Warlord (Anathema Book 1) (29 page)

I couldn’t sneak
out of the bed.

Thorne owned a
king-sized mattress, but he was a six-foot-three tattooed monster. He didn’t
cuddle. He trapped. Wrapped a thick arm over my mid-section like he knew I’d
run.

And I probably
would.

I had to.

I didn’t know
why I hadn’t yet. I shouldn’t have liked it, but I never wanted to leave the
bed. I craved to explore his body, to learn just how it was possible he teased
and treated and threatened all in the same movements. His lust silenced my
panic and his desire muffled my fear with the harsh clip of the headboard
against the wall.

I used to hate
that sound. With Thorne, it was the most beautiful music. I only wished it was
the first time I heard it.

“Where are you
going.” Thorne grumbled the question. His head was asleep, but another part of
him readied, wide-awake.

I smiled and
shifted away from the pulsing hardness pushing against my leg. That only
encouraged Thorne. I didn’t know if all men were that...insatiable, but today
couldn’t start how last night ended.

My cell phone alarm
buzzed under the pillow, reminding me to slip from the comfortable bed and
escape from under Thorne’s paw. My pulse beat against my chest—matching the
vibrating buzz of the alarm. I never suffered a metronome before. Never needed
to fear falling behind the beat.

But I was close
today.

Exorcist wanted
his drugs. My mornings were once a gentle greeting to the day. I’d sing a few
songs in the shower, serve coffee and pancakes to the morning rush. No meth. No
bikers.

I had no
pancakes this morning, but fear stuck to me like spilled syrup. Two days
passed, and I didn’t have a plan to save any of us.

I never
considered myself a brave person. Thorne’s hand gripped the softness of my hip.
I sighed. I didn’t care what happened to me. Ex could and probably would kill
me. I lasted longer than I thought anyway. Making it to adulthood was a miracle,
and actually functioning like a healthy woman was a gift from whatever gods
blessed or cursed Anathema.

But the thought
of anything happening to Thorne or my brothers ruined me.

He was right to
have me make-up with them. I loved Brew, even if he hadn’t been able to protect
me from everything twisted in my world. And Keep meant to do good. He really
did. But he needed help. All the time I used to beg for someone to hear me, and
I never once listened to his silent screams.

The meth in his
socks wasn’t even hidden well. The baggie poked up from the opened drawer, so I
took it. The first step for me to protect my family was to protect them from
themselves. I’d probably get pummeled for it later.

“You aren’t
tired?” Thorne’s baritone shivered me all over. “You have too much energy,
little girl.”

I stilled as his
hand tickled over my hip, across my waist. “Maybe you’re just getting old.”

“You don’t know
when to keep your mouth shut.”

“I want to get a
shower.”

He edged closer
to me, his hand dropping low. I shuddered as his fingers brushed a part of me
still slick from both my excitement and his dominance.

“I’ll get one
too.”

He didn’t nuzzle.
He dove for me, biting the sensitive skin right between my neck and shoulder. I
was sure I had a bruise from last night, but that didn’t prevent him from biting
just as hard as when he held me under him during the night. My hips bucked back.
Instinctive.

“Get you cleaned
up to make you dirty again,” he threatened.

“You don’t have
to do that.”

I blushed. I was
as bad at getting out of sex as I was getting into it. Whatever I did last
night worked. I bended down to set my new guitar in its case, and Thorne dove
on me. Ripped my clothes off. Entered me before I said a word.

I liked it that
way. Spontaneous and passionate. I didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to worry. Thorne
devoured my body, and I let him.

I
wanted
him.

Except now my
nerves frayed like snapped guitar strings, and I counted the hours until I had
to free myself from Anathema long enough to betray it.

Or was I saving
it?

Or was I just saving
my own behind and pretending that I had any control over anything that endangered
the club?

Thorne ignored
me. I gasped as he reached down and grabbed right between my legs. His fingers
parted the slickness, and he chuckled at the mess between my thighs.

“You do need a
shower.” He whispered into my ear. His finger wove a dizzying melody over the
little sensitive nub I tried so hard to avoid. My body jerked against his hand.
It only made me messier. “Or maybe you need another load inside you?”

He was vulgar. He
was harsh. He was as honest as any man I ever met, and he delivered that
honesty with brute force and unapologetic lust. My body responded. I had no
idea what was right or wrong, good or bad. I also didn’t dare ask Thorne. Submitting
to his desires was far safer than understanding mine.

Especially as his
fingers circled that part of me that only he had ever made quiver, shake, and
wet. I never explored there, never touched, never let myself
feel
anything
there. But he did. Every motion of his finger or lick of his tongue played me
like his own instrument. He ripped the moans from my throat and silenced the
same sound with his lips or, in a moment of my own bravery, his cock.

His finger
entered me, and both of us sang our relief. His cock flexed hard along my behind.
My body wanted more than just his finger. I wetted around him, hot and frantic
and as revealing as any words I might have said or hints I may have dropped.

I wasn’t used to
such intense seduction. I could sing a sexy melody, feel the thick beat within
my belly, but Thorne didn’t let me explore my body’s reactions.

Maybe if I had
asked.

Maybe if Thorne learned
what had happened…

I regretted that
thought as soon as it prickled my mind. The memory fractured through my arousal.
I stiffened.

I didn’t want
him to know.

