Rogue (Sons of Sangue Book 4)

by Patricia A. Rasey

  “Says who?” Kaleb looked ready to put a beating on someone. His gaze trained on Grigore. “I don’t recall taking a vote on allowing a piece of shit Devil anywhere near here.”

  Anton’s gaze heated, barely keeping his vampire DNA in check. “I’m standing right here, Hawk. You got something to say, aim it at me. Wolf’s not your target.”

  Kaleb took a step in Anton’s direction, but Kane’s hand on his biceps stopped his twin. The meeting room of the clubhouse crawled with Sons of Sangue members. Even though the only one aware of his situation was Kane, Anton wasn’t worried. Kane would keep his twin in line. And as long as Kaleb didn’t give the order to physically remove Anton, the others would stand down. Anton didn’t want to go to battle with his brothers. Hell, he didn’t stand a chance against all those in attendance should they decide to hand him his ass. Keeping them from the truth sucked major ass. Hell, he couldn’t even mourn the loss of Joseph. Not the way he wished, standing around a pyre with his brothers while they ashed the remains. Instead, his grieving would have to be done alone in private.

  Kaleb bared his fangs. “Why the fuck are you here, Rogue?”

  “Because I want justice for Kinky, just as much as you.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Anton braced his hands on the large wooden table and leaned forward. “I may have joined the Devils for reasons you will never understand, Hawk, but that doesn’t mean I stopped caring for every one of you. I wouldn’t wish any of you dead.”

  “Sorry, Rogue, but I can’t say the say the same thing.”

  Anton righted himself, feeling the blow physically. It was one thing to be angry because of his choice to defect, but to wish him dead? His respect for Kaleb dropped a notch. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, asshole?”

  Kane stepped around his twin and blocked Anton’s path. Probably a good thing, because Anton suddenly felt like beating some sense into Kaleb. And since Kaleb technically wasn’t his superior at the moment, he could do so without receiving a beat down.

  Kaleb jabbed his finger at Anton. “You’re the one who changed … walked away, Rogue. So you don’t get to care. Get the fuck out of my clubhouse.”

  Kane turned, slammed his palms against Kaleb’s chest, pushing him back a foot. “Calm down, bro. We could use Blondy’s help.”

  “How the fuck is that?”

  “If any of the Devils are involved in Kinky’s death, then Blondy can find that out.”

  “Rogue,” Grayson corrected Kane as he walked around the table and stopped a few feet from Anton. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Given his hair color, the nickname doesn’t suit him. Blondy died a year ago. You at the cliff this morning?”

  Anton nodded. “I was.”

  “I thought I scented you.” One dark brow rose. “You spying on my old lady?”

  “I was there to clear my head. How the fuck was I to know you’d be there?”

  Grayson seemed to mull over Anton’s response. “I don’t suppose you would unless you’ve been keeping tabs.”

  “I’ve been in Santa Barbara, Gypsy. I had little reason to return unless it was to feed.”

  He nodded slowly, seemingly turning the admission over in his mind. Apparently satisfied with Anton’s response, he said, “I bought the place from a buddy. We made our home on the coast. Stay the fuck away from Tamera. She’s my old lady.”

  “You happy, man?”

  A quick nod was Grayson’s answer.

  “Then I have no reason to go near her.” Anton stuck his hand out. For a minute, he thought Grayson might ignore the gesture. Instead he shook it. “Congrats on the son. What’s his name?”

  The tiniest of smiles itched the corner of Grayson’s short beard. “Lucian. We call him Luke.”

  “I’m happy for you, bro.”

  The smile disappeared from the VP’s face. “I wish I could say the same for you. You know you aren’t welcome in Pleasant, let alone the clubhouse. Hawk has every right to want to kick your ass.”

  Anton’s gaze left Grayson and took in the men surrounding the table. There wasn’t a man in the bunch who looked happy to see him. Anton couldn’t fault them. If the roles were reversed, he supposed he’d feel much the same. The Sons of Sangue were his brothers. No one or nothing came between them. They stood as one, fought side-by-side, and trusted each other explicitly. Anton had broken that trust.

