Tanner's War (6 page)

****

The night was winding down. Someone
had dropped the volume on the music, leaving it as a dull background throb
instead of an overwhelming roar. The club’s bar was almost empty, with most of
the brothers heading home or upstairs to get laid or crash out, or both. Judge
sat at the same table he’d occupied all night, one arm around Roxy, fingers
under her shirt and casually stroking the soft stretch of skin between her bra
and her jeans. With his free hand, he toyed with a playing card. Roxy was
dozing off against him, and as always he found that damn near irresistible. He
nuzzled her hair, inhaling her smoky vanilla perfume and wondering, as he did
every day, what he’d done to deserve her.

Just as he was thinking it was time
for them to head to their own bed, Nash slid into one of the empty chairs, beer
in hand. He took the playing card from Judge and set it back on the deck. “Been
thinking,” he announced.

Judge stroked his beard to hide his
smile.
“Yeah?
About our little house
guest?
She’s sweet. You
shoulda
stuck around
and talked to her.”

Nash frowned. “I know you think I’m
being too hard on Tanner.”

“Not my place to say,” Judge said
as Roxy stirred, straightening up next to him.

“Well, I think you’re being too
hard on him,” she said, glaring at Nash. “He served his time and he’s trying to
do something good here with that girl.”

“Last time he did something good
for a girl, he ended up serving time. That’s my point.” Nash jabbed the table,
frustration clear on his face.

“Cullen,” Roxy said, more gently.
“He’s not you.”

Judge held his breath. Roxy got
away with a lot of shit. She was his old lady and he was the VP, and Nash’s
closest friend. She took liberties other women wouldn’t have, and Nash let it
go. But you could only push the big man so far, Judge knew that. And Roxy had
just slammed her fist down on one of his hot buttons.

Nash’s face darkened, his gray eyes
turning stormy. He curled his hands into fists and Judge could almost see the
wave of rage and regret rise in him. But Nash crushed it down again, and
whatever storm boiled inside him, he kept it inside. He shot Roxy a stony look,
but said nothing.

Judge gave Roxy’s shoulder a
warning squeeze. “You said you’d been thinking?” he asked Nash, redirecting the
conversation.

“Yeah.”
Nash took a deep chug of his beer. “I went and
read up on that child-bride shit you mentioned from a couple years back."

Judge squeezed Roxy's shoulder
again, this time just for the need to touch her. Their daughter had been
fifteen or sixteen at the time of that news story —it was why Judge remembered
it. The thought of some sick creep putting their hands on his Elena ... It had
made him sick and angry in turn. "You get a lot of that shit with these
cults."

"Yeah, well, maybe not with
this one," Nash said, "but the news reports hinted at a lot of other
nasty stuff." He picked up the playing cards and shuffled them idly.
"Nothing you could legally do anything about, but we all know about smoke
and fire, right?"

Roxy straightened up, fluffing out
her hair. "What's your point?"

Nash sighed heavily, as if it cost
him to say the next words. "I think I am being too hard on Tanner with
this. If he wants to help the girl out ..."

"How much help are we
talking?" Judge asked. "If her people come round here looking for
her,
or this guy he clocked wants to press charges ... where
do we draw the line?"

Nash smiled grimly.
"Tanner's Wild Blood.
That means we go to the end of
the line if we have to."

Chapter Eight

It was dawn and the only sound in
the Church was Nathaniel’s labored breathing. He knelt before the altar,
stripped to the waist and swaying slightly, trying to suppress the whimpers of
pain bubbling in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the tears
of pain. He clasped his hands together before him to hide the shaking. But he
had already bared his heart to Abram, so the rest didn’t really matter. His
father knew his weakness, his failure. The sweat and blood dripping down his
naked back was testament to that truth.

Abram set the whip down on the
altar. “Look at me, my son.”

Nathaniel sucked in a deep breath,
as if to cleanse
himself
, and opened his eyes. Abram’s
severe face was drawn with lines of pain, but his lips were thin and stern.

“’The eye that mocks a father and
scorns to obey a mother will be picked out by the ravens of the valley and
eaten by the vultures,’” Abram said. “Is it not so?”

“Yes, father.” Nathaniel’s voice
was strained, but he was pleased it didn’t break.

“I sent you to bring back my bride
and you returned empty-handed. Was it too hard a job? Did I send the wrong son?
Any of your brothers might have done better.” Abram moved behind the altar,
lifting a heavy wicker basket onto it. Angry hisses rattled out of the basket.

Nathaniel opened his mouth to
argue,
then
thought better of it. Abram had given him
six lashes. He’d been merciful. It would be best not to provoke him. “You know
how sorry I am, father. Bethany—”

“Save your excuses.” Abram opened
the basket lid and smiled down at the snakes writhing within. Nathaniel
couldn’t see them, but he knew what they were anyway.
One
king snake, banded in blood red and inky black, harmless.
And one coral
snake, banded in the same hues, but with sunny yellow too.
Venomous.
Not deadly with the right antivenin on hand … But who knew if Abram had it to
hand?

