Warlord (Anathema Book 1)

by Grayson, Lana

  Even that angel had her halo shattered by the hatred festering within Anathema.

  I didn’t hurt her first. I didn’t even hurt her the most.

  But just because I wasn’t her greatest demon didn’t mean I wasn’t a monster.

  I searched for two hours for her. Not to apologize. Not to make sure she was okay. I didn’t know if I wanted to kiss her, fuck her, or kill her. Since The Coup split from Anathema, I had one purpose in my life. Destroy my opposition. Murder Exorcist. Eviscerate the traitor.

  Now I killed myself to find Rose because my number one fucking priority was to prevent her from crying. I wanted her to understand why. Why I’d be taking her brother. Why I’d be destroying her family. Why I had to break her heart.

  And why I would never be able to take a deep breath again until she understood.

  I’d never ask for her forgiveness. Part of me despised her for breaking my obsession and pissing on my resolve. I didn’t deserve absolution. I didn’t want it. Anathema acted outside the law and within its own moral code. Keep betrayed us. He’d die for it. I understood that.

  But Rose didn’t.

  I slammed the helmet against the brick until flecks of mortar and shards of the helmet fought back.

  She could be anywhere. And anyone could find her.

  I kicked open Pixie’s door. The bar cleared out after Brew threatened me.

  He was lucky. He might have defended his sister’s honor, but Brew didn’t have a pretty smile, a sweet ass, and the voice of an angel.

  I let Rose go because I didn’t know how to comfort her. Because I didn’t know how to handle her deliberately disobeying me. I wouldn’t hit her, so I aimed her heart instead.

  I couldn’t have driven her away any faster if I dumped her ass off my bike on the highway.

  Keep twitched himself into a stupor in his room. If overdosing that bastard wouldn’t have been like injecting the junk straight into Rose’s veins, I might have ended it right there.

  At least I knew where the traitor was, unlike his idiot little sister throwing a tantrum in the middle of the fucking city where Exorcist waited to kidnap her. Hurt her.

  The possibilities tore my guts in half and boiled them in my own fear. Gold waited behind the bar. He offered me a shot. The whiskey wasn’t the right caliber.

  “Anything?” I asked.

  Gold shook his head. “Brew said not to worry. Left a while ago. Said he was going to look for her.”

  “Jesus Christ.” I regretted slamming the helmet instead of my head into the wall. “Scotch?”

  “Hasn’t seen her.”

  “Lyn?”

  “Lyn said she’d call around.” Gold shrugged. “Thorne, dude, Bud’s just pissed off. She’ll check in.”

  “It’ll be hard if she’s gutted in the street.” Standing around wouldn’t bring—drag—Rose home. “If she shows, tie her ass down in a chair until I get a chance to straighten her out.”

  “Don’t think her brothers will like that.”

  “Won’t be a problem for much longer.”

  Because that was what I needed. More threats. More violence. More of an opportunity for her to hate me. And that was fine. If she was safe, I could be the biggest bastard in the world. Anathema was bigger than both of us. Vengeance was bigger than both of us.

  I started my bike as my phone vibrated in my pocket. I read the screen and swore.

  “Where the fuck are you?”

  I had a lot more to say to Rose than that, but I’d start small. No need to terrify her before I had her in Pixie, under my rule, and in my bed. No woman was ever good enough to worry me, and the only way I’d ever be calm again was when I pinned her against my mattress.

  She didn’t answer. My hand balled into a fist. A lot of good that would do, not with her family. Getting smacked around didn’t scare her. Even a spanking wouldn’t do anything. She already submitted to me, and I already destroyed that trust. Then again, she was still breathing. She needed to count her blessings and decide who to fear.

  Exorcist or me.

  I gave her ten seconds. Then I got angry.

  “Where. The fuck. Are you.”

  The sniffle broke me. The quiver in her voice weakened my knees. The hesitance pitted my stomach like a bike losing traction on wet roads.

  “Rose.”

  “…I need help.”

  Fuck.

  “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

  The sniffle again. So quiet and so goddamned far away.

