini won’t say nothin’.”
Toviel shook his head, and the filth of his intentions soiled every part of my skin.
“Yeah, we’ll teach her to keep quiet. Your sweetbutt is a witness. We’ll take her with us and decide what to do.”
I tensed against the muffled scrape of the gun unhooking from under the countertop. I worked quick. Only one shell, but one shot was enough.
“What about Brew Darnell?” Sam didn’t even try. The fucking coward would let them rape and murder me if it protected his ass. “Do you need us to find him?”
“And fuck it up again?” Toviel frowned. “Brew Darnell is probably in California. His father was released from prison. He’s got a grudge against Blade. He’s going to settle a score.”
“I’ll kill him,” Goliath growled. “I’ll rip his goddamned head off his neck.”
“Do it, and you’ll get fifty thousand dollars.”
Sam and Goliath blinked. I clutched the gun.
“Fifty grand?” Goliath repeated.
“His father set the bounty. He won’t live long enough for you to make it to California.”
Fuck.
I swallowed my sickness. It returned, vile and burning.
Blade realized Brew was coming.
And why wouldn’t he? If Rose revealed everything that happened to her, Blade would anticipate his son returning to avenge his little sister. He lured Brew into a fucking trap.
And I had no way to warn him. Temple would claim me as their prize for the night. By morning I’d be their bloody trophy for conquering the region.
It wasn’t going to happen.
I wouldn’t let it happen. Not anymore.
I ducked behind the counter and ripped the cap off the half-empty bottle of gin. The dry rag stuffed deep inside. Toviel shouted for me. So did Goliath. I slammed the bottle against the counter, pulled out the shot gun, and jumped up.
Toviel got a little too close.
The gunfire cursed the bar with a spray of shrapnel. I reloaded the gun even though I didn’t have another shell. The bluff worked. The men yelled and leapt under the tables. Toviel sunk into a puddle of blood.
It bought me time. I grabbed the lighter and torched the rag inside the bottle. It felt like I was always wishing for an alcohol other than gin, but it’d have to do.
The makeshift bomb exploded against the floor. I twisted and stole a bottle of Everclear as well, launching that at Toviel’s head and striking him in the gaping wounds of his chest. The glass shattered on impact, and the flames greedily absorbed the escaping vapors for more fuel.
The bar hadn’t had a fire inspection in years, and the timber holding it up dried and split long ago. The fire spread without help from me. The flames gorged the floorboards and spread along the supporting beams decorated with yellowing posters and old t-shirts. The perfect kindling.
I grabbed a knife from behind the counter and leapt over the bar as Toviel and his men hid from my empty shot gun. Sam and Goliath shouted, but the knife sliced through Red’s bindings and then flung at the Sergeant-at-Arms. The blade grazed off his neck, but he fell to his knees to cover the wound as the smoke surged and billowed over the room.
Red limped and bled, but he held onto me as I dragged him from the burning building and into the parking lot. The scraps of duct-tape still strapped over his wrists, but he bit through the bindings and called for me. He jumped on his bike, and I thudded against his back.
The motorcycle accelerated before I was settled, but it was fast enough to peel out of the parking lot as Goliath sprinted after us. We turned the corner and burst for the interstate before he could make it on his ride.
I didn’t remember crying. I rested my head on Red’s back as every part of my body screamed in pain. I preferred the welts blistering my skin to other injuries. Straddling the bike hurt me in ways I wasn’t ready to admit. I gripped Red, and he reached to pat my arm. He knew the roads better than Brew, and we lost Goliath and Temple within minutes.
He pulled into the parking lot of an old McDonalds to check me over.
“You okay?” He asked. We sported matching black eyes.
I lied. “Fine. But we can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”
Red didn’t have to ask. “Are you going after Brew?”
He wouldn’t want me, but that hadn’t stopped me before. “I have to.”
“Know where he is?”
“I’ll find him. Where will you be?”
“South.” Red touched his ear. He bled from a slice over the cartilage. They meant to hack it off but missed. Got a good chunk though. “I have some friends. Do you have money?”
I reached into my pocket. Most of the money Brew left me was still in my bags, incinerating in my apartment, but I had a decent sized wa
d. I’d be fine.
“I have enough to get by. I just gotta find him before…” I refused to say it.
“Christ,” Red sighed. “You need to see a doctor. What did Goliath do to you?”
“I don’t care about me.”
