Warlord (Anathema Book 1) (25 page)

“Hold on.” My
voice startled her. Made her more of a squeezing liability. I didn’t need her
panic, the scratches on my bike, or the guilt of killing the kid on the highway.
I patted her leg. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

Was that the
only fucking word she knew?  Jesus Christ. I didn’t care how great her tits
were or how many times she was nearly killed in the last hour. Exorcist fucked
with me, and they used her to let him escape. Now the fucking diva wanted to
test me?

Fine
.

I’d show her
fine
.

We roared out of
the parking lot, and I throttled the bike through the red line and into a
quick, punishing turn immediately outside the club. Rose squealed, and her
nails dug into my skin.

Those
were the kitten
scratches I wanted.

The roads
emptied this late at night. All the better for a good ride. A fast ride. The type
of speed that punished the highway under our tires and threatened the sleeping
neighborhoods with the scream of our engines.

Rose tightened
her grip. Either she instinctually knew to move with me, or she wasn’t ready to
settle the score between her and the rushing pavement. She kept her mouth shut
though. The silence grated my spine. Her little body bumped against mine over
the road, and she clutched me tight enough to bruise. I hit the highway nearing
triple digits, and the kid didn’t even make a sound.

What the fuck
was wrong with her?  Did she
want
to die?  Between pissing off her brothers,
getting her ass kidnapped, and tempting fate’s cock with her little strip
tease, she was lucky the devil hadn’t popped her off yet.

Brew and Keep normally
rolled at my side, but they kept closer than normal. As if they watched out for
Rose. She didn’t care. She held on to me on
my
bike. Slept in my bed. Ran
to
me
.

Belonged to
me
.

What a goddamned
mistake she made.

I regretted our
speed. It shortened our ride. Less time to enjoy her trembling body pressed
against my back. Her fists digging into my cut. The squeeze of her panic
against my control of the bike. I owned the road. Punished the asphalt. Dominated
the bike and any around me who dared to rebel against my authority on the
highway. No cruiser ever caught me. No car outran me. And no scared little diva
clinging to my strength would ever stop me.

We rumbled to
Pixie without bloodshed. It wasn’t the relief I was looking for—not for the
rage ripping through my veins, the pounding headache clipping my breath, or the
pooling blood in my cock which wanted nothing more than to sheath between Rose’s
pouting lips once again. I parked behind the safety of the security fence, but
I let the bike rumble.

The diva didn’t
jump off while it ran hot.

She wiggled
against me, finding her balance between my body and the bike. She pushed off,
tumbling to the ground. Her skirt flew up. Lyn dressed her authentically. The
white panties covered her, but what lingered beneath tempted me beyond control.
She kicked the gravel as she forced herself to her feet. Brew and Keep reached
for her. She shoved them both away and chucked the helmet at me. I wasn’t ready
for the string of profanity. She sounded just like Blade.

Usually, that
type of disrespect ended with a smack across the smart mouth.

This time, I
wanted nothing more than to smack a smart ass.

“What the hell
were you doing?” Keep shouted after Rose, but she rushed her little plaid ass
into the bar before anyone else got a good look. “You could have killed her.”

And his fucking
betrayal wouldn’t end with her bleeding out on the street somewhere?  I
sneered, pushing him away with just the shadow of my rage.

“Don’t you ever
question me.”

“That’s my
sister,” Keep snarled.

“Might be time
to start thinking of your brothers instead.”

“What’s that
supposed to mean?”

I glanced to
Brew. He didn’t have the artificial courage swirling in his veins like Keep.

“Clean yourself
up.” I pushed Keep out of my way. “And don’t worry about your sister tonight. I’ll
make sure she’s tucked in.”

Neither Darnell
liked that. I waited for the attack. For the knife at my throat or the gun at
my head. What better time for the traitor to turn than when I threatened his
baby sister with a hard cock and every ill-intention that came with it?

Keep swore. Brew
didn’t make a move.

I didn’t know
what was worse. That someone would betray their club, their brothers, the very
ink in their blood and the patch on their back, or that they’d trade their
sister’s safety while they reaped the benefits.

But what benefits? 

Drugs? 

Money?

What the hell
did Exorcist offer a traitor that I couldn’t give my crew? It didn’t make sense
for either to turn. Then again, a strung-out ex-junkie rolling in heroine,
meth, and whatever else he used to dirty his body wasn’t a logical man.

But his habit
endangered Rose.

I let the door to
Pixie slam behind me. My boots rattled the stairs under my steps. She’d know I
was coming for her. I wondered if she’d hide. If she’d run into the bathroom
and cower locked away like she did last night when her memory terrified her.

I wondered why
my cock liked the image of her running scared.

And why my mind
tore itself apart at the thought of the kid shaking in fear.

She didn’t lock
the door. Wouldn’t matter. I’d have kicked it down. The door swung open.

The slap to my
cheek was her last fucking mistake.

I grabbed her
hand and twisted. She crumpled to her knees. Wasn’t like I was about to break
her wrist, but she stared up at me like I would. The baby-bunny eyes widened.

The black and
bitter poison of my self-loathing sludged through me. I let her go. Her
expression crumpled as she stumbled away. Her skirt covered nothing. She either
asked to be taught some respect or she begged to be thrown back on the bed. She
needed both.

Deserved none of
it.

“What’s the
matter, little girl?” I asked. “Rough ride?”

“Why?” Rose hesitantly
crawled to her feet. Either she planned on running away or hitting me. Didn’t
matter which one she chose. “I
trusted
you.”

“Were you scared?

“What do you
think?”