  I regretted every decision in my life, every single choice that wrapped me in the cut, and every heinous crime I ever committed that voted me in as Anathema’s president. Had I actually watched the tears stain her cheeks, I’d have popped the gun in my own fucking mouth and pulled the trigger.

  But I didn’t deserve that mercy. Ending my life was only the beginning. My hell would be the constant torment of her sadness—the gnashing of teeth and crushing of bones traded for Rose’s tears and inconsolable sorrow.

  “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” My questions were as useless as slashed tires on a bike. “Rose, are you hurt?”

  “I’m not hurt.” Her voice wavered. I recognized the sound. She rocked herself, back and forth. “I…can you meet me?”

  “Name the place.”

  “Highway 5.”

  “Where?”

  “Um.” Her breathing broke. “Just…Highway 5. Follow it outside town about ten minutes.”

  “Rose—”

  “Can you hurry?”

  The timid plea in her voice scraped into forced urgency. I started my bike. “Are you in trouble?”

  “Aren’t I always?”

  I didn’t smile much. The proverbial saying was to laugh in the face of danger. Maybe that was why I didn’t trust my chuckle. I knew danger. The kind Rose beckoned wasn’t just a risk. The kid was a menace to herself, others, and every goddamned motorcycle club in a fifty mile radius.

  “Stay there. I’m coming.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her gratitude might have broken my heart had I not already forsaken it years ago. I tore out of Pixie’s parking lot in a blitz of gravel and unholy determination. The road never posed a challenge to me. I punished the asphalt when I was a kid, wore tread down on my tires, and ran enough miles on my engine to crisscross the entire country multiple times. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would stop me from finding Rose.

  I just didn’t know what I’d do to her when I got there.

  Night crested behind me, but my bike sped toward the remaining light. I might have crept within the fading daylight or maybe I brought the shadows with me. The valley pitched from consumerism to agriculture as the last strip mall yielded to an undeveloped, weed-eaten parking lot and then to cornfield and pasture. I followed the highway to a scenic little turnaround. A picnic table and rusted-out trashcan that once designated a parkette dedicated to some long dead public official. Rose’s car parked just out of sight.

  She sat on the table, Starbucks cup shaking in her hand. She panicked until she saw me. The relief that gentled her smile only fueled the adrenaline now poisoning my veins. She stood, but she didn’t know how to greet me.

  I’d make it easy for her.

  I parked the bike, hopped off, and immediately seized her in my arms and crushed her against my chest. Her whimper of surprise wasn’t the sound I wanted her to make, but it was the only noise I let pass beyond her lips.

  I kissed her. Hard. Punishing. I wasn’t a romantic, but she didn’t deserve the comfort. I regretted letting he rout of my sight, my bed, but it was the last time the girl would escape me.

  I didn’t care if she hated me, if she’d want to kill me after I settled my vengeance with her brother, if she’d cry abuse, rape, or cruelty. She was mine.

  And I hated everything the sweet draw of her lips did to my sanity.

  She slapped me. I expected it. But she pushed at me, twisting her hands in my cut and pounding at my chest as she fought with herself. The kiss won. She
offered her mouth, her tongue, and the little mew that twisted my boxers and created a problem just as dangerous as whatever forced her into the isolation beyond town.

  I gripped her hair, forcing her to look in my eyes. The baby-bunny peeked back, overwhelmed.

  “What happened?” I growled. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Please know I am so, so sorry.”

  “For what?”

  She shook free of me. My fingers itched to grab at her. Tangle in her hair. Grip her hips. Pin her wrists. She handed me a yellow back-pack, the kind she might have hauled a dozen books or a synthesizer or whatever music majors carried in college. I took it. Her lip trembled.

  “Christ, Rose. You were gone for a day. What the hell did you do?”

  I wrenched open the bag. At least five pounds of devil’s ass red crystal meth mocked me.

  Two shit labs probably blew up making that much product. I couldn’t guess the cost of what was in the bag, except it was probably more than her college tuition. Rose gnawed at her bottom lip. I’d either kiss it or fatten it before we were done.

