by Lana Grayson
“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Keep said.
Goliath shrugged. “Then I’ll take Brew’s little bitch, and we’ll call it even.”
Now Rose panicked. Thorne whispered for her to stay still, but I knew how intimidating the tightness of Goliath’s bulk was. He held her too close, squeezed her too hard, and meant every hideous threat he uttered.
Brew called to Rose as the tears stained her cheek. His voice broke over her name.
I’d never let it happen.
Failing Rose destroyed the man Brew was, and he spent months collecting his jagged pieces. He’d never be the same. The burdens of guilt wouldn’t fade away. Whatever second chance I offered would mean nothing if anything happened to the one girl he let slip into a world of darkness.
He’d be lost.
I couldn’t let him endure that pain. Goliath was here because of me, and the incarnation of my mistakes would never again threaten another woman.
I stood. The clip of my heel against the stair echoed like a gunshot, and I demanded the attention of the bar. Brew swore. Not enough bullets existed in his gun to save both me and Rose from the demons darkening our souls.
I’d make the choice easy for him.
“Goliath.” I greeted him without my smirk, without the cool wink or the lick to my lips that so often placated him. The game was over. “I’m right here. Let her go.”
“There you are.” Goliath grunted like a bull in heat. He shoved Rose to the floor. The girl clamored backward and Thorne scooped her into his arms. “Been looking for you, bitch.”
“You want me?”
“Not a matter of wanting, cunt.” Goliath gestured me close. “It’s about taking what’s fucking mine.”
I didn’t bother apologizing to Brew. My split-second glance caught only his shaking head and trembling gun.
Goliath seized my wrist. He spun me to his chest, groping my breast as he nodded at Brew.
“Kept her warm for me?” He gripped too tight, but I didn’t yell. He didn’t like that. “You fuck her?”
Brew’s voice stung like the gunshot he reserved for Goliath. “All night.”
“Fucking whore.”
Goliath’s hand surged to my throat. The memory of Brew’s embrace disappeared in the cold threat of Goliath’s cruelty. He tightened his fist over my scarf and tugged. The knot squeezed, and my vision immediately blurred. A gasping breath did nothing to earn his mercy. Goliath ripped the scarf away only to pull my hair back and expose the tattoo on my neck for Brew to see.
“My. Fucking. Property!” Goliath yelled. “This cunt is mine. These lips are mine. Every goddamned scar on her body is mine!”
My voice crested in a breathless courage. “Not anymore.”
“For-fucking-ever, bitch. You promised me!”
“And you believed me.” My fingers curled, tracing the outline of the knife hidden in my pocket. I layered my voice with the artificial sweetness he remembered—the trembling, submissive warble I offered with a pout and a promise of pleasure. “Baby, you’re my one and only. Baby, you know I love you. Baby, I’m scared, put the gun down.”
“Martini—” Brew gritted his teeth. “You’re not helping.”
“For two years I’ve been lying to you, Goliath. And for two goddamned years you ate it up.”
Brew hissed. “Shut up, Martini!”
“I’ve been afraid of you since the moment I met you. You’re a monster, Goliath. I’ve never loved you. I’ve never respected you. Any obedience you got from me was fake, and every night you spent next to me I fell asleep planning a way to slit your throat.”
I laughed. Honesty. Who fucking knew it’d feel so damn cathartic?
Brew, probably. Revealing a lifetime of secrets was an adrenaline rush—the high I craved when I first met Goliath and offered my body in exchange for his torment.
Goliath trembled. His rage built, strengthening him like an injection of pure violence. He stared at Brew as his hand squeezed my throat.
“I’ll kill you, Noir.” Goliath shuddered with fury. “Then I’ll take your old man’s fifty grand and count it out over the bed while I whip your goddamned touch off her body. Then when she’s bloody and raw and screaming your name I’ll spread her legs and—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
I freed the knife from my pocket and slammed my arm back, jutting the blade into his side and ripping through the very same muscle and strength that once held me prisoner.