“Yeah, well I do. And I should take you to the hospital.”
Damn it. I pulled him into a hug. “I don’t have time. He’s been gone for three days. He might be dead by now.”
Red’s frown etched into his face. He aged ten years in the course of the night—closer to Brew’s age than mine.
“You in love with him or something?”
The coy smile returned. “You jealous or something?”
“You really are fucked now.”
No sense arguing. The sun peeked over the horizon. In the daylight, my body screamed, beaten and bruised. I tallied the injuries and prided myself for surviving. It didn’t matter what hurt. It didn’t matter what bled.
I’d crawl to California if it meant finding Brew and protecting him from his father.
Sorceress was one of those classy strip clubs—the kind where the girls shook their asses, ignored the business discussed at the tables, and stitched a guy’s wounds when things got rough.
For a stage of half-naked women and decently priced drinks, Sorceress didn’t offer me many good memories, and my shoulder ached more the closer I got to the club. The pain burrowed deep, punishing my arm with common sense, like it remembered where it got hurt.
If I was lucky, the blonde hard-ass who owned the club wouldn’t aim for my good shoulder when she saw me.
Jocelyn Hart managed Sorceress with the same iron-fisted ruthlessness that Thorne controlled Anathema. Except, instead of a loaded gun, Lyn ran her business with a roll of twenties and the threat of a high heel bludgeoned through a man’s temple if they happened to get fresh.
So when I grabbed her, I avoided her feet, shoved my hand over her smart mouth, and hauled her into an office that passed more money through g-strings than Anathema ever did with a semi-truck full of cigarettes aimed for San Francisco.
I slammed the door, but she got away before I spoke. The gun released from her office drawer, and she aimed a steady, remorseless barrel at my cock. I raised my hands. Lyn’s green eyes flashed with a perverse acknowledgement, as if I handed her a hundred thousand dollars instead of surrendering while she pointed her piece at mine.
“Lyn, it’s me.”
The gun didn’t move. A lock of vibrantly blonde hair fell over her face. She wasn’t a vixen, she was a viper. Every man who sewed the Anathema patch on his vest and had her velvet lips wrapped over his cock prayed they’d earn her mercy over the prick of her fangs.
“I know.” Lyn’s eyebrow arched. It wasn’t a greeting. “Why do you think I’m so happy to see you?”
The corset pushed up her tits, and the stitched leather of her skirt flaunted an untouchable ass. She didn’t need a weapon to stun a man. She also didn’t need the attitude, but damned if I was going to correct it. Thorne had better luck managing Lyn when her balls got too big for her thong. But, after the fire that gutted Sorceress and put her out of business for a month, the leather Lyn wore was probably skinned from Anathema’s president.
“I’m not dead.”
“No shit? You sure?”
“You’re not happy to see me?”
Her breath cursed me, her gaze punished me, and her intentions probably wouldn’t thrill me.
“Get the hell out of my club,” she said.
“I’m just trying to catch up.”
“Oh?” She hopped onto her desk with the grace of a prowling jungle cat and the claws to match. The gun still aimed for the part she was most likely to rip off and keep as a trophy. “You want to reminisce? Fantastic. Let’s start with this.”
She reached over her computer and pulled a file. She was a good shot, but a better accountant. Nothing ever worked in Anathema’s favor when we let her set the terms.
“Fifty thousand dollars in renovations, twenty thousand in repairs, ten thousand in legal fees.” She glanced at me, her eyes the same color as the cash she counted. “You need a pen and paper, or you getting this?”
“Lyn—”
“Eighty thousand dollars you guys cost me in that pissing contest between The Coup and Thorne. The police, Feds, ATF, every fucker with a badge tried to ride my ass and shut down my club. Two of my dancers quit when they saw the bullet holes in the dressing room, and I had to put another one in to therapy. Your fucking brother got high with my best dancer and had to rush her to the emergency room when she OD’d.”
“Christ.”
“Oh, but that’s nothing.” Lyn dropped the gun and clicked her nails off the desk. It wasn’t because she was being friendly. Each bite against the wood was an imagined clip firing into my head. She had the decency to drop the weapon before committing any felonies. “Why the fuck haven’t you talked to your little sister?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“For Rose?”
“I need a favor.”
“I’m not cutting Anathema favors anymore.”
“Good thing I’m not in Anathema.”
