by Lana Grayson
He pulled his sleeve up too far. Fresh bruises nestled in his elbows. He nodded and leaned over the bar. “Who’s your friend?”
“Never mind, Keep,” Rose said. “I got it handled.”
“Whatever you say, Bud.” He ignored her in favor of me. “Name’s Keep. What do I call you?”
“Unavailable.” I winked. “Especially to you.”
“Oh, I like a challenge.”
“Not this one.” Rose groaned as she shoved him away. “Go sober up before you embarrass yourself.”
He snorted, but his words slurred too soft for the attitude behind it. “Christ, Bud. Don’t start this shit again.”
“Keep, please.”
“Don’t raise your fucking voice to me.”
“Keep!”
He pinched his eyes shut, running a hand over his face. “Sorry. Sorry sorry. I gotta go...sleep it off...you’re supposed to be studying, Bud.”
She flushed—that shame when she couldn’t explain away his behavior, even to someone who understood what the addiction did to him.
“Yeah, I’ll keep reading,” she said. “I promise.”
Keep was attractive, but whatever pumped in his blood thinned his cheeks and twitched his muscles. Rose sighed as he tripped and swore over an uneven floorboard. A door slammed somewhere in the back office.
“It got worse after Brew left.” She didn’t have to tell me, but she did anyway. “He can’t look at me unless he’s high, but I’m the only one who can take care of him when it gets too bad.”
Good God, the kid was a walking Shakespearian tragedy muddied with cinders and motor oil. I gave her a weak smile. She saw through it and stared at my face. I wore long sleeves, but they only covered up bruises, not my stiff, achy movements.
“Are you...hurt?” She asked.
“Oh.” I wished I hadn’t stuffed my sunglasses in my purse. The makeup did a poor job of covering Goliath’s marks. “I’m okay. Really.”
Rose didn’t buy it. “But look at you! Did someone do this to you?”
“Forget it. We need to worry about Brew. Please tell me someone can take me to him?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t tell Keep he was in town, and I didn’t tell Thorne.”
“When did you see him?”
“Yesterday, but I haven’t talked to him since. We had a fight.” She pulled out her phone and thumbed through the unanswered messages. “I tried to text him, but he never responds to me anyway.”
“I understand that feeling.”
“But…” Rose’s fawn brown eyes flashed a curious brown. “I was supposed to play at Sorceress tonight.”
“Yeah…you already told me.”
She groaned. “You’re my biggest fan, aren’t you?”
“Sorry. I had to find out where he went, and I figured you’d lead me to him.”
She shrugged. “Lyn cancelled my gig tonight. She said the crowd would be too rough for me. They’d want to see more leg, not listen to my covers. He’s gotta be there.”
My stomach tightened. “So where’s your father then?”
She shivered at the word but pretended she hadn’t. “I...don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I told him not to. I didn’t want him going after Dad.”
“Damn it.”
I trembled off the stool. I might have been too late. Blade knew Brew was coming, and he didn’t need to hire anyone else to do his dirty work. He’d save his ass and keep his money all in the same gunshot.
“Rose, let me borrow your car.”
She apologized. “I rode in with Keep after class—”
“Fuck. Look, I gotta get to Sorceress. Can one of the guys give me a ride?”
“And find him there? If they learn Brew’s alive, we’re all in a world of pain.”
“He might be dead already.” I grabbed my purse. “I’ll take a taxi.”
Rose shifted. She studied the bar, counting the men and checking the time. She wasn’t tough, but she was stubborn like Brew.
“I’ll take you there,” she said.
“You don’t have a car.”
“I can get the fob to Thorne’s bike.”
“And...?”
She blushed. I choked.
“Holy shit,” I said. “I’m not crazy enough to steal my man’s bike.”
She bit her fingernail. “He’s upstairs sleeping off the run last night. I’ll be back before he realizes I’m gone.”
“And what do you tell Keep?”
“He won’t remember we were here.”
“Are you sure—”
Rose stood. “I’m going. With or without you.”
She wouldn’t be safe at Sorceress. Brew would flip his shit if he knew she was on her way, but his rage would be the preamble to the fireworks when Mr. President realized both his bike and girl were missing.