Not now.
Not anymore.
Not ever again.
Goliath roared, but the drugs blinded him to everything but searing aggression.
The blow to my head cast me to the ground. I blacked out before I smacked the floor and woke as his foot connected with my ribs. But Brew launched at him, tackling the beast before he even wrenched the knife out of his side. Rose yelled for Keep, and they hauled me behind the bar as Thorne and Brew knocked the gun from Goliath’s hands.
Keep’s lost baseball bat rolled at my feet. I reached for it, but the blood dripping from my fingers slipped the wood from my grasp. Rose took my hand. Her widened eyes—Brew’s eyes—met mine.
“You don’t have to fight,” she whispered. “Brew’s not gonna let him hurt you anymore.”
Maybe she spoke for herself or maybe she meant to help me. I understood either way.
I clutched the bar and forced myself to stand. Brew faced away from me, and Thorne approached only to hide Rose from what was going to happen. Keep called my name. I ignored him.
I had to watch. It was my sin to bear too.
Brew wound the ends of my scarf around his fists and slipped the pink silk over Goliath’s thick throat. The silk tightened as the blood poured from the wound in his side. His hulking body contorted and fought for air, but even a man of his size, strength, and tenacity couldn’t survive the scarf I was forced to wear every day of my miserable life.
He heaved once, then it was over.
The body dropped. The scarf fluttered to the ground over him, drenched in blood and no longer needed to protect me from the word it obscured.
I collapsed, sliding down the wall behind the bar.
He was dead. And I had no alcohol to toast over his body.
I reached up and took the closest bottle.
Gin.
Jesus Christ, it always had to be gin.
I tossed the cap away and took a swig, but the sharp tang didn’t bother me so much. Brew fell to his knees beside me. I offered him the bottle. He pitched it away, taking me in his arms and seizing a kiss instead.
That was better than gin.
“You okay?” He whispered.
“Someone roughed me up, spit me out, and tossed me on the rocks.” I touched his cheek. “But I’m okay.” Blood covered my hands. Keep gave me a towel. Nothing would get that stain out. Maybe it didn’t have to be cleaned. I cleared my throat. “I’ll be okay.”
Brew turned, locking eyes with Rose. “Bud?”
Rose looked from Thorne to the body on the floor. She pinched her eyes shut.
“Not now, Brew. Changed my mind. Not now.”
“Rose, come on.”
Thorne whispered. He pulled Rose close and kissed her forehead. His arms flexed the angry bands of tribal ink over his biceps. Bursting from between the sharp angles and curves, a dozen blossoms stretched from his shoulder to his wrist.
Red roses.
“Forget it,” Rose said. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Just hear me out—”
“Dad asked for a party.” It wasn’t what she meant to say, but even speaking of the lesser of the two evils was enough to make her tremble head to toe. “I mean…Blade demanded a party. So Anathema can welcome him home from jail.”
Brew stared at her, checking his voice before he started to yell. Goliath’s blood hadn’t cleared from his hands before he had to kill again. He nodded at Thorne.
“You gonna let that happen?”
“Don’t got a choice,” Thorne said. Keep s
wore. “Unless you want more bodies piling on the floor. I can’t do a goddamned thing. He’s my VP. He wants a party, he gets a party.”
Brew shuddered. I took his hand, but I doubted he felt it. The hardened rage and shock of murder tensed his body and blurred his mind. His eyes sharpened, and pure hatred infected the black smoke lingering in his gaze.
“Give Blade his party. Let him celebrate. Let him have all the fun in the world.”
Keep and Thorne nodded, sensing Brew’s intent before he even needed to say the words. The death of one man wasn’t enough, not when he had more to atone for, more to protect.
His voice rumbled like the throttle of a red-lined engine.
“His Welcome Home party just became his wake.”
“What do you think?” Martini twirled in an outfit that revealed more than it covered. “Cute?”
Cute wasn’t the word that came to mind.
Fucking sexy. Goddamned dangerous. One flash of skin away from the worst mistake of our lives.
