Warlord (Anathema Book 1) (40 page)

He expected me
to stand. Next to the limp, broken, bleeding body of my brother. He expected me
to obey his orders while Brew lay dying beside me.

Exorcist festered
in The Coup because he didn’t belong in Anathema. He didn’t understand loyalty
or family or that even though I hated my father, I was still the daughter of
Blade Darnell.

Thorne sought
vengeance.

My family became
it.

“You’re coming
with me,” Exorcist said. “Behave, and I might just kill you. Resist, and I will
break you, hurt you, then earn back every cent from Daddy’s little cunt.”

I believed him.
Evil had many forms, but life within the MC offered a bit of perspective
against the world. An empty clip. A blackened eye. Bloody sheets.

Exorcist
expelled demons only to learn their secrets, adopt their sadism, and destroy
anything good that might have survived this world of darkness and violence.

Brew breathed. Exorcist
didn’t see. The crimson pool spreading under his body was his only salvation.
As long as Exorcist thought he was dead, his vengeance and rage would focus on
me.

I had been
beaten before. Hurt.

Raped.

Exorcist
couldn’t do anything to me that hadn’t already been done.

Except murder my
brother.

“Okay,” I
whispered. “I’ll go.”

Exorcist pointed
the gun and forced me to walk in front of him, toward the parking lot, into the
line of fire. He shouted and wrapped an arm around my midsection. The gun rose
to my temple. Keep’s fire silenced.

Exorcist held me
too tight. My lungs crushed before I caught a breath, before I could figure out
just how I’d escape. How I’d help Brew. How I’d ever know if he survived.

“You can have
the drugs!” Keep yelled from the roof. His silhouette darkened the neon purple
of Sorceress’s sign. He removed his clip and tossed it to the ground. The gun
followed. “Let her go, and you can have the drugs. Whatever you want.”

“The addict
giving up his stash?” Exorcist wiggled me against his body. “What if I want to
get into another industry? Put your sister to work. She’d earn me twice what
the meth is worth before I wear her out.”

I shuddered. Exorcist’s
arms strapped me against him. Long, silver hairs thickened on his arm, and his skin
sagged a bit where the muscle once popped. The familiarity prickled my skin.

They were the
same age, Ex and my father. And they still both wielded too much power over me.
Without a gun, without the courage, I couldn’t fight someone like him off. I wasn’t
brutal, I wasn’t strong, and I wasn’t prepared to survive another night trapped
beneath a sadistic man while he punished me with whatever power he clung to.

So I wouldn’t.

I refused.

“Jesus Christ,
Ex.” Luke hissed from behind a dark van. More men positioned behind it. “Let
the kid go. She’s done nothing to you.”

“Nothing?” The
gun accidentally bumped against my head. My heart stalled, and I clawed at his
arm to free myself. “She stole our drugs. Lured ATF out. Delivered our stash to
Thorne.” He snorted. “Unless you want to offer your ass in her place, Knight,
you get that fucking bag.”

Exorcist pushed
me toward a bike. He sneered.

“Get on. You’re
driving.”

I shook my head.
His breathing rasped in my ear.

“You can ride.
Be glad it’s a bike and not my cock. Get on.”

If I got on the
bike, I doubted I’d ever return. Exorcist would steal me away, leave Brew to
die, and have Keep and Thorne killed. He forced me to kidnap myself. To
voluntarily escape and be lost within in underworld far darker and more
dangerous than anything Anathema ever imagined.

No music. No
safety. No Thorne.

I once thought I
was living in hell.

Now I’d die lamenting
the loss of those demons.

At least I’d
take him with me.

I stumbled as I
climbed onto the bike, nearly casting the metal beast to the ground. Exorcist
punished me for that. The gun slammed down between my neck and shoulder blade,
replacing the sweet memory of Thorne’s kiss with jarring pain and the threat of
more to come. He didn’t offer me a helmet, but Luke tossed his leather jacket.