  “Where?” My rasp forced the air from my lungs. “How?”

  “It’s meth.”

  “No shit.” I tossed the bag to her feet. “Someone call the goddamned DEA. You’re running a fucking cartel!”

  “It isn’t mine.”

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  She flinched. I tried to soften my voice, but no miracle tamed the demon pulsing on my back.

  “Where did you get that much crystal?”

  “Temple.”

  Exorcist didn’t have to kill me. I’d have a damned aneurysm before I figured out what the hell Rose was talking about. I clenched my fists. My knuckles cracked. Rose broke down into tears.

  “It’s Keep, isn’t it?” Rose couldn’t speak his name without stammering twice, each lost syllable a dagger through my side. “He betrayed Anathema. Keep’s working for Exorcist. I found the same meth in his drawer. Oh, God.” She covered her mouth. “It’s Keep.”

  “Keep.”

  “You were right.” She fell onto the table. “You were right all along. Keep is a traitor.”

  Victory never tasted so sour. Rose stared at me through tear-dotted eyelashes. Her chest heaved in shallow sobs.

  “Are you going to kill him?”

  Yes. But she didn’t need to know that. Not now.

  I resealed the bag and tossed it beside her. “Calm down and tell me what the hell happened. Where did these drugs come from? And what the hell are you doing with them?”

  “I had to.”

  “Had to what?”

  “If I didn’t, he would have killed you and my brothers.”

  “Who?”

  Rose tugged at her hair until the curls pulled straight.

  “Exorcist.” She met my eyes. “The night…the night he kidnapped me…”

  I braced myself for the worst.

  “He asked me for a favor,” she said.

  “A favor.”

  “I was supposed to run money and drugs between Temple and The Coup. If I didn’t, he’d kill everyone. And if I did…” She shook her head. “I think he’s still going to kill us.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She waved a hand. “Just listen. There’s more.”

  I didn’t have enough to drink for anything more. At least I had the concussion. The headache tempered my rage. I was glad I destroyed my helmet. One good bump on the ride into the city would fix the whole mess.

  “Luke gave me the money for the drop this morning, but after he left, ATF grabbed me.”

  She sang like an angel and wielded the flaming sword that’d sear all of Anathema into ash. I swore. If she stayed any longer at Pixie, everyone would end up as pillars of salt. I ground my teeth.

  “You talked to the Feds?”

  Rose paled. “They talked to me.”

  “Why.”

  “They asked about the warehouse fire. But…but I don’t think that’s what they wanted.” The tremor rocking her voice was like if someone held a knife to her throat. “I think my dad is getting out of jail.”

  “Rose, we got a lot more problems than posting Daddy’s bail.”

  She quieted. Rocked again. Held her arms over her midsection. She needed a hug. I needed answers.

  “What else did ATF say?”

  Her words snapped in her own panic. “Nothing. I got away from them and made the exchange.”

  “And?”

  She shrugged. “Luke expected the drugs an hour ago.”

  “Shit.”

  “I know.”

  “Did you tell him you had the bag?”

  “Yes.” Rose bit her lip. “I did something stupid.”

  “Something else?”

  She flinched. “I told them I wasn’t giving them the drugs.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “If I met them, they’d have killed me on the spot.”

  “You were dead the minute they kidnapped you, Rose.” I said. “Jesus Christ.”

  “They’ll kill Keep too.”

  “He isn’t your concern right now.”

  Rose bit her lip again. “Yes, he is. I told Luke I wouldn’t give him the drugs. I’d only give the bag to my brother. He’s on his way. Just needs the location.”

  I held her gaze. Her baby-bunny eyes flashed a bit harder. A cat stalking for the kill.

  “I had to know,” she said. “I had to know if Keep would betray Anathema.”

  “So why’d you call me? You know what I have to do.”

  She hugged herself. She shook worse than Keep. “He might have an explanation. You have to hear him out.”

  “I don’t have to do anything. He’s a traitor. He’s the reason you’re doing this fucking drug deal.”

  “He’s in trouble!”

