Warlord (Anathema Book 1) (12 page)

“I’ll figure
something out.”

“You’ll have
plenty of time to figure it out before the next gig.”

“There won’t be
another gig if I don’t play this one.”

“And there won’t
be much music if you’re gutted in the middle of the street.”

I wished I
hadn’t flinched. He saw it. I felt it. And part of me realized he was right. I
hated that part of me most of all. And yet I let it happen. I let my brothers
take me. I let a stranger dictate where I sat and when I could speak. And I was
about to let a man who preferred blood to ballads and retribution over rhythm
destroy the very dream that offered me an escape from the insanity of Anathema.

I didn’t need
their brand of help. And I didn’t need Thorne’s sadistic charity. My family
might have suffered through incarcerations and addictions, vengeance and
artificial brotherhood, but I’d be damned if I’d share the same fate.

My fury blurred
my vision with pathetic tears. Despite the anger and hurt, my body always
betrayed me more than any insult. I turned, but Thorne rose before I made it to
the door. I reached for the knob. His hand slammed against the frame above my
head.

“I didn’t say
you could leave.”

No strumming of
a guitar, beating of a drum, or raging of a thrash metal line matched the
rawness of his voice, a baritone of authority that rumbled over my skin and
tempted me into trembles. The banded ink coiling from his middle finger and up
his arm streaked his skin with a rage of darkness. As if the thick muscles
hadn’t stolen enough of my breath, the threat of the ink, just the power
radiating from the black, eroded my resistance. Many men were tattooed, but the
designs meant nothing beyond their imagined sentimentalities.

Thorne’s tattoos
marked him. Claimed him. Blackened his blood until the branding of Anathema
raced through his veins.

I didn’t turn to
face him. I doubted he wanted me to move. His heat framed my body, layering me in
his presence, his very scent. Leather. Salt. Shadows and pain. I slowed my
breathing, as if he sensed the fluttering of air pitched within my throat. I debated
staying silent. I braced to call for help.

“You want to go
to your little performance?” His words rocked me with each syllable, and I
fought the urge to collapse under the weight of his intention. “Then start
obeying me.”

“And if I
don’t?”

The answer came
suddenly. Harshly. The slap to my backside cracked the silence of the room.

I spun around,
protecting my bottom more than my crimson face. Thorne captured me, his palms
flat against the door on either side of my arms.

“Let’s settle
this now.” His eyes glistened with the cool gray of an aiming pistol. “You have
nothing you can offer, nothing I want, and nothing I need. You whine, complain,
or bitch, and you’ll get smacked again. And harder. You understand?”

I nodded. I
didn’t like it, but that didn’t mean I could feign ignorance, not while my
behind stung with the accuracy of his strike.

“You listen to
me. Do as I say. We’ll consider your gig. Got it?”

I nodded again.

“Then I might be
able to keep you alive long enough to get some use out of you.”

He backed away,
and I sucked in a relieved breath. The air caught in my lungs and I lost myself
within Thorne’s wild scent.

He was serious. Absolutely
serious. Not only did he think I was in danger, he thought he would protect me
from it. He offered to save me from the demons lurking in the shadows.

And I believed
him.

He trapped me
within the heart of Pixie. In the very lair of the beast, tucked inside the
darkest corners and under the gaze of the dangerous man balancing loyalty,
anarchy, and violence. No one dared challenge Pixie, not even during the worst
battles with Exorcist.

His gaze seared
through me, trailing heat everywhere it looked. I couldn’t speak. My throat
burned over my questions. He liked that. Reducing me to silence. Stealing my
song. Proving him right and me wrong and savoring all the confusion in its wake.

The victorious
smile suited him. Predatory. An amused crack in the mask of hardened rage. He
didn’t offer it with kindness. He transformed a vulnerable quirk into a hostile
threat, and, despite the darkness hardening his expression, even the cruelest
of smiles only enhanced his features. It was a look that fractured pavement and
ricocheted a bullet, and the unwanted heat burning low in my belly had no
defense.

My pulse
quickened. The halo of understanding cracked, and what should have blessed me
in sweet offering instead tormented me with profane truth.

I feared Thorne.

But so did
everyone else.

And that made
him my greatest ally.

I didn’t know
why my champion defended me, but I wished I had found him sooner.

“Why are you
protecting me?” I hadn’t moved from the door. Thorne didn’t care. We both knew
I didn’t have the courage to bolt. “Am I really in that much danger?”

He studied me. My
freckles. The curls of my hair. The frantic breathing that wavered my chest and
pushed it high as I savored a greedy breath of his scent. The masculine,
leather and wind tease of his body suffocated me in heavy promise. The muscles
of his arms tensed around me. What might have terrified me before now thrilled
me with a freeing shiver.

No one would
ever challenge this man and win.

He pushed away
from the door with a scowl. He grabbed the gun from the table and tucked it in
the holster around his waist.

“You better hope
you’re not in as much trouble as I think you are.”

“What aren’t you
telling me?”

He frowned. “Things
are going to get real fucking messy, real quick.”

“I don’t
understand.”

“Be glad you’re
here. Believe it or not, I’m not fucking with you. I’d rather grab you now when
I only have to wade through shit instead of saving your ass when we’re knee
deep in blood.”

“And you think
I’m going to be...what?  Some sort of target?”