She missed her
chance to run. I closed in on her, breathing wild. I stared down at the girl
quaking in a leather jacket three sizes too big for her. She was too goddamned
beautiful for any of this.

“Were. You. Scared.”

“Yes! I was scared!”

“Why didn’t you
say anything?”

“Why does it
even matter to you?”

Good fucking
question. It was one an HMO of therapists, a confessional full of priests, and
a dose of LSD would have a hell of a time answering. She stared at me, chest
heaving, every bit of her panicking. She would have screamed if anyone was fool
enough to help her.

But who would
help her? Rescue her? No one would listen to the little diva this time.

I hated myself
for it.

I hated her
every caught breath. The way her princess pink lips paled. How she backed away
from me, toward the bed, and not because she was ready to let me rip off that
ridiculous skirt. It pissed me off, and I strode forward to catch her before
any other stupid ideas flittered through her head.

“You don’t get
to be scared anymore.”

Rose laughed, too
breathy and pitchy for someone as practiced as her. “I don’t
get
to be?”

“No.”

“Well, too bad. I’m
pretty scared right now.”

I loomed over
her. Rose stared up. She smelled of the road, the outdoors, of leather, and of
perfect crisp apple that watered my mouth to taste her. My shadow fell over her.
I’d darken more of her before I was done.

“I can’t
guarantee you aren’t in danger.” I regretted even speaking the word so near to
her. “But I will
never
, ever hurt you.”

“Why should I
believe you?”

“Because I
fucked up. You were right about me. I failed you, and it’s eating me alive.”
The words stung. I wanted nothing more than to flay the demon off my flesh for
that mistake. “It won’t happen again. You will be safe. You have my word.”

Rose’s eyes
watered. I braced for her to run.

She leapt at me
instead. Tossed her arms over my neck.

Fucking kissed
me like a woman belonging in Sorceress and as desperately as a girl finding her
prince charming.

I wasn’t a
prince.

I didn’t know the
meaning of the word charming.

If she expected
me to slay a dragon and jam a glass slipper on her foot, Rose was fucked in
more ways than one.

I wasn’t the
hero she needed. Or the stately protector. I was the sword. The edge of chaos
and the siphon of blood. I crushed. I maimed. I raided.

I took.

If she wanted a
knight-in-shining armor, Rose was already lost. What help could I offer? I’d
only terrify her.

I wasn’t Prince
Charming.

I was the
Warlord. The Cursed. The Anathema.

And she was the trophy
of my endless conquests.

Rose had no idea
what to expect from me. She couldn’t handle my strength. My ferocity. She might
have twisted on my lap like a little ballerina, but nothing prepared her for
the hell I’d unleash upon her body. I promised Heaven, but what I needed was
straight torment. Hot. Fierce. Unyielding. I’d break her, right her, and
shatter her again if only to prove exactly what I needed.

Exorcist might
have kidnapped her. He might have beaten her. Threatened her.

But she was
mine
.

Mine to destroy
under the weight of my body, and mine to rebuild through the promise of my
pleasure. She was mine to frighten. Mine to comfort. Mine to use to root out
the rat in Anathema, and mine to shield from the dangers, the hatred, the
corruption of a club straddling the edge of domination and destruction.

I fisted the
leather of the jacket. Someone else’s clothing covered her. Protected her. Comforted
her.

Never again.

I unzipped the jacket.
I might have torn it. I didn’t fucking care. I pitched it across the room, far
from the flushed skin and delicate curves of a woman too tempting, too
forbidden to be real.

Daughter of one
of Anathema’s original, un-fractured officers.

Sister of two of
my ranking members.

Bait to lure out
a traitor.

And I needed to
strip her of what remained of her clothes. Her dignity. Her self-doubt. I’d taste
her and praise her and desecrate her all in one thrust, and she’d scream my
name in utter gratitude for the opportunity to serve.

She didn’t dance
for me now. Didn’t have to. Her body ached and trembled without any music. Dark
curls gathered over her smoothed shoulders. Her arms remained at her sides. She
didn’t try to cover herself. I tempted the wrath of the scarred demon tattooed
into my flesh, and I prayed for the binding tribal straps covering my arms and
chest to contain the wild part of me that wanted nothing more than to ravish
the woman. To sink my teeth in her neck. To bite and claw, thrust and claim.

Her breasts
dusted with freckles.

Fucking freckles.

Christ, I was a
monster, but at least I’d feast well tonight.

I pushed her. She
fell on the bed with only the slightest little chirp. A melodic little surrender
that I
would
earn from her lips once more. Her hair crested behind her
head, wild and feminine. In thirty-three years, I never saw anything as
beautiful as her surrender. As goddamned right. Everything, from her pale skin
to the swell of her breasts to the tiny little waist that hid my ultimate
conquest behind a plaid skirt, belonged to me. She didn’t need the school girl
getup to look innocent.

She was innocent.

Every part of
her. Her heavy eyes. The parting of her lips. The shallow breaths she stole now
that I pulled from her kiss and let her imagine where else my lips would claim.
I grabbed the skirt in my fists and tensed. The material ripped.

“I—” Rose’s
fists dug into my bed. “I got that from Lyn.”

“She’ll get over
it.”

White panties. Just
perfect little bikini panties that covered my prize and revealed just how much
I’d win from conquering her. She trembled, and the little goose bumps along her
smoothed legs danced as her thighs pushed together. It didn’t protect her. Wouldn’t
protect her. She pulled the panties tight over the mound they struggled to hide.
The neatly trimmed curls that the little virgin would never admit she actually
touched. It’d mean she had anticipated this. That she wanted this.