Despite his best efforts to control
himself, Nathaniel quaked.

“God is good,” Abram said, gripping
the basket. “He wants me to show you mercy. He wants you to prove you can do
better. Will you take His offer, my son? Will you prove to Him and me that you
are more than a worm crawling at His feet?”

Nathaniel swallowed. “Sir, I live
to serve the Lord and His chosen one.”

Abram gestured for him to rise.
“’They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not
hurt them.’ Show me your worth, Nathaniel. Show me the Lord still favors you,
and I will favor you the same.”

Nathaniel stood, his back screaming
in pain as he did. For a second the room spun, the dusty floorboards blurring
with the cracked roof beams. He prayed and the moment passed. He prayed again
and approached the basket, keeping his eyes fixed on his father. If he looked
down and saw the snakes, coiling together in a sinuous mass, he would be sick.
Besides, what test was it if you saw them and knew which one to take up?

Fingers trembling, he reached into
the basket. Cool, smooth bodies writhed under his hands. He eased his hands
under one of those bodies, praying the reaction would be constriction. Coral
snakes didn’t constrict as a rule, but king snakes always did. Of course, they
bit as well, but he would survive a king snake’s bite with nothing more than a
bruise to show for it.

He lifted the heavy reptile,
waiting, waiting … When the snake struggled against him, his heart fluttered.
When it wrapped its muscular body around his forearm, he couldn’t help but
weep. He dared to look down at last, seeing the bands of black and red scales
that meant God had blessed him. The king snake curled around his arm and wrist,
squeezing hard, but it didn’t seem agitated. Dizzy with relief, Nathaniel met
his father’s gaze with more strength.

“God forgives me my failures,” he
said.

Abram nodded, his expression
revealing nothing. If he was pleased or disappointed, Nathaniel would never
know. “Then don’t waste His forgiveness. Take two of your brothers and go back
to this diner. The harlot there obviously knew the sinner who stole Bethany.
Find out where he took her.”

Nathaniel set the king snake back
in the basket. “If she won’t talk …”

Now Abram smiled, and it was cruel.
“She will talk. You will find ways to persuade her.” He shut the basket firmly.
“Bethany is my bride by divine right. If you fail me again, my son, my wrath
will be swift and righteous. Do you understand?”

Nathaniel nodded. “I won’t let you
down, father.” He hurried from the Church before Abram say anything else, but
he heard his father’s chuckle echoing around the old building as he left, and
it chilled him.

****

Beth had gone back to bed after The
Kiss, mostly because there hadn’t been any other choice. She’d slept
restlessly, mind churning with the memory of Tanner’s arms around her, his lips
on hers. He’d been rough, needy, as if she was some vital elixir. And she’d
responded like a flower opening to the sun, greedily soaking him in. It was her
first kiss. It was The Kiss, an event that surely deserved reverence and
excitement … And then he’d turned away. Confusion and hurt had replaced her
joy, and going to bed to sleep, to forget it had happened, had seemed the only
thing to do.

But there was no escaping him. Her
body ached, longing for things she’d never known and she fumbled with herself,
unsure how to ease the aching. She thought of the girls she’d seen downstairs,
casually sexual and comfortable revealing their bodies, their desires. That was
the kind of woman Tanner was used to, not virgins without the first clue of
what to do with a man. She’d twisted in frustration, the slip and slide of the
cotton sheets over her skin adding to her torment. She wanted hands, his hands.
She wanted him and now he’d turned away, she had no idea how to get him. Women
didn’t chase men. It was unseemly, even whorish. Women waited. Women accepted.

By the time the sun rose, Beth was
more angry than frustrated. Waiting? Accepting? Well, she hadn’t accepted Abram
and she hadn't waited around to be forced by a man she didn’t want. If she
could make that stand, surely she could make another stand with Tanner?

Dressed and determined, Beth went
to find Tanner. If nothing else, she decided she was entitled to a better
explanation for his behavior. And then … then she’d have to think about moving
on. The idea hurt, but the thought of Abram and Nathaniel catching up to her
was far worse.

In stark contrast to the hive of
activity it had been last night, the mill was beautifully silent this morning.
The storm clouds had cleared, and gentle sunlight bathed the bar in gold. Empty
beer bottles and the faint smell of cigarette smoke paid tribute to the night’s
chaos, but for all it was the polar opposite of her life, Beth liked it. The
mess, the noise, the easy laughter … It had been warm and welcoming, if
somewhat overwhelming. There was a sense of family here that she’d been taught
the Church provided, and it was now clear that the Church and the real world
had very different ideas about “family.”

Finding nobody inside, she ventured
out the front just in time to see a few men pulling away on their bikes. She
didn’t see Tanner among them, although she recognized Rattler’s menacing form,
and heaved a sigh of relief to see him go. When the dust from their roaring
bikes settled, there was just one man left, sat astride his own machine and
messing with the brakes.