“Aren’t you
sweet.” Exorcist spat on the ground. “Maybe you do want to trade places.”

I bundled in
Luke’s jacket. The leather would be my only protection against the wind, the
road, and Exorcist’s snaking arm around my midsection. But Luke didn’t deserve
my gratitude. Not when it was his threat that forced me into The Coup. Exorcist
held the gun, but it was Luke’s fault my brother suffered, bleeding and dying.

Sorceress’s
front door crashed open. What remained of the wooden frame shattered off Thorne’s
foot.

Silence
descended. Not a hush. Not a pause. The crushing, suffocating silence that
didn’t prevent noise but destroyed it.

Thorne stared
out at the dozen men aiming their guns and wishing him dead. His dark hair hung
loose, dripping with sweat and dirty with ash and soot, broken bits of wood and
glass. A cut bled on his forehead. His jeans seared and burned. None of it
mattered. He might’ve been crippled and charred, bleeding and wheezing, but he’d
still terrify every last man facing him.

“Ex.” He held
his arms out. The two guns clutched in his hands clattered to the ground. “You
want to settle this? Let’s settle it.”

Luke stepped forward.
He didn’t lower his weapon. “Anyone else with you?”

“Just one. But she
is armed and pissed, and she gets out of here without a fucking scratch, you
understand me?”

Luke hid his relief
in a shrug. “We don’t have a problem with Lyn.”

“You got a
problem with Rose? You take it out on me.”

Prince Charming
couldn’t help me, and neither could the Warlord. Exorcist jabbed the gun into
my side. His voice rasped raw and demanding in my ear. A precursor of the
nightmare to come.

“Let’s go, Bud.
If he’s lucky, maybe I’ll let him see the pictures.”

I would die
before I let that happen. I started the bike on his command. Thorne shouted.

“You wanted me,
Ex!” He shouted. “Let’s finish it.”

Exorcist groped
me through the jacket. My mind darkened with memory. The damn silence stole what
little comforts I used to block out the past. But the rumble of an engine
wasn’t the strumming of a guitar. And it wasn’t a comfort.

“I have what I
came for.” Exorcist laughed at Thorne. “Consider us even.”

He forced me to
drive.

It would be the
last thing he forced me to do.

The bike peeled
out of the parking lot, alone, surrounded only by me and ill-intention. The gun
pressed deeper into my side.

“Take the
highway into the city!” He shouted over the whipping wind. “Across the bridge.
Don’t stop. Don’t look at anyone. And speed the fuck up.”

He’d kill us
both. Though I stole Luke’s bike before, I had no real experience riding such a
powerful piece of equipment, and I never driven with a passenger, let alone one
holding a gun to my side and threatening me with every horror imaginable.

Fortunately the
roads were abandoned. I didn’t want anyone to be around when it happened. The
less people, the better.

I burst through
the city limits well over the speed limit, quick enough to jostle my bloodied
hands over the handlebars and drive the air from my lungs with every bump in
the road and shadow that crossed before my front tire. But the sickly glow of
the streetlights wasn’t the only halo trapping the bike within the street. The war
cry of a throttled engine screamed behind us. Exorcist swore, twisting in his
seat, almost casting the bike off balance and onto the sidewalk.

“Fucking hell.”

Exorcist jerked
the gun away from my side only to aim it behind us. He fired, and I screamed,
ducking down against the bike. It didn’t do any good. The ringing pain of the
shot deafened my ears to danger.

My mirrors
vibrated against the speed as I tore through the town. But I recognized the
shadowy figure who raced after us. He blew past the intersections and gained as
I wobbled against the bulk of my passenger, twisting and turning to fire at our
pursuer.

“Faster, bitch!”

If he expected
me to outmaneuver and outride the president of Anathema, Ex was more insane
than we thought. I didn’t trust the bike, I didn’t trust my instincts, and I
certainly didn’t trust the road. Cars populated the streets in the city. Ex
cursed at me until I passed them, splitting the lane between a Honda and a pickup
truck, darting through a red light into a dangerous intersection. I braked and
wove between a confused SUV, but my eyes blurred with too many tears to see if Thorne
made it through the street as well.

