Warlord (Anathema Book 1)

by Grayson, Lana

  Or maybe she would.

  Brew was the one who swore. Kicked a rock. Slammed a fist against the truck then shouted as his wound tore open. The bike roared over the dirt road, and both riders were jostled from the abrupt stop before the truck. Keep tossed his helmet away. I couldn’t watch as Rose limped into the arms of her brother and cried.

  “She took your bike.” Keep apologized to Brew. “I hopped on before she killed herself.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Brew hugged her tight. “What did I tell you about stealing fucking bikes?”

  Wasn’t it enough that I had to be the villain? That it was my responsibility to put Brew down for his betrayal? That his little sister happened to be the woman I loved?

  Why did the diva come to witness this? No baby bunny eyes or pink fuzzy pajama bottoms could prevent what needed to be done. What had to be done.

  Even Keep understood. He pulled Rose away, but she fought him off, gasping as he accidentally gripped her cast. He flinched away from her with an apology. That was all the opening she needed.

  She rushed at me. I wondered if she’d hit me, hug me, or just break down and sob.

  She did it all. Her fists pounded my chest while she nuzzled against me. She cried, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks, staining her freckles, destroying everything inside me.

  When she passed out unconscious in my arms on the bridge, bleeding and gasping for air and hysterical, I thought that would be the end of me. My heart broke, and so did everything else. If she had stopped breathing, I would’ve given her my air. If her heart ceased beating, I would’ve ripped mine from my chest, just how I promised to end the traitor destroying Anathema.

  Now who was the traitor? Now who was the one breaking hearts and destroying everything that was the club, the brotherhood, and our life?

  “Please,” she whispered. For as seductive as it was in bed, I never wanted to see her begging for anything. “You can’t. He thought he could help. He would’ve helped.”

  I didn’t answer. Brew spoke for me.

  “Rose, it’s done,” he said. “I understood this was a possibility. You can’t be here, Bud. Keep, take her home.”

  “No!” Her fingers dug into my cut. The president patch curled under her hands. I wish she’d rip the damn thing off. “Please. He’s my brother. I can’t be without him.”

  “You don’t need me. Not like I ever did anything good for you.” Brew closed his eyes. “32-11-12. That’s the combination to the safe in my room.”

  “Stop it!” Rose spun to face him. She didn’t leave me though. She pressed against my chest. “I don’t care what the combination is.”

  “I don’t have much, but I have enough to get you through one, maybe two years of school.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Well, don’t give it to Keep. He’ll waste it on drugs and women.”

  “Fuck you too.” Keep shrugged, though his bloodshot eyes revealed he probably didn’t feel the insult. “I came out here to fucking say goodbye, jackass.”

  “Don’t get yourself killed,” Brew said.

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “Stop it! All of you!” Rose tangled her hands in her hair. “This can’t be happening. Thorne, I will do anything you ask. Anything. Please, forgive him. The club will understand. We will make them understand.”

  I don’t know where I gathered the courage to even talk to her. “We have rules.”

  “Change them.”

  “It’s in our code, our chapter laws.”

  “You don’t follow laws. You’re fucking anarchists!”

  “What do you want from me? You think I want to do this?”

  The words spat out, rough, terrible, and frightening to someone like her. She flinched away. My opportunity. Only a coward would try to pretend, try to comfort, and try to think of a way and a time that she could forgive me.

  I had to start thinking of her as the bullet to dig out instead of the gun aimed at my head.

  “Your brother betrayed Anathema. Anathema kills those who threaten the club. He has to die.”

  “What about me? I got the money. I stole the drugs. Kill me too.”

  “You’re not a member.”

  “Then what am I?”

  I stared her down. “A complication. The security detail that got out of hand.” I pointed at Brew. “Say your goodbye. Get on the bike. Go back to Pixie.”

  “If you do this, I won’t be at Pixie.”

  “Where will you be? The police station?” I clenched my jaw. “You won’t talk.”

  Keep took her hand. She pushed him away. Her step backwards tangled in the grass and weeds. She stumbled, and I caught her before she fell. Saved her again, only to damn her to the rest of the miserable world and the life that destroyed both of us.

  “Why are you doing this?” She whispered. “Don’t I mean anything to you?”

  Honesty was more dangerous than my loaded gun. “You mean everything to me. After this is done, you’re all I’m gonna have left.”

  “If he dies, you won’t have me at all.”

  “If he doesn’t, Anathema will be just as dangerous as it was. The members need to see it, The Coup need the message. Nobody betrays the club. We let him go, and it’ll be a sign of weakness. People try to hit the officers, start another war. His death ends five years of constant bloodshed.”

  “His death will destroy everything that Anathema is.” She wiped away a tear. “It will destroy you. Us. Anything we might have. Please, Thorne. I trusted you.”

  “I never asked you to trust me.”

  I pushed her to Keep as her quaking sobs nearly wrenched her body in half. Keep pulled her toward the bike. She fought him to look at me once again. To stare with widened, beautiful eyes brimming with tears and honesty and goodness and everything I wanted and everything I needed.