The leather vest covered her breasts, but she wore nothing beneath it. Her pale skin peeked and hid, chasing the edge of the leather against her tummy. A new, red scarf shielded the tattoo on her neck. The ends plunged to tickle what the vest didn’t hide. Little booty shorts cupped her ass, and her toned legs bounced as she examined the outfit in the mirror. She layered a bit of vixen red lipstick over her pouting lips.
Her body tucked neatly into the sluttiest fucking outfit I’d ever seen.
An ass that begged to be slapped.
Legs that would wrap around me.
Tits that’d bounce with every thrust of my cock.
“Hell no, you’re not wearing that!” I adjusted my jeans. “Jesus Christ.”
Martini’s eyebrow rose. “This is what Lyn has her dancers wearing.”
“You’re not a dancer. You’re bartending.”
“Think I haven’t bartended topless before?” She teased me with the cut. “If you’re good, I’ll demonstrate later.”
I said nothing.
“Brew, there will be a later.”
Glad she was so hopeful. The prickling creep of fear tightened over my guts. I combated it with sheer determination, but I didn’t let the dread go.
Fear was good.
Fear reminded me of why I was staining my hands with yet another man’s blood.
Goliath’s death came easily. Reflexively. He’d terrified Rose. Tortured Martini. He stormed into our goddamned clubhouse and thought he’d exchange a bullet for my father’s fifty grand and earn a free shot to pummel, rape, and murder my old lady.
The scarf fell from Martini’s neck, and the bastard dared to show me how he permanently disfigured a creature too beautiful for his ugly scrawl. I didn’t have to think. I coiled that damn scarf around his throat and didn’t let go until the bastard stopped convulsing.
I murdered, but it wasn’t a hard decision, not when it came down to killing him or losing both women I loved more than my own life.
But this murder wouldn’t be like Goliath’s.
Martini volunteered her help even though the thought crippled me. She dressed as one of Lyn’s dancers and offered to serve drinks to Anathema as they celebrated the return of a man they believed put the club above and beyond his own life. His own money.
His own family.
They were probably right. Blade never did anything for his family. His lessons were meant to manipulate. His orders delivered to mold my brother and I into obedient soldiers who’d do anything, ruin everything, and destroy their own honor to put him first.
My Rose suffered at his hand. Keep got the beatings, most of them savage enough that he used the damn drugs just to survive the pain.
And me?
I became my father, the ruthless bastard who’d kill those who stood in his way.
But we were different, and it took Goliath’s blood for me to understand how.
I wasn’t in it for the money. I didn’t get off on violating a young girl. I didn’t care about amassing the power to control my MC and watch as the world burned for a drug trade.
I only wanted revenge.
I wanted to ensure my daughter never needed to worry about that monster stealing another minute of her life.
It was time to protect my family, my club, and myself from his corruption.
“You sure about this?” I asked.
Martini tugged on the vest, hiding her curves from my view. Not that it mattered. I had memorized her body during the week while we hid within Pixie and waited for the moment Paul “Blade” Darnell was properly welcomed back into the Anathema MC.
She nodded. “Don’t worry about me, Brew. I told you I would help you. I meant it.”
“I’m asking you to help me murder a man.”
“I know.”
“It all depends on you.” I hated to admit it. Hated putting her in that position. “I need someone I can trust at the bar. Thorne’s gonna make him drink at the toast, and no one can see you put the drugs in the beer.”
Martini took a breath. “You can count on me.”
“I’m not gonna be out there to protect you.”
“I’m safe now, thanks to you.” Her cheeks flushed, but she never tired of saying it. “Besides, someone has to watch over Rose.”
Just her name ached my chest. She hadn’t spoken to me since she watched me murder a man with my bare hands. It wasn’t the greatest bonding moment, but neither was her real father murdering the man who molested her.
Christ, we were worse than dysfunction. It was a wonder she turned out half as well as she did, and it was a goddamned miracle she had survived long enough to experience her peace.