  “Look, I get it. I’m from a rival MC. Worse yet, I left you to join them. Mark my word, though, if any one of my new brothers ordered the hit on Kinky, I will see they pay with their lives.” Anton cleared the emotion from his voice. “Their death will be a slow and torturous one. I know I am not welcome at tonight’s sendoff of my fallen brother, but that doesn’t mean I’m not mourning his loss with the rest of you. Kinky didn’t deserve this.”

  “Your word is no good here.” Kaleb paced away from Kane, anger evident in his stride. “I find the Devils had anything to do with this, I will take out every last one of them.”

  Kaleb’s nostrils flared as he stopped in front of Anton and bared his fangs. “You included.”

  “Hawk,” Kane warned, sidling between them once again.

  “He doesn’t need you fighting his battles, Viper.”

  Anton nudged Kane aside and advanced on Kaleb. He fisted his black K&K Motorcycle tee and shoved him against the wood siding. Kane held up his hand, staying the rest of the Sons. Anton’s vampire DNA took over. He hissed at the man in his grip, his toes barely scraping the wood flooring.

  “You’re lucky I still like you, Hawk. I understand your asshole behavior. I’m only going to say this once. Not everything is as it seems. Why not curb your hate for what I am for just a second and realize we want the same thing — Kinky’s murderer found and dealt with.” Anton released his grip on Kaleb and shoved him back into the wall. “I’m walking out of here. And when I do, I’m going to leave behind your censure and forgive you for being an ass. I’d rather focus on the fuck responsible. You can either concentrate on your hate for me, or you can direct that at the person who killed our brother. Let’s face it, you need me. I’m your only inside to the Devils.”

  Kaleb brushed the front of his tee with his palms, his murderous glare trained on Anton. “As much as I hate to admit it, you have a point. Not like those dirt bags will agree to help any of us. You find the person responsible, Rogue, and you bring him here. Retribution belongs to the Sons.”

  Anton gave Kaleb a short nod. “I’ll bring the man responsible to you. You will get your retribution. I only ask that I am allowed to be here. I loved Kinky as much as the rest of you.”

  “Then why join the Devils?” Alexander asked. “Seems to me if you cared for us at all, you wouldn’t have spit on us by joining ranks with our rival.”

  Anton couldn’t allow himself to look at Kane for fear his brothers might realize the past P knew more than he let on. Instead, Anton widened his stance, focusing his attention on Alexander.

  “I believe I already stated my reasons. Every one of you sided with one of my brothers, without taking me into account.” He looked briefly at Grayson. “I felt you turned your back on me. I joined the Devils for reasons of my own and it’s complicated. I’m not about to answer for that at the moment. There are more important matters than my grievances.”

  Kaleb closed the gap between him and Anton. “On this, I agree. Let’s focus on finding this murderous bastard. We owe that much to Kinky.”

  “Deal?” Kaleb held out his hand, which Anton shook. “But that doesn’t mean you’re welcome here. You have every one of our phone numbers. You keep in touch via the cell. When you find the bastard responsible, you bring him here. Don’t fuck with me, Rogue. I won’t hesitate to take you out if I think you’re double-crossing us.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll be heading back to Santa Barbara soon. If I hear anything, you’ll be the first to know.” Anton looked at Kane. “My information will go to Viper. Not negotiable.”

  “Find yourself another donor, Rog
ue.”

  Alexander caught Anton off guard. “Excuse me?”

  “India.” His gaze blackened. “Keep your fucking fangs out of her.”

  “Duly noted.” Anton was taken aback by Alexander’s sudden possessiveness over the dark beauty, but kept his observation to himself. He turned to leave, but just before he quit the room, he turned and looked at Grigore and bared his fangs. “Stay the fuck away from the librarian.”