  “Thorne, please. I love you!”

  The words seared through me in beautiful agony. I had been shot, stabbed, beaten, and thrown from my bike, but nothing ached, nothing destroyed me, nothing ground into my skin and exposed every stinging nerve like those three words spoken by my personal angel.

  The morning stilled, and the silence exposing my weakness screamed for all the world to hear.

  She didn’t want me to kill her brother.

  If he didn’t die, Rose’s compassion would kill us all.

  I reached for my gun, flipped the safety off, and fired before Rose could even scream.

  The shot echoed. The violent, unmistakable blast was my song. My voice. My talent. It scared and frightened, punished and ruled, rendered enemies helpless, and destroyed more than just the life it took.

  Brew stared at the bullet hole beside his feet. He looked at me, his breathing ragged.

  “Leave.” The desperation in my voice scarred me. I didn’t look at Rose, though in that moment I would’ve done anything just to end her tears. “Get the hell out of this town. I want you out of the state. On the other side of the country. I’m letting you live, but no one can know you’re alive. Do you understand?”

  “Exile?” Brew asked.

  “Take your bike. Stop for anything, talk to anyone, and she won’t be able to save you.” I tucked my gun away. “Hug your sister and get the hell out of here.”

  Rose jumped into his arms. She hugged him tight enough she might have squeezed the bullet out if we left it in his shoulder. He clutched her just as close, kissed her forehead, and thanked me with a single glance over her head. Keep eventually reached in and pulled them apart. He hugged his brother, and Brew slapped a hand against his cheek.

  “Take care of yourself,” Brew said. “Get clean. Hear me?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Keep rubbed his eye and pushed his brother away. “Get out of here before the Boss puts a bullet in your skull.”

  I nodded. “Keep, get Rose in the truck.”

  Rose didn’t want to pull away from her brother. Keep eventually hauled her into his arms and forced her into the passenger seat. Brew waved, but neither
of us bought the show.

  He turned to face me as I shoved a fist-full of twenties at him.

  “What’s the real fucking reason?” Brew lowered his voice. “Are you that pussy-whipped by my sister?”

  “Keep talking. She thinks I spared you. Give me a reason, and I’ll find you a mile up the road.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” He stared at me. “You’ve never shown anyone mercy before.”

  “Yeah, well, first time for everything.”

  “Thorne.”

  “Temple has the money to get Blade out of jail. When he’s out, I can’t touch him. Not without unleashing bloody hell on everyone, including her.” I locked eyes with the only man who understood my newest obsession. The only man with even more of a reason to end Blade, a scourge that plagued the world. “You know what has to be done.”

  Brew said nothing. He didn’t need me to tell him. He’d already decided his fate when the bullet punctured the dirt. He forced a smile and waved to Rose before climbing onto his bike. I waited for him to flip the ignition and circle back down the road before getting into the truck.

  Rose wept, but she clutched my hand as soon as I sat. I wiped the tears from her cheek. Her smile was just as sweet as her voice.

  “No one can know he’s alive,” I said. “You’ll have to pretend. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. Keep gave me a thumbs-up.

  “What happened here stays a secret.”

  Rose edged closer to me, laying her head on my shoulder. With Exorcist dead, and the blight threatening Anathema culled, I never gave a thought to what I might need once the bloodlust sated.

  Fortunately, I had an angel to drag me out of hell and lead me back into the light.

  She’d probably end up killing me, but my diva with the heavenly voice would save me from myself. If only for a while.

  “Did you watch it?”

  I hopped onto the bed without kicking off my heels or slipping out of my new dress—white and frilly, Lyn ordered. To match the Barbie doll pink cast I demanded while hopped up on pain-killers at the hospital. It was cute at the time, but six weeks of plaster later and I couldn’t wait to get rid of the bubblegum pink.

  “Well?” I whined. I checked the phone to make sure the connection hadn’t been lost. I hated the prepaid phones, but Thorne made me swear to talk only on them. They were more secure, he said.

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  I grinned. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “What’d you think?”

  I picked at the keys of my laptop. The YouTube page still loaded on my browser. Keep did a pretty good job filming the performance, but the cast did nothing to improve my repertoire. At least I only broke my right wrist. Strumming was easy, but I didn’t even want to think of breaking my left hand. I doubted I would have survived the past few weeks.

  My stomach dropped.

  Not what I wanted to think about.

  Not anymore.

  “Brew,” I said. “Seriously. What did you think?”

  “Christ, Rose. Don’t say my name.”

  “No one’s here. Don’t worry.”

  He grunted. “Where are you?”

  I glanced over the perfect little cottage bedroom. The creamy white walls, lacey curtains, and thick crimson bedspread were more Martha Stewart than Motorcycle Club. But it was bigger than the room at Pixie, much prettier than my apartment, and had a perfect sunroom where I could record songs.

  “Thorne’s house.”

  “Great. You’re his old lady now.”

  “That I am.” I gave him a moment before whining again. “Come on. Stop teasing me.”

  “You were good.”

  “Just good?”

  “Great. What do you want me to say? You always do good. Where were you playing?”