Necessary risks.
I nodded. “Can you handle a motorcycle?”
Rose smirked and curled a finger for me to follow her outside. I slid behind her onto Thorne’s sleek, black motorcycle and swore as she kicked up dust peeling out of Pixie’s parking lot.
Rose had no business riding a bike as well as she did, but she came from a line of men born and bred to lead the club. She read the road, owned Thorne’s stolen bike, and cut across three lanes of traffic like the craziest motherfuckers patched into Anathema. No mystery who taught her how to ride, but I wondered if Brew drilled any common sense into her head.
I packed many times before, but Rose was too tiny for the Harley. I shrieked as she split the traffic and red-lined the bike. I pinched my eyes shut and chanted my Hail Marys. Rose didn’t stop or slow. The closer we got to Sorceress, the further Thorne would have to hitchhike before he kicked both our asses.
She peeled off the highway, dodging a pissed off Subaru and a panicking woman in an SUV two luxury sizes too big for her. The bike obeyed her, roaring as we crossed the town borders and rode toward the pink and purple neon lights of a fenced in club. A newly refurbished sign scrawled the word Sorceress in pretty calligraphy, though the delicate lettering was lost on the rows of bikes and pick-ups parked outside.
“I don’t see his bike!” Rose shouted.
I squeezed her waist, trying to calm her before she throttled through the front doors and ruined Brew’s cover.
Brew taught her how to ride, but he forgot the lesson in breaking. The bike pitched in the gravel. She crunched to a halt and stalled. We nearly tumbled off the seat.
“That’s…” Rose gripped the handles until her fingers turned white.
“What?”
“That’s my dad’s bike.”
Oh. The red and chrome motorcycle shone gaudy in the neon lights. It had the right blend of flare and function. It was a bike to be noticed by those who didn’t understand anything about them and respected by those who did. I yelped as Rose jammed the throttle and parked next to the motorcycle.
“He’ll think its Thorne.” Rose puffed. “It’ll scare him.”
Nothing would scare a monster like Blade. If abusing his own daughter and sitting in jail for murder didn’t bother him, Thorne’s bike would just piss him off.
Or he’d think of it as a challenge.
Rose pointed to a side entrance and darted inside before I stopped her. The thrumming bass pulsed the club like a rave, but the expensive furniture, recessed lighting, and soft colors exuded femininity. The halls filled with private stages and darkened dressing rooms, beaded curtains and the all-familiar grind of a malfunctioning printer from an office.
Two dancers in thongs dropped their act as soon as they jumped offstage. They ignored us in favor of their cell phones and ducked out of Rose’s path.
“There’s no way in hell Brew and Thorne let you strip?” I said.
“Don’t worry. I play guitar and sing. Covers, mostly.” Rose peeked in an empty office before ushering me deeper into the club. “They try to play it up like this is a real gig, but Sorceress is one of Anathema’
s investments. Playing here is an easy way for the guys to keep an eye on me.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“You’ve met Br—my brother. Thorne is just as protective. But…” She was honest because I bet she was a worse liar than Brew. “I earn ridiculous tips if Lyn dances when I play, and my YouTube channel gets a ton of hits if I make music videos with the girls.”
“You’re too practical for this life.”
“Someone in my family has to be.”
The music shifted to a steadier, seductive beat, and the lights dimmed. A single dancer took the stage, swaying her hips to a popular R&B song as a dozen grizzled, leather-bound men flashed fistfuls of cash. I searched the crowd, but a woman’s sudden profanity stopped us short of the main floor.
“What the hell are you doing here?” The hiss of feminine authority belonged to a black skirt and laced up corset stitched from the skin of the devil himself. The leggy blonde wielded four inch stilettos and an attitude born from their unforgiving bite strapped against her feet. “I told you not to come tonight!”
Rose flinched, but she didn’t roll over. “We have a problem, Lyn. This is Martini. She’s...she’s with…”
We didn’t have time to waste on veiled secrets. “I need to find Brew.”