  Grigore’s answering chuckle followed him from the clubhouse, further rankling his ire. The son of a bitch might just pursue Kimber if he thought he had a chance. Since Anton was no longer a member of the Sons, Grigore may feel the librarian was fair game. Anton needed to make sure that didn’t happen. Even if it meant sleeping with her again to keep Grigore at bay. No way would he want to be Anton’s sloppy seconds.

  Anton might not be free to mate with her, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fuck her just as long as she never found out about his vampire DNA.

  Chapter 7

  Wet rag in hand, Draven polished the bar surface to a dull sheen. His hands shook and his limbs still trembled. He had relieved the bartender about an hour earlier due to the sparse crowd mingling about the Rave. Not to mention, he’d desired the solitude. He wasn’t ready to answer questions about what went down outside of his club.

  Christ, he couldn’t begin to process it.

  The hour grew late and he’d be closing up soon anyway. Following the murder of Joseph Sala, the patrons had begun to clear out, most oblivious to the evil that had played out on his doorstep. Hell, he couldn’t stop shaking at the reminder. Murder. It was an out-and-out execution. Other than Detective Cara Brahnam showing up at the scene, the sheriff’s office hadn’t been called.

  The Sons of Sangue took care of their own.

  Calling in a coroner was definitely out of the question. They couldn’t risk an autopsy. Joseph Sala would become a missing person, never to be found again, just another number. No doubt the Sons were sending off Joseph into the afterlife about right now, drinking and celebrating his life. Tomorrow they would want answers. Draven couldn’t help but wonder if Anton Balan knew anything about it.

  The execution style killing had cartel written all over it.

  Draven tossed the rag behind the bar and leaned forward on his elbows, clasping his fingers and staring across the empty dance floor. Those who remained quietly finished their drinks at the tables, the normal Rave high energy gone. His bouncer, Rhett, who stood six-foot-two and easily weighed two-hundred and fifty pounds, had begun making the rounds and informing everyone the doors would be closing in about fifteen minutes. If they wanted to finish their drinks, then they needed to do so. State law would not allow the alcoholic beverages to be taken from the premises.

  Several more party gatherers headed for the exit. Draven sighed in relief. Fifteen more minutes and he could lock the door and freak out. How he had kept it together this long, he had no idea. The blood and brain matter had been washed from the building using a garden hose, soap, and scrub brush. He had barely kept from losing his supper. Several times he had bitten back the rising bile and urge to puke.

  Even though the Sons had promised to come by later to clean up the mess, Draven hadn’t wanted to wait. The less that saw the gruesome mess, the fewer questions he had to thwart or rumors he’d have to squash surrounding the Blood ‘n’ Rave. Draven prayed like hell whoever the murdering bastard was hadn’t stuck around.

  What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  Joseph’s death could have been a warning to him. After all, it was outside his club they chose to execute the biker. Had the Devils found out about him working with the DEA? Worse yet, the Cartel. He jammed a hand into his over long, black hair and pushed it from his face.

  Fear clogged his throat.

  He was way in over his head and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He supposed if he approached Cara with the idea he wanted out, she’d tell him it was too damn late. He couldn’t blame them. They had invested well over a year and a lot of money going after the La Paz Cartel. Like a wrecking ball set in motion, there was no stopping it until it came crashing to a conclusion. Cara and Kane wanted their retribution on Raúl Trevino Caballero. The DEA wanted the cartel cut off at the knees.

  Draven watched his last patron down his draft and set the empty glass on the table before heading for the door. The bouncer followed the man, prepared to lock the door behind him, finally giving Draven the isolation he desired. He reached for a bottle of Gentleman Jack and meant to drink the whole damn bottle. He wouldn’t need a glass, just a couch to fall onto. Parting the curtains, he started up the stairs when he thought he heard his name.

  He couldn’t be sure he heard anything at all, the feminine sound so tiny and frail. Draven stepped back down the few steps and found a woman no taller than five-foot-two standing in front of the bar. She couldn’t weigh but a hundred pounds soaking wet. Her light brown hair, highlighted blonde, had been shaved damn near to null on one side, the top and left side left long, hanging just past chin level. She had a tiny diamond on her left nostril and the bluest eyes he had ever seen, swimming in tears. Her black mascara spiked from gathering moisture.