  “Sorceress. Lyn had to redo the interior after the—”

  I flinched as he swore. “Thorne has you stripping?”

  “Jesus, no. I was just playing a set while she danced.”

  “...And you didn’t think to record that too?”

  “Very funny.” I closed the laptop. “So where are you?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  I still tried anyway. Just knowing where he was eased the worry.

  Some of it.

  “Well, if you were going to buy me a present, what would you get me?”

  Brew hesitated. He exhaled. Sharp. His shoulder still must’ve hurt him, especially after all riding around the country. He never complained.

  “How about a voodoo doll?” He said.

  “Sounds exotic.” New Orleans then. I always wanted to go, but I couldn’t visit my brother. It would be a long, long time before I could see him again.

  I sighed as Brew went silent. For as much as I loved knowing my brother was alive, the man on the other end of the connection didn’t seem much like my brother anymore. I hated it. Hated even revealing the secret that broke him. I hated even more that he refused to talk about it.

  “Brew, is everything okay? With us?”

  “Of course.” He cleared his throat. “I should get going. I got some work.”

  “Wait, we really need to talk.”

  “I can’t, Rose. Not tonight.”

  I didn’t care. He had to hear it.

  “I don’t blame you.” The words escaped in a rush. “I did. For a long time. But it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know what was happening.”

  “Email me when you play next. Send the link. I’ll try and check it out.”

  “Brew, please.”

  “I’ll be on the road a lot. Probably won’t be around much.”

  “Brew—”

  “Love you, Bud.”

  He hung up before I could respond. Just like always. Just like he didn’t want to hear me say it in return. Like he didn’t deserve it. Like he wouldn’t believe it.

  I threw the phone on the bed. Thorne watched me from the hall.

  “Who was that?” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. A thin smile teased his lips. Not a grin, I hadn’t fractured the stone just yet. But I was winning. He smirked, and that was all the encouragement I needed.

  “No one.”

  “Didn’t sound like no one.”

  He stalked into the room. I fell on the bed as he encroached, looming over me with the ferocity of a champion warrior circling his prey. I welcomed his intensity now just as I did on the stage. Lyn might have danced, teasing with hips that promised more than my song and a chest that bounced more than my vocal range, but Thorne never took his eyes from me.

  Then again, it was the first night Lyn allowed him back in the club, and she only permitted it as a favor to me.

  “Gotta be careful,” Thorne warned. “You don’t know who might be listening in to your conversations.”

  “Oh?”

  “Someone might get jealous.”

  I giggled. His expression darkened.

  “Someone might want information.”

  He pushed me on the bed. A dark thrill chased over my body.

  “Someone might do whatever he can to get you to talk.”

  His hand teased the hem of my dress, pulling the silk up, up, up over my smoothed legs. The bruising faded from the accident, and even the deeper cuts and gashes healed well. I had more scars than Thorne had tattoos, but he never complained. He called me the warrior. I called him delusional.

  His hand teased under the dress. I tensed as his fingers brushed between my legs. He read me before I spoke, before I summoned the courage to even remember what triggered me. Thorne dropped the act and lay beside me on the bed. The panic waned. He gathered me in his arms and kissed me.

  “You’re safe,” he said.

  Though he said it every day, every night, and every time he took me in bed, I never tired of hearing it. I snuggled closer to his body. The darkness passed, but the heat bundling deep inside me hadn’t. I reached for his hand and placed it on my thigh.

  “I know,” I whispered.<
br />
  “You start class tomorrow.” The gun-metal of his eyes hadn’t softened. I didn’t think it ever would. But instead of threatening me, it offered another layer of protection. Security and safety, devotion and absolute adoration. “Want me to give you a ride?”

  “God no.” I flicked at the cut on his chest. “I can handle it myself. Last thing I need is the entire club going on a run to the university.”

  “You sure? Thought all those music majors loved their bikers.”

  “Who told you that?”

  His fingers swept over me again. This time I was ready. I bit my lip. That only invited his kiss.

  “I have my evidence,” he said.

  “Pretty solid evidence.”

  “You gonna be okay?” He asked. “College is a bit different from Pixie. Might get boring.”

  I grinned. “I’ll manage.”

  He brushed a curl from my face. I sighed, parting my lips for another kiss.

  “What about all this? Can you handle it?”

  He didn’t take his eyes from me, but I understood what he meant. His new home, the tracphone, the brother presumed dead and the other still battling his own demons with whatever drug he could find, the new gig at Sorceress, and my new college.

  Anathema.

  I nodded. “I can handle it.”

  “You sure?”

  His attention slowed between my legs. I tangled my hands against his cut and kissed him. My hips ground against him.

  “Can you handle me?” I whispered. “After everything that happened?”

  Now he grinned. “Sweetheart, you are the only thing I want. I fucking love you.”

  I pulled him over my body and opened my legs, inviting him even closer.

  “I love you too.” I wished I could have removed my dress before he reached for his jeans, but we’d have time later to take it slow. To leisurely explore. To learn. To forget. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Good, cause I’m not letting you go.”

  I believed him, but he had no reason to worry.