“If Anathema’s dealing, he’s sampling the merchandise.”
“We aren’t dealing. Or supplying,” Thorne said. “And his preferred brand isn’t cheap.”
“Whatever he’s doing, he’s not...as bad as he was a few years ago. If I wanted a guitar when I was fifteen, he’d never have parted with the money.”
“But he has enough to spend now?”
My sigh tore through my chest like I expelled razor blades. “Look. I gave the money back, okay? Ask Keep what brand he wants to waste it on. I won’t take blood money and I won’t watch my brother kill himself.”
“What’s Brew think?”
“He told me to keep the money and guitar.”
Thorne’s laugh was unexpected. “You and this fucking music.”
I matched his cold smirk. “You and this fucking club.”
“Careful.”
I crossed my arms. “Why am I even here? My brothers could have watched over me. What do you want with me?”
“What if I said I wanted the company?”
“I’d find that hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“You looked cozy enough with that blonde. Doesn’t look like she’d let you get lonely.”
“Lyn?” Thorne winked. “She’s not the cuddling type. She owns Sorceress. You know it?”
“My brothers have mentioned it.”
Thorne watched me squirm. “You wanna go?”
Now I blushed. “No thanks.”
“You sure? You could use a little fun.”
“Not that kind of fun.”
He leaned back, studying me once more. “Your dad always wanted you up on stage.”
My heart thudded to stone then shattered into dust in my chest. I hesitated, but the silence rang louder than even the most untimely cymbal crash.
“He...” I sucked in a breath. “He thought I’d end up dancing.”
I left it unsaid that it was what he hoped for me. Thorne perked an eyebrow.
“Dad didn’t like me going into music.”
“But you did anyway.” His voice rumbled, the quiet before the gravel peel out and race. “Rebellious, aren’t you?”
“I’m good at what I do. Nothing is going to stop me from succeeding.” I met his gaze, enduring the threat of steel in his eyes. “I’m going to my gig on Friday.”
He shook his head. “I’m not your brothers, sweetheart. You want a favor, you better be willing to offer me more than that fucking pout.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.”
“What a shame.”
I stood. “I need to play this gig!”
“The club is in Ex’s territory. It’s dangerous.”
“This is my career.”
“Don’t have much of a career without a guitar.”
“I’ll figure something out.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to figure it out before the next gig.”
“There won’t be another gig if I don’t play this one.”
“And there won’t be much music if you’re gutted in the middle of the street.”
I wished I hadn’t flinched. He saw it. I felt it. And part of me realized he was right. I hated that part of me most of all. And yet I let it happen. I let my brothers take me. I let a stranger dictate where I sat and when I could speak. And I was about to let a man who preferred blood to ballads and retribution over rhythm destroy the very dream that offered me an escape from the insanity of Anathema.
I didn’t need their brand of help. And I didn’t need Thorne’s sadistic charity. My family might have suffered through incarcerations and addictions, vengeance and artificial brotherhood, but I’d be damned if I’d share the same fate.
My fury blurred my vision with pathetic tears. Despite the anger and hurt, my body always betrayed me more than any insult. I turned, but Thorne rose before I made it to the door. I reached for the knob. His hand slammed against the frame above my head.
“I didn’t say you could leave.”
No strumming of a guitar, beating of a drum, or raging of a thrash metal line matched the rawness of his voice, a baritone of authority that rumbled over my skin and tempted me into trembles. The banded ink coiling from his middle finger and up his arm streaked his skin with a rage of darkness. As if the thick muscles hadn’t stolen enough of my breath, the threat of the ink, just the power radiating from the black, eroded my resistance. Many men were tattooed, but the designs meant nothing beyond their imagined sentimentalities.
Thorne’s tattoos marked him. Claimed him. Blackened his blood until the branding of Anathema raced through his veins.
I didn’t turn to face him. I doubted he wanted me to move. His heat framed my body, layering me in his presence, his very scent. Leather. Salt. Shadows and pain. I slowed my breathing, as if he sensed the fluttering of air pitched within my throat. I debated staying silent. I braced to call for help.
“You want to go to your little performance?” His words rocked me with each syllable, and I fought the urge to collapse under the weight of his intention. “Then start obeying me.”
“And if I don’t?”
The answer came suddenly. Harshly. The slap to my backside cracked the silence of the room.
I spun around, protecting my bottom more than my crimson face. Thorne captured me, his palms flat against the door on either side of my arms.
“Let’s settle this now.” His eyes glistened with the cool gray of an aiming pistol. “You have nothing you can offer, nothing I want, and nothing I need. You whine, complain, or bitch, and you’ll get smacked again. And harder. You understand?”
I nodded. I didn’t like it, but that didn’t mean I could feign ignorance, not while my behind stung with the accuracy of his strike.
“You listen to me. Do as I say. We’ll consider your gig. Got it?”
I nodded again.
“Then I might be able to keep you alive long enough to get some use out of you.”
He backed away, and I sucked in a relieved breath. The air caught in my lungs and I lost myself within Thorne’s wild scent.
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 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 that. Reducing me to silence. Stealing my song. Proving him right and me wrong and savoring all the confusion in its wake.
The victorious smile suited him. Predatory. An amused crack in the 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 as I savored a greedy breath of his scent. The masculine, leather and wind tease of his body suffocated me in heavy promise. The muscles of his arms tensed around me. What might have terrified me before now thr
illed me with a freeing shiver.
No one would ever challenge this man and win.
He pushed away from the door with a scowl. He grabbed the gun from the table and tucked it in the holster around his waist.
“You better hope you’re not in as much trouble as I think you are.”
“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 with her enough by 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.
Good thing I didn’t need to toss a chain over her 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.
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 own 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.”
“Sorry, 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 but 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.”
“But it’s a fucking crazy crew.” 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 pushed his donut away. “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.”
Warlord (Anathema Book 1) Page 8