  “So are you!”

  “Are you going to kill me too?” She shrugged, her wild curls shaking with every frantic quiver of her body. “I agreed to help Exorcist. You have to kill me too.”

  The thought of ever raising a hand to Rose sliced through my gut like someone punched me instead. I swore. Twice. Didn’t help.

  We had no time. Exorcist wasn’t an idiot. If he thought Rose and Keep partnered up, he’d kill the traitor before I had a chance to taste his blood. Then he’d come after Rose quicker than I could find the words to apologize for catching her in the middle of the war.

  “No one is getting killed,” I said. “Get Keep here. I won’t risk Ex grabbing him first.”

  “And then?”

  “Call Luke.”

  “And what will you do?”

  “I don’t know.” The honesty would ruin me. “Let me save your life before I start taking any more.”

  Rose nodded. The phone jostled from her hand and fell into the dirt. I picked it up for her, tucking it safely in her palm. Her fingers clenched, white and cold. I had nothing to offer her for warmth except my cut.

  Neither of us wanted to cloak her in that demon.

  She dialed and cleared her throat, forcing a rehearsed stage voice that sounded pretty but concealed a fear far uglier than she’d ever admit to uttering. It wasn’t Luke who answered.

  “You better OD on those drugs.” Exorcist’s voice sneered through the phone. “As long as your ass is warm, I’m going to tear you open on my cock and earn back every last cent you stole from me.”

  Rose closed her eyes. I took her hand. She squeezed hard enough to bruise.

  “Tell my brother to come alone. I’m five miles into Shafford County from the highway. He’ll remember the spot.”

  “You pull anything, and you’ll wish Daddy were still home.”

  Rose didn’t answer. She hung up and tossed the phone at me before darting from the table. She got sick in the brush. I didn’t blame her. I wheeled my bike away from the road as she hobbled to the bench. She didn’t meet my gaze.

  “Don’t hurt him in front of me,” she whispered. “Not unl
ess you plan to kill me too.”

  “I could never hurt you.”

  “You did a good job of it today.”

  That was the truth. I frowned.

  “I’m about as much Casanova as you are Pablo Escobar.”

  “Match made in heaven.”

  She blushed and fell silent. The minutes dragged. I didn’t feel right sitting next to her. Comforting her. What condolence could I offer? Only that she’d get to see her brother one last time before I beat the truth from his junkie hide and wrenched enough pain from him to satisfy the debt he owed for his sister’s safety.

  An hour passed before the lone headlight of a rogue motorcycle dotted the road. I crouched near the bushes, though pulling my gun scared the fuck out of the girl it meant to protect. The bike parked in the shadows near the bench, and the rider hauled his body over the seat. He didn’t remove his helmet.

  Rose immediately burst into tears.

  “No, no, no.” She lowered her head into her hands. “Not you. I didn’t…I thought…”

  The rider didn’t reach for the bag. He grabbed Rose and pulled her tight against his chest, muffling her mournful sobs against his cut. He tossed his helmet away.

  I didn’t think the day could get any more fucked.

  “I’m sorry, Rose.” Brew clutched his sister. He didn’t hear my approach. “I had to.”

  “But the drugs…” She pushed away as the gravel crunched under my boots. She fell to the ground. “Oh, God, Brew. I’m so sorry.”

  Brew tensed as my gun brushed his temple. He didn’t fight. His shoulders sagged, and he held his arms to the side.

  “It wasn’t her fault, Thorne.” He didn’t take his eyes from Rose. “You gotta believe me.”

  I did. But it wasn’t enough to save him.

  Rose sobbed on the ground. Brew didn’t try to comfort her. Neither did I.

  She didn’t deserve to have her heart-broken twice in one day.

  I ripped the cut from Brew’s shoulders. The scarred demon leered back at me, surrounded in hellfire and brimstone and everything else that purged evil.

  Anathema didn’t used to mean wicked. It once meant set aside. Godly. Something to be offered. Something holy and separate from the world.

  If anything, destroying The Coup and Exorcist would restore the club to the true meaning of anathema.