But, Christ. He’d
find out. For as much as I wished to hide it, he figured it out. He had been
inside me. Asked the questions. Probably realized it the first minute he saw me
naked. My skin was unblemished, but that didn’t mean the handprints weren’t as
obvious as the bands of ink binding his chest. Keep and Brew didn’t know about
the abuse. But if Thorne pieced to together, it was only a matter of time
before they learned someone hurt their sister.

And then all
hell would break loose.

For as many
nights as I cried myself to sleep wishing for my brothers to help me, nothing
would be horrible than revealing the truth to the men I loved most in this
world.

Thorne’s finger
dove in deep as he adjusted his body around mine. It was too late. I tensed,
but he only liked that promise. His free arm wove under my shoulders and pinned
me against his chest. Our hips met.

And a nightmare worse
than Exorcist came back to life.

I shifted away. Thorne
didn’t let me go. My voice lost somewhere between fear and childhood, and I
shook my head. It hadn’t worked then, and it didn’t work now. I braced for the
inevitable smack. Thorne never raised his hand.

“P—please,” I
whispered. “I...not now.”

Thorne’s chuckle
rumbled with the remnants of sleep. “What’s wrong, Bud?  Afraid you’ll like
it?”

The crashing,
panicked, terrified scream wasn’t just in my head. The sound I silenced for so
long in my past, in my memories, in my nightmares ripped from my lips. I
thrashed out of the bed and collapsed on the floor. Thorne swore and leapt away
from my flailing legs. My foot hurt, and he grabbed his knee with a harsher
profanity.

“Jesus Christ, Rose!”

“Sorry!” I
didn’t mean to apologize, but repeating the word prevented me from saying
anything else. “Sorry. Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

Thorne gritted
his teeth. “I should ask you the same fucking question.”

“I’m fine.”

“Like hell.”

He stared at me,
the gun-metal of his eyes shadowed. He wove a hand around the length of dark
hair shading his face. His biceps flexed hard. The bands of ink on his chest
tugged against the surge of air he hadn’t unleashed in a torrent of profanity.

“Got something
you want to tell me?”

I pulled a shirt
from my bag. It didn’t cover nearly enough, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen,
tasted, and claimed every bit of me anyway.

I wondered if
he’d still touch me if he knew the truth.

If he knew just
how similar it had felt.

How he asked the
same question.

Moved like him.

Touched me the
same way.

I wasn’t afraid
it’d feel good. It never did then. But now?  The last thing I wanted was to
ruin what pleasure I did finally experience.

“Sorry,” I said
again. “I just...”

“You what?”

“I should get a
shower.”

He clenched his
jaw. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because I’m
fine
.”

“You’re full of
shit.”

I sighed. “You
sure do sweet-talk a girl.”

He growled as I
gathered my clothes. “Where the hell are you going?”

It wasn’t a
change of topic, it was an escape. Except I dove from the depths of my memory
right into the next danger that would ruin me with violence and hate.

“I need to get
out of here,” I said. “Just for a while.”

“Out of Pixie?”

“Yeah.”

“And where the
hell do you think you’re going?” Thorne’s expression might have frightened me
back to bed if I hadn’t feared Exorcist more. “Unless you want to pick out a
funeral plot, your ass isn’t going anywhere.”

I shrugged. “I’m
going stir-crazy.”

“Yeah, I can see
how getting killed might alleviate your boredom.”

“I’m not going
to get killed. I’m just going to...”

Meet Exorcist
and orchestrate a drug deal. I gnawed on my lip.

“I need to go
get my paycheck,” I said. “From the diner.”

Thorne frowned. “I’ll
send someone to get it.”

“The last time
any members of Anathema went to the diner, they beat up my manager and
threatened him until he promised to give me a raise.”

“Good men.”

“Besides, I was
going to go check out another job.”

Thorne waited. I
cleared my throat.

“Lyn offered me
a gig.”

“You aren’t
stripping.” The growl edged his voice. “Not ever again.”

“She wants me
playing music. I just wanted check in. Make sure she was okay after everything.”

He said nothing
as he tugged on a pair of jeans. The muscles in his abs flexed hard. I
remembered how strong he was, how perfect those hardened arms and chest rocked
me during the night. It wasn’t fair that I could lust and fear his strength.

“You’re lying to
me.” Thorne said. “Why?”

“I’m not lying. I
told you. I want to get out of Pixie for a bit.”

“You won’t tell
me why you freak when I touch you wrong. You won’t tell me who the fuck hurt
you.” He extended his arms. “Someone fucked you up, Rose. Tell me so I can help
you.”

“I don’t need
any help.”

“Then you won’t
be getting any.” He pointed toward the door. “I have enough bullshit to deal
with without chasing down any of your fucking demons. But I don’t care how
fucked
the club is. The only thing I want to do right now is kick the shit out of
whoever did this to you.”

I hated myself. My
past tarnished me before, left me dirty and grimy and grated with such awful
truth that I didn’t know when the nightmare ended and the rest of me began. But
I never, ever thought I’d be
grateful
for the opportunity to hide behind
it.

As long as Thorne
thought my past abuse freaked me out enough to run, I wouldn’t have to worry
about making an excuse to meet with Exorcist.

“I’m leaving,” I
said. “Just for the afternoon.”

“No, you’re
not.”

“You can’t keep
me here.”

“Want to bet?”

I seized a
breaking breath. “I’m not your prisoner, Thorne.”

“Really?”

I didn’t like
his tone. Or the way he looked at me. Or how the sudden flutter in my chest
matched the cruelty tightening his jaw.

“No. You don’t have
the authority.”

“Yes, I do.”

My stomach
twisted. “I told you before. I am not your whore.”

“You think you
could stop me?”