My mirror
darkened as I sped through another block. The bridge leading to the industrial
district loomed empty and foreboding. Anathema lost territory beyond the river,
and The Coup made too many friends. Empty warehouses and abandoned factories
dotted the river. Ex could lose me within half a dozen buildings, hide me
within the city forever, and Thorne would never find me.

The war would
overflow into the streets, and blood would stain every alley just like before.
Except this time a chapter wouldn’t splinter from the mother club.

This time,
everyone would die, and no one could protect me from reliving the same abuses I
suffered in my childhood.

So I’d have to
protect myself.

Exorcist shot
again before we slipped onto the bridge. My heart stuttered with every popped
echo. I’d never let him get a clean shot at Thorne.

I seized one
final breath and held it.

It didn’t taste
good. Not the fresh scent of victory but the stale, thick breath of failure. Of
disaster. Of lost hope and options. I didn’t need to worry. I’d taste only
blood soon enough.

I wobbled.
Jostled the bike. Wove and weaved until I forced Exorcist to turn around and
face what I meant to do.

Just like when I
was a child, just like when I was forced to ride a bike I feared with a man I
hated, the wind punished our bodies, the engine threatened our balance, and the
road welcomed our fall with the required tribute of crushed steel, broken
bones, and bloodied vengeance.

I braked as much
as I could before Exorcist braced himself. The squealed tires ripped against
the road as the wheels skidded, slipped, and twisted, uncontrolled, against the
pavement. I angled my body, cleared my feet, and dumped the bike against the
street.

It was one of
the worst mistakes of my life, but the only way to save it.

I didn’t have
the strength to control the motorcycle. But that didn’t matter. Exorcist
tumbled from the back as I bounced along the bridge. My metal tomb pinned me in
the crashed. My wrist snapped, and the crude snip of bone belted in my head
like a sour note. Luke’s jacket absorbed the impact of my fall, but my jeans
ripped, and the shattering agony of my ribs pinned under the handlebars stifled
my screaming.

I rolled twice
before collapsing against the street. The bike smacked the concrete median and
stalled. I didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Was too afraid to try to move. But I
trembled, and I felt every last inch of me scream in fear, pain, and absolute
victory
.

Then, the city
stilled.

Quiet and
watchful and punishing. My ears rang—the tinny beat of a struggling heart and
hollow regret. It hurt. I expected nothing else. A harsh moment passed, and I
battled against the road to let me up, to force myself to crawl away, to escape
from the tease of blood and choking lungful of fuel.

The limping
shuffle of metal tipped boots tapped the silent road.

I couldn’t open
my eyes. It was too late for that, and I didn’t want to see what would happen.
Exorcist loomed over me, his rasping breath shuddering with moist, blood-soaked
coughs.

The gun cocked,
but I won. Saved myself.

The last touch
I’d experience would be Thorne’s passion and not the resurgence of terrible
memory and vile retribution.

The rumble of
wheels punishing the road squealed to my side.

Ex swore and
twisted, but it was too late.

The gun fired,
and the echoing blast shook the bridge with unrepentant conquest.

Thorne said
nothing as Exorcist crumbled before him, landing face down in a puddle of his
own blood and bone and sinew. I flinched.

It happened
faster than I thought it would.

But the moment
didn’t blink fast enough from my mind.

Lifeless eyes
stared at me. I couldn’t scream, and I couldn’t black out. A murdered man bled
before me, and I couldn’t move to avoid the trickle of his blood.

But I didn’t
have to. He served his own vengeance and found a way to protect me. Thorne
grabbed Ex’s body and hauled it away. He sucked in a breath, but his triumph
passed, short-lived. He heaved Exorcist’s body to the bridge railing and, with
a grunt, tossed the lifeless waste of flesh into the merciless river below.