Thorne grinned,
the coldness of his smile binding me with lacey rime against the door.

“Target? 
Sweetheart, you’re the bait.”

Keep and Brew
said their kid sister had a voice like an angel.

Easiest way to
test it was to let her go all starry-eyed and give a performance in the heart
of Exorcist’s territory. Either we’d be in for one hell of a show, or the
sweetest ass to ever grace my bedroom was one meth-head with good aim away from
debuting with her swan song.

Of course, I
promised to keep her out of trouble.

And what did I
get for my benevolence? Two pissed off brothers who thought I’d trade their
baby sister’s safety for her virginity.

I figured she
was a virgin. Whoever wanted to taste Rose needed to get past her brothers
before opening her legs. I didn’t mind the challenge, but I wasn’t going to deal
with the bullshit. It didn’t matter how she stared with those baby bunny eyes,
or how she nearly fell to her knees when I got tough with her. I fucked with
her enough by just holding her in Pixie. It didn’t get either of us off, but I
wasn’t a monster.

Not yet.

We didn’t
usually hold church on Friday mornings. And I usually didn’t have a woman holed
up in my bedroom through the night. Anathema suffered all changes since The
Coup nearly destroyed it.

Rose cornered
herself in my bedroom. Far from the bed. As if I couldn’t do horrible things to
her in the love seat by the window. Or on the floor. Or against the wall. She
hadn’t spoken to me all morning. Usually I liked a girl who looked pretty and
kept her mouth shut. But I didn’t like attitude.

And hers needed
to change.

“Let’s go.” I
didn’t give her a chance to argue. “We’re heading to the warehouse. Church.”

Rose didn’t like
that. I didn’t care. She closed her laptop and huffed.

“Why do I have
to come?”

“Because where I
go, you go.”

“And if I
refuse?”

I hoped she
would. “Then I’ll strap a collar around your neck and drag you there with a
leash. I’m sure your big brothers would love that.”

The laptop
slammed on the loveseat. I waited for her to say something stupid. She didn’t.
For any other woman, it was a wise decision. But she should have thought twice
before challenging me.

Good thing I
didn’t need to toss a chain over her neck. One slap to the ass when I laid down
the rules and she learned what I expected. She followed me from Pixie and
didn’t waste my time with questions when I shoved her into the warehouse. Babysitting
the brat wasn’t a job I anticipated, but at least it was Blade’s kid. Life in
the club taught her things other women didn’t get. Like to wait for us outside
the chapel. How to keep quiet. Never to interfere.

For that, I
couldn’t ask for a better charge.

Brew owned the
warehouse and conducted his own shipping and receiving outfit. Keep did the
books, but it wasn’t like he had much to track. Just enough to offer Uncle Sam
his due and afford us the privacy we needed to conduct our own business. I
pointed Rose to a crate just outside the chapel door.

“Not even a
smile?” I asked. She leaned against the crates with a pout that wouldn’t
intimidate a kitten. She didn’t want to get her skirt dirty. She wouldn’t have
much luck. Not many things left the chapel clean. “Here I thought you’d like a
change of scenery. You haven’t ventured far past my bed.”

She stiffened. It
was true, but she didn’t share my amusement. She might have tucked under my
sheets, but her curves were wasted on the fetal position. She hid on the edge
of my bed, fully clothed, blankets to her ears.

First time that
ever happened in my bedroom.

A girl like her
needed to sprawl. Hands over her head. Blanket covering only her delicate hip.

Or maybe that’s
all her brothers needed to imagine.

Brew’s leaded
steps slowed before he reached me. I braced in case he shouldered me into the
wall. To his credit, he tempered his anger. Didn’t punch me. Keep wasn’t as
smart. His profanity promised more than anything I threatened to do to Rose.

Brew grabbed
Keep before he made a serious mistake. Keep stared me down.

“You okay, Bud?”
Keep asked.

Rose didn’t even
look at him. “Fine
.
”

“You sure?”

“I’m safe,
aren’t I?”

The kitten
scratched. Didn’t do much, but it was irritating. Brew tensed his jaw. Eyed me.

“Yeah,” he said.
“Sure.”

“You sit here.”
I pointed to the crate. “Don’t cause any trouble.”

She crossed her
arms. “I’ll work on my set list for tonight.”

“I haven’t
decided if you’re going.”

“Sorry, I
already confirmed with the venue.”

“Oh.” I nodded
Keep and Brew into the room. “Clear my goddamned day planner then. I guess
we’re stuck.”

Keep laughed. That
didn’t help his case. Rose ignored us. At least she planted her ass where I
told her to sit. She might have hated her brothers, but they taught her
obedience. Then again, I didn’t know many people who’d test Blade. Nothing like
a good, old-fashioned Daddy’s girl.

Gold and Scotch
waited for us in the chapel. Scotch puffed a cigarette but pointed behind him.

“Got us some
donuts,” he said. “Little joint next to my church makes the best goddamned
fritters.”

“When did you
start practicing again?” Keep picked through the box.

“A gun to the
head and a territory sewn in half will make a man think twice about a few
things.” Scotch exhaled the smoke out through his nose. “Got a good ten step
program over at St. Anthony’s.”

Keep pretended
not to hear and took a second donut. Brew rejected the offering. Gold seized
the box.