I didn’t trust Lyn not to rip off my clothes and point out every layer of ink on my body that named me a liar.
“You’re more Anathema now than when you were jerking off Luke and making deals with Temple.”
“Will you help me or not?”
“I don’t do charity, Brew.”
“Then will you help Rose?”
Lyn wagged a finger. “You want to help poor little Rosie? Answer the phone once in a while. Listen to her music. Be the fucking brother she needs now that she ripped out her heart and lived through that nightmare again. Think you can do that?”
“No.”
“Then get out of my club.”
“My father’s out of jail.”
Lyn’s voice never hardened—it coiled in threat. “Yeah. I know. I was the one who hauled Thorne and your druggie brother out of the gig before they slit Blade’s throat. I was the one who held Rose while she broke down because, let’s face it, Thorne isn’t the type to get all cuddly-feely when he senses she’s in trouble. She needed you, Brew.”
“I’m here now.”
Lyn had enough. She had an uncanny ability to flip men off without raising a finger. “Rose isn’t playing tonight. You’re on the wrong side of town to offer your help.”
“Can you bring my father here? Dance for him?”
“If you think I would ever let that monster step foot in my club after what he did to her—”
“You think I’d let him walk out after I’m done with him?”
“Of course not.” She tapped the folder at her side. “But I’m not dropping eighty grand on renovations so Anathema can bloody the carpet again.”
“This ain’t for Anathema. This is for Rose.”
Lyn snorted. “Is it?”
“He won’t hurt her again.”
“Rose wouldn’t let him.” She wrapped her nails off the desk again. Somehow I made another mistake. “She’s not a little girl anymore, Brew. She’s in college, doing her music, and she’s the president’s old lady. She’s all we got for a Queen right now, and she’s doing one hell of a job patching us together. No one will ever touch her again. She won’t let it happen.”
“And I’ll make sure of it.”
“Whatever. Do your dirty work somewhere else.”
“I’ll pay.”
“Of course you will. Because all you guys are the same. Money, blood, and tits. You think it can fix everything.”
“Name one thing it can’t.”
“Your fucking sister.” Lyn’s words clipped over her gritted teeth. “But I gotta admit. I like the thought of that cocksucker getting what’s coming to him.”
“We get him here. You distract him. I’ll take care of it. No one learns about it. Not Thorne or Rose.” I matched the stone in her gaze. “Not Knight.”
She didn’t blink. “Kni
ght doesn’t know you’re alive.”
“Keep it that way.”
“Okay.” Lyn proposed a trade I wasn’t prepared to bargain. “As long as Knight stays alive.”
“Why do you care? He’s Coup. Acting fucking president.”
She shrugged. “Knight lives, no questions asked, and I’ll help you take Daddy out.”
“Deal.”
“You always were the rational one.”
I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a handshake, not when Lyn had the balls of every man from Anathema and The Coup in her clutches. I didn’t trust her not to squeeze.
She made her phone call, and I waited.
Patience was a virtue, but patricide was a glorifying sin. It blackened anything good that hadn’t been scourged from me in a lifetime of club business.
Martini asked if I could kill my father.
The thought was easy. He wasn’t my father anymore. He was a man who committed a betrayal worse than any of the treachery I twisted to save Anathema. I trusted him. I obeyed him. I aspired to become him. Killing him would rip off that festering, wounded part of myself. End the deceit and misery.
But she got in my head. Martini’s warnings weren’t meant to steady my hand or prepare me for a battle no son should have fought. She manipulated me to protect herself. She forced me to my knees, and it was all so I’d break myself to keep her safe. She was no better than my father. He betrayed Rose, and she betrayed Rose’s secret.
So why the fuck did I worry when my phone stayed silent?
I didn’t have much of me left. Rose decimated my strength, and Martini stole what remained.
Martini was a good flirt, but was she that good a liar? She felt honest enough when she ground against my cock and cried my name. She spoke of trust and consoled me when I revealed my guilt. Was that a trick too? Just a way for her to ensnare me?
I made enough mistakes in my life. Martini was another in a list that blistered the fragments of my conscience.
I just wished I could go for five fucking seconds without worrying that something had happened to her.
Lyn held up her end of the bargain. The shadows obscured a lifetime of sin as the door to my father’s waiting tomb opened, and the old man took his seat in the wing-back chair meant for a comfortable show and more comfortable ride. I waited in the darkness, gun in hand.