“I won’t find you until...after,” I said.
The flash of worry that cut across Martini’s features was lost in a cool wink. The silver promise of her eyes held me. She offered me a courage that transcended the wild pulse of vengeance.
“I’ll be right here,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”
I kissed her, the press of her leather and bared skin instantly hardening me. She nestled in my chest, squeezing tight enough to flare the nagging wound in my shoulder. It was a good pain. Reminded me of Rose, of the road, and of the little flirty girls who needed to be protected.
“Be careful,” she whispered.
She hurried from the room. Her black shorts concealed absolutely nothing as she ran downstairs to catch a ride to Sorceress.
Blade’s party began in an hour.
His life would end before the party did.
Keep tucked the keys in the truck’s ignition. I didn’t like driving a cage, but I needed the cargo room, and I liked the disguise. A plain leather jacket and jeans only did so much. I knew too many people in the Valley, and they’d flip shit if they spotted a ghost.
Lyn left the dancers’ entrance unlocked. I snuck through the halls as the music blasted through the club. Classic rock—the songs Dad liked and the same covers he made Rose play to entertain the men. Lyn lowered the main lights and let the disco balls and laser shows kick the fluorescents onto the walls. It was too dim to see beyond the bouncing tits. Fine by me. No one needed to witness this justice. It was too personal.
The stage lined with girls, and the bar filled with leather jackets. In the middle of the drunken brothers, squealing dancers, and chaos of Anathema’s first celebratory party since the split—my father reigned. He claimed a seat, a girl on each leg, and a drink in each hand. He welcomed the praise of his club with all the ego of a king and sedition of the black-hearted usurper.
I edged into Lyn’s office, watching the party on the security TVs. The door locked, but the one with the key slipped from the excitement and into the quiet.
Lyn didn’t stay quiet for long.
“He requested Rose sing.”
Of course he did. He wanted to punish her. What better way than to fuck with the only confidence she had?
Lyn crossed her arms. She shared half of Martini’s outfit, preferring the
stitched on magic of leather pants. Her vest buttoned. Barely. Lyn dared men to look only to wield the power a C-rack and heart tattoo inked above her slit held over their cocks.
“How long is this charade going to go on?” She tapped her nails against her arm. “This is getting dangerous—for you and her.”
The monitor hid nothing. Rose trembled over the stage, aided only by Thorne’s presence in the front row and a drink rushed over from Martini. She grabbed the microphone with a false confidence and strapped the guitar over her chest.
The little sundress was far too conservative for the club, but the men cheered her just as loudly as they did the half-naked dancers humping the poles.
She strummed a note. Lyn’s cameras didn’t have sound.
Another show of hers I missed. How fucking Cats-in-the-Cradle.
“She’s okay,” I said. I pretended the thought didn’t slay me. “She’s playing, even with him watching.”
“What a proud daddy you must be.”
I exhaled. “Go enjoy the party, Lyn. Have a drink.”
“Already did.” She rubbed her temples. “That little tart you found is heavy-handed on the alcohol.”
“That’s the point.”
“She’s made three hundred dollars for herself too. She’d work out great here.”
“She’s taken.”
Lyn shrugged. “If you burn this place to the ground, I might have to use her to recoup my losses.”
“Ain’t nothing happening to Sorceress tonight.”
“Now where have I heard that before?” She dropped her guarded tone, but it didn’t relieve me any. “Remember this, Brew. And god, I love you to bits, but if you fuck this up, it won’t just be half the MCs on the east coast chasing after that fifty grand. Blade knows I set him up last time, and we’re using my club to stage this grand disappearing act.”
“Don’t worry, Lyn.”
“I have to worry, especially when you guys forget your ink isn’t bulletproof. I don’t care if you war in the streets, but you’re using my livelihood as the OK Corral. Again.”
“Thorne’s gonna give a toast, Martini will make his drink, and Keep will get him outta here before anyone has to reload.”
“And when the Feds come dusting for prints?”