  She repeated his name. “You are him, correct?”

  Draven walked and set the bottle of Jack on the bar. Just over the top of her head, he saw Rhett’s questioning look. Draven knew, should he give the bouncer the signal to remove her, the big guy would do his bidding without question.

  More curious what she wanted from him, he waved the bouncer on. “It’s fine, Rhett. Lock up. I’ll see her out.”

  “Have a good night, boss,” he said, then left them alone in the club.

  Draven returned his attention to the woman in front of him. He towered over her with his six-foot-one-inch height, not to mention the platform boots he wore. Reaching down, he quickly unzipped them and kicked them to the side so it brought him slightly closer to her level. Draven had no idea what she wanted with him, though her reasoning wasn’t what kept him from sending her on her way. The woman was a stunner. She had never been in the club before, he would’ve remembered. His sixth sense kicked in, putting him on high alert.

  After all, it was only a few short hours ago Joseph Sala slid down the wall in a pool of blood and brain matter just outside the Blood ‘n’ Rave’s entrance. Another part of him hoped she might be single and looking to hook up. For certain, he could use the release and distraction, not to mention she had his cock standing up and taking notice.

  “What can I do for you…” Draven left the question hang, hoping she’d supply her name. Sweetheart would definitely work, for she was most certainly sweet.

  “I was wondering if you could help me.”

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Brea, sir.”

  Draven chuckled. “Stop. You’re ruining the fantasy. No one has ever accused me of being a gentleman. Call me Draven. Or, for that matter, you can call me whatever you want, other than sir. Got a last name?”

  She looked away briefly. For a minute he thought she preferred to keep that part from him. Anonymity. He got it. After all, most didn’t know his last name.

  “Gotti.”

  “As in the John Gotti?” He found himself chuckling for the second time since she appeared before him. “Related to the late mobster, are you?”

  She didn’t hide from the accusation meant as a joke. Instead, she looked him in the eye, her icy gaze holding his captive and answering his question.

  Seriously?

  Ah hell, what did he really care who her relatives were as long as she followed him up the stairs. Damn, he wanted to fuck this one in the worst way.

  “My father’s father was a brother. They were in the family business together. My father took over when my great Uncle John died. I was never a part of it, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  What the hell. He only lived once. Why not live dangerously? After all, he was already in bed with the cartel. Add to
that, fucking a mobster’s daughter. How much more trouble could he possibly get into? Draven noted the five stainless rings piercing each of her ears, three in the lower lobes and two higher up in the cartilage, making him ponder over the possibility she might have hidden ones. The pressure on the front of his already tight jeans increased. He couldn’t help wonder what she might think of his Prince Albert, the ring piercing his penis.

  “What can I do for you, doll?” Her blue eyes rimmed black. His term of endearment apparently didn’t set well. “You’d prefer sweetheart?”

  “Neither, if you must know. Look … Draven, I’m not here looking to get laid.”

  “My loss.” Blunt and to the point. He liked that about her. Draven leaned back against the counter behind the bar and crossed his arms over his chest. “Want to tell me why you’re here at closing and why I shouldn’t just see you to the door?”

  She blew out an unsteady breath. Something bothered her. He hadn’t noticed the trembling of her hands until now. Her arrival had actually taken the edge off his own case of nerves.

  “I’m looking for someone. He didn’t come home tonight when he said he’d be early.”

  Draven shrugged. “Guys lie all the time.”

  “Not this one … not to me.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  Brea worried her lip. He could tell she harbored secrets and warred with how much to reveal.

  Leaning forward again, he braced his hands on the bar. “Look, Brea, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me who you’re looking for. You’re the one who sought me out, so obviously you think I can help.”

  “Joseph Sala.” Moisture gathered in her eyes. “People call him Kinky.”

  Her admission damn near knocked the breath right out of him. “How do you know Kinky?”

  “You’re the one who provides donors for the vampires, correct?”