Warlord (Anathema Book 1) (39 page)

And then it was
done.

And then it was
just beginning.

And then
everything was ending.

I fell against
his chest, cast my arms around his neck, and buried myself in his leather and
wind-swept scent. He didn’t move, and I didn’t dare shift from our embrace. My
body twitched in wavering aftershocks. He held me through them all, holding me,
kissing my forehead, promising, above all else, it wouldn’t be the last time.

Except I wasn’t
a stranger to Anathema.

No matter the
promises, lovely words, and oppressive arrogance, too many conflicts were
resolved with blood.

Even if we
survived Exorcist’s retaliation, the club demanded purification. The president
placed us all in danger if he didn’t cull the threat to Anathema.

Brew would have
to die for his betrayal.

And the man I
loved would become his murderer.

The music faded in
an abrupt popping of the club’s speakers.

I zipped my
jeans with trembling fingers, but the button didn’t catch. Once. Twice. Figured.
The damn things came off so easily. I held my breath and yanked at the denim.

 “It’s a strip
club, sweetheart.” Thorne tugged on my belt loop until I stumbled before him. “Not
many girls put clothes back on.”

The jeans
buttoned. He lowered my shirt over the waistband. And just like that, my body
had been covered, our desire sated, and the heat and sweat of the room replaced
with foreboding chill. His hand brushed my cheek. My stomach bundled into tight
pain.

I would not say
goodbye.  

He didn’t say it
either.

“You stay
downstairs,” he said. “Once Gold and Scotch get here, you’re leaving. We’ll
find you a safe place…if one even exists anymore.”

Thorne pulled me
from Lyn’s office. The club darkened as the straying dancers gathered their
bags and hurried out in manicured outrage. Lyn pulled two guns from behind the
counter. Her eyes hardened into the green menace of a swirling curse.

“My club is, and
always has been,
neutral
territory.” Lyn pushed the guns to him with a
frown. “Consider our arrangement null and void. Anything that happens here is
on your head.”

“Let’s survive
tonight before renegotiating contracts,” Thorne said. “Get the hell out of
here, Lyn.”

“So you and
Exorcist can burn Sorceress to the ground? I should call the goddamned fire
marshal and have him stand fucking guard.”

“If you plan on
staying, better whip out your tits. At least give Ex something to shoot at.”

 “Won’t have to.
He’ll be aiming for your head.”

The resentment
in her voice snapped like the strings of an aging guitar. Apparently Thorne and
Lyn didn’t know how to say goodbye to each other either.

He pulled me
from the bar and shoved one of the handguns into my palm. The cold metal rested
unfamiliar and frightening.

“I can ride a
bike.” I swallowed. “But I’ve never shot a gun.”

The metal in his
eyes glinted like the weapon in my hand. “You better hope it stays that way.”

Thorne was no
optimist. Neither was I. What did I ever have to be optimistic about? Music? My
family? Even the best things in my life shattered with crime, violence, and the
specter of fear.

Except I did
have something to be optimistic about now. Passion. Desire. A life with someone
I loved wasn’t anything I ever planned for myself. Escape from Anathema
consumed my every moment.

But the thing I
wanted most, the man I wanted most, wore a cut, cocked a weapon, and prepared
to die.

Keep shouted
from the basement. He met me on the stairs holding my vibrating phone.

“Luke.” He
couldn’t meet my eyes. “He’s not gonna talk to me.”

It probably
wasn’t a social call. My voice trembled as I answered, an artificial sound that
wouldn’t earn respect from either a motorcycle club or an audience on stage. Luke
didn’t respond to my greeting. He didn’t say my name. He didn’t ask about the
drugs, or my brother, or where I was.

Because he knew
all that.

And so did
Exorcist.

“
Get down
.”

The call ended.
I stared at my phone.

Thorne scowled.
“What did he say?”

The hail of
bullets screamed from the club above. Shattering glass pelted the hardwood
floors, and the whine of fracturing exposed wood muffled over the explosive,
brutal cacophony of guns and crashing and destruction. Three men grabbed me at once.
Thorne dove over me, Keep tossed me down the stairs, and Brew sheltered me
under the bulk of his body as the semi-automatic vengeance roared through the
club.

When the gunfire
stopped, the molotovs began.

The crack of the
glass bottles pinged against the booths scattered around Sorceress, hardly
decipherable against the din of violence that assaulted the building and
riddled it with splintering holes, jagged windowpanes, and the encroaching
darkness. Exorcist and his crew cut the power. The rush of heat and the
crackling, snickering, burst of fire destroyed what the bullets left unscarred.

“Stay down!” Thorne
yelled for Keep. “Find Lyn! I’ll get the fire!”

Thorne and Keep
barreled up the stairs and into the darkness that summoned fire, danger, and death.
The Coup’s gunmen didn’t care what they needed to destroy, who they needed to
hurt, or what they needed to do to find and kill us. I fought to follow, but
Brew’s crushing grip pinned me to the floor.

“They need
help!” I batted at his arms. “What if something happens?”

“Something
is
happening.” Brew pulled me off the floor but didn’t allow me to bolt for the
stairs. “We don’t have time to wait. I’m getting you out of here.”

“But Thorne and
Keep are upstairs!”

“I’m not worried
about them.”

I grabbed Brew’s
hand, but my monster brother was twice my size and half my patience. I could no
sooner stop him than hold back Exorcist and his crew with my unpracticed
handgun and unsteady shot.

Brew kicked open
the door to a secondary office. He pointed toward the twilight glow of the
glass window poised high above the desk. I slammed the door closed, and he
stole the gun from my hand. Five quick shots shattered the glass brick before I
ducked for cover. He crashed the desk against the wall and climbed on top.

My brother launched
at the window, punching through the rupturing glass as blood streamed over his
arms and dripped onto the floor. Another rage of gunfire punished the club, but
the returned burst of bullets came from inside. Thorne and Keep abandoned the
flames and suppressed Exorcist as best they could.

But God only knew
how many men Exorcist had gathered. The Coup didn’t number many, but anything
outmatched Anathema when only three members were present.

Three of the
ranking members.

The lifeblood of
Anathema.

If it spilled,
the club stood no chance against Exorcist.

I scrambled on
top of the desk as he shattered the layer of chewed glass preventing my escape
through the window and into the well outside the building.

“This ain’t
going to feel good,” he said. It wasn’t an apology, just straight up honesty.
Before today, I never imagined my brother lying to me about anything.
Apparently his only lie was his biggest. “Climb up there then stay low.”

“I can’t leave
without everyone else.”

“Doesn’t matter.
I’ll shove you through that window if I have to.”

“Brew—”

“Jesus Christ, Rose.”
Brew hauled me off the desk and into the air, pushing me into the broken,
jagged window frame. The palms of my hands instantly scraped against the
pebbled fragments of glass scattered in the bottom of the window well. “I’m not
gonna let Exorcist hurt you. I’m not gonna let
anyone
ever hurt you
again. Move your ass.”

“But—”

“
Now
!”

I was the only
person who ever pushed my brother. Rattled him. Teased him