He was taller than Tanner, and
built along lean lines rather than broad. But his tattooed arms were roped with
muscle, making it clear he had the strength to go with his height. His long
hair was ashy blonde, and fell past his shoulders, hiding his face as he
worked. He put Beth in mind of a lion, and for a second she was scared to
approach.

Then he glanced up at her and,
after giving her a speculative once-over, beckoned her forward. “You must be
Beth.”

“
Yessir
.”
She stared at the mud, unable to meet his gaze. There was no doubt that he was
a
sir.
He gave off the same air of
command that Abram did, albeit a quieter, more controlled one. Still, perhaps
that made him more dangerous. You never knew.

“Raise your eyes, girl,” he said,
not unkindly. “Let me have a look at you and see what Tanner’s tying himself in
knots for.”

Her heart jerked and she obeyed,
forcing herself to meet his eyes. His expression was unreadable. He sat back on
the bike, hands resting on his knees. As much as she tried to focus on his
face, she found herself staring at his arms. His left arm was tattooed with
torn skin revealing gears and pistons, robotic images that made her feel
faintly uneasy. Down his right arm, she saw dragons and battle axes. He
followed her gaze and cracked a smile.

“Left arm,” he
tapped it, “the future.
Right arm, the past.
Like ‘
em
?”

“I don’t know,” she answered
honestly. She preferred Tanner’s, but maybe that was just because she preferred
Tanner himself.

He let it pass. “I’m Nash. I’m the
President of this MC. You know what that means?”

“You’re the boss?” she guessed.

He nodded. “And I know every last
damn thing that goes on here. I make the rules. I make the decisions. So you’d
better tell me straight—how much shit are you in?”

Beth swallowed, butterflies filling
her stomach. All her earlier conviction was draining away under his steely
gaze. “I don’t want to cause any trouble for you,” she said.

“I’m sure you don’t. But you’re
causing it anyway. So I’m asking
,
how much shit are
you in? This cult of yours, what are they into? They got guns?
Political connections?”

“No, nothing like
that.”
Beth hugged herself.
“At least, I’ve never seen any guns. And Abram thinks the government is a tool
of Satan.”

Nash laughed. “I bet
he
fucking does.
Can’t say I disagree.”

“But he can be physically violent,”
she said, realizing how stupid that probably sounded to a man the size of Nash.
“And the snakes …” Her throat tightened. They’d all seen the test of faith in
action. Abram kept antivenin in his rooms, but sometimes … Sometimes he didn’t
fetch it in time. Sometimes, she thought, he chose not to. There were graves in
the churchyard, unmarked graves for the sinners who hadn’t been pure or
faithful enough to please God, the snakes, or Abram.

She would be subjected to the test
if he caught her. Probably after she’d been beaten black and blue. By then, she
might almost wish to find the coral snake in her hands.

“The snakes?”
Nash prompted when she fell silent, caught in
dread.

She was about to explain when she
felt warm hands on her shoulders. She jumped and then recognized Tanner’s
leather-and-musk scent. Her whole body both relaxed and tensed. His presence
meant safety but it triggered arousal, and she didn’t know what to do with the
feelings he created.

“This asshole
bothering you, Beth?”
Tanner asked. His tone was light but his hands were possessive, and she could
feel the heat of his body, the hard muscles of his chest, and the tension
there. Beth had no doubt that in that moment he saw Nash as a potential threat
to her, just for being near her. The idea was oddly thrilling.

Nash cocked at eyebrow at him.
“This asshole says don’t let your mouth write a check your ass can’t cash, son.
Beth and
me
were just getting acquainted, so put your
hackles away.”

“I
kinda
wanted to talk to her myself,” Tanner said, easing his grip on her a little.

“Go ahead,” Nash said.

“In private.”

Nash gestured at the wide open
fields surrounding the mill. “Then take a walk.”

Tanner muttered something under his
breath that Beth didn’t quite catch, but sensed was uncomplimentary. “Beth, you
wanna
take a walk with me?”

She did. She nodded politely to
Nash, who went back to work on his bike without another word.

“
Wanna
go
for a ride?” Tanner asked her, nodding at his bike.

Beth slipped on behind him with a
shiver of pleasure as she wrapped her arms round him. She flattened her palms
against his chest, feeling hard muscle under his worn T-shirt and she allowed
herself the brief fantasy of running her fingertips along his bare skin.

But he hadn’t wanted her last night
so why let herself dream? She couldn’t stay and he seemed not to want her to
anyway.

He revved the engine and they shot
away from the mill. He didn’t ride as fast as they had yesterday, through the
storm, but it was still thrilling. The power of the bike beneath her coupling
perfectly with the strength of the man in front of her … and more than that,
the sense of freedom was intoxicating. She wanted a bike, she decided then. She
wanted to know that from now on, she could go wherever she wanted, whenever she
wanted.