Lyn’s radioactive gaze told me everything and punished me for trying to find out more. “He’s dead. Case closed.”
“I know he isn’t dead.”
“What? You his old lady?”
“I blew that chance.”
“Honey, if you can still blow him, you got a chance,” Lyn said. If looks could kill, her perfectly manicured nails, curls of blonde hair, and temptress red lips would have resurrected a man just to murder him again. “Aren’t you a little young for him?”
“Is he here?”
“He’s in trouble, Lyn,” Rose said.
“Why?”
I tried to push past her. Lyn didn’t budge, and I didn’t trust her sharpened nails.
“There’s a bounty on his head and three MCs chasing him,” I said. “I didn’t tell him I was here, but I’ve gotta help him out before something happens.”
“Where are Thorne and Keep?”
Rose hesitated. “We…didn’t tell them we were coming.”
Lyn swore. “Christ, Rose. Next time you want to create a headache, just drive the ice-pick into my brain. Saves time.”
“Seriously, Lyn.”
“Seriously?” The blonde laughed. “Seriously, get out of here. Too much shit is going down tonight.”
I groaned. MC politics were complicated enough. Add in a couple gashes and sordid histories with the men, and drug lords and state police seemed a hell of a lot easier to deal with. Lyn shouted after me, the clip of her heels every bit the same threat as a blasting shotgun.
“Rose, go wait in my office,” Lyn ordered. Rose didn’t listen. She matched my pace as we burst through the halls.
The thick bass of the stage rumbled in my stomach, unsettling what had been empty since I escaped the burning bar, Temple, and Goliath. My skin crawled even in memory. I preferred the pain of the belt’s bites to the shudders of my own disgust. Every part of me tensed in silent agony as I pushed my battered body to find the only one who’d heal it.
Lyn opened a door to my left. The lights dimmed, but the girl dancing inside entertained one of Anathema’s men. Rose picked the room on the right.
She gasped and stumbled into me.
The man in the doorway studied us with a sneer of such loathing the hatred circled back into lust. His gaze stopped on only the parts that mattered to him—lips, tits, the crest between our legs.
He was old, grey, and overweight, but the same brute strength and sadism that strengthened Goliath raged in his body. I didn’t need to ask his name or read the patch on his cut.
I knew who he was.
And Rose stared him down, her chest heaving between frantic breaths and enraged screams.
“Dad, where’s Brew?”
Blade Darnell didn’t have any right to look at Rose like he did, but he deliberately leered. Getting off on watching how badly he terrified his own flesh and blood. His silence punished Rose, and the imposing bulk of his body crept too close. Lyn edged between the monster and the girl, the skin-tight corset was her own cut and emblem.
“Rosie-Bud.” Blade’s tongue thickened over the name, like he tasted every time he ever used the nickname. I didn’t want to imagine it. Rose flinched as she remembered. “Brew’s dead. You know that.”
She didn’t blink. “Where is he?”
“I told you. He’s dead.”
The word shivered against me. Not the wink and nod of a man who understood a faked death. He spoke like Brew was dead.
And I believed him.
“Now run on home.” Blade nudged her chin with his hand. She pushed him away. “This is no place for my little girl.”
“Get the hell out of my club,” Lyn hissed. “Now.”
“You still owe me a dance, princess.”
“Wrong fairy tale, Blade.”
“Better make it right or you’ll need a gallant white knight to rescue you.”
He stalked away in a foreboding, awful silence. Rose fell against the wall. She fought against Lyn as she offered a hug. Her voice hardened.
“Let’s find my idiot brother. I don’t like this.”
That made two of us. I rushed to the end of the hall, opening the door only to nearly tumble down the access stairs to the basement. Lyn shouted into the dim light. The shuffling of boots and grunted breath echoed into the cement. One body crumpled onto the floor, blood leeching from a wound in his head.
Brew swore, colliding with his second attacker in a fury of punches and kicks. A gun fell to the ground, but the man had the upper edge, driving an elbow into Brew’s back and crushing him to his knees. He grabbed Brew by the neck, squeezing the air from his body. Brew launched backward, driving the man into the drywall.
But the attacker’s fist punched at his temple, and Brew weakened. He managed one last strike before the bastard threw another solid punch.
Brew collapsed on the ground.
My heart stopped.
Rose screamed, charging down the stairs and diving over Brew’s body to rip at the bleeding attacker. She scratched, clawed, and bit, striking his face with hysterical strength. The man swore as she swiped at his nose and broke it with the heel of her hand.
Brew wasn’t moving. I slid to his side, slapping at his cheek and crying out his name. The creeping pallor claimed his skin, and blood-stained sweat dripped over his brow.
The attacker punched once, his fist imbedding in Rose’s stomach. Her wild screams silenced, and she crumpled, immobilized with a punishing kick to her head. Her pain sliced the room, and the man bolted for the stairs.
He never made it.
The sickening crunch of metal cracking through skull rang over the basement.
His lifeless body fell forward, dead before he smacked his teeth off the stairs. Lyn pitched the metal pipe away, kicking it into a pile of forgotten construction materials. She clenched her fists as soon as they started to shake. Her voice never wavered.
“Really hoped I wouldn’t have to kill anyone else in my club.” She studied Brew’s body. “Do I call an ambulance or the coroner?”
Neither would help us, not if Brew wanted to stay hidden. I ran my hands through the thickness of his hair, the clammy fear of his skin, and the ugly, raw, bleeding bruises along his body. He didn’t respond to my touch. I called his name.
Nothing.
If Rose’s pained cries didn’t wake him, nothing would.
I raced three thousand miles only to watch as the man I loved died in my arms.
And I dragged his sister—the only good and pure love of his life—to bleed at his side.
I yelped as the quick strike of a hand against my neck held me in a raging grip. Rose and Lyn shouted, but Brew seized my throat and glared through red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. The dar
kness surged, and he released the gun from behind his back. It cocked with a steady thumb.
The bullet fired over my ear, lodging between the eyes of the other bastard who attempted to kill Brew. The man clutched a dagger aimed for Lyn’s exposed neck. His body slumped to the floor.
Brew’s hand tightened. I met his gaze, gripping his remorseless fingers. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, and the pounding fear choked me more than his grinding fingertips. Every inch of me bound tight to fight and run, but the last thing I wanted was to escape from Brew. Not now that I found him.
I relaxed and tickled my fingers along his arm. His rasping breath pained my throat, but he wasn’t badly hurt. He was confused, raging for a war he already won and enemies he already fought.
And so I did what came naturally.
I winked.
Brew’s vision cleared. The searing promise of his eyes apologized for a lifetime of sin.
He released me and passed out.
A blonde goddess with eyes the color of my silver lining knelt over me.
“Brew?” Martini’s voice wavered with tears she tried to hide. “Are you okay?”
I’d be a hell of a lot better if she let me up and the room cleared.
The last time someone hauled me into Sorceress’s basement, Thorne pointed a gun at my head, Rose confessed my father’s sin, and Keep collapsed against the stairs twitching for a fix. Lyn hadn’t bothered to stick around for the fireworks.
Not much changed now. Thorne lined up for a good shot. Rose cried. Keep shook, rubbing trembling fingers over his shaved head. Lyn claimed the stairs next to him, surveying the damage.
Martini didn’t belong here.
“Don’t get up,” Martini said. “You’re hurt.”
Lyn tossed her a bottle of water, though the line-drive aimed for my head. Martini grabbed for it and missed. The bottle rolled under Thorne’s boot.
I met his gaze. Neither of us was happy to see the other.
Thorne’s heel came down, a prelude for what he wanted to do to my skull. Rose’s soft murmur prevented him from smashing the plastic. He kicked the bottle to Martini, ignoring me as he wove a hand through Rose’s curls and examined the cut on her face. He kissed her forehead as she assured him she wasn’t hurt.
Martini offered help, but I grabbed the water and took a swig. The liquid surged up. I choked. My head ached. I didn’t see the first blow, but I still felt it. And so did the asshole who hit me. I thought I killed him with a punch to his temple. He survived that, but the bullet between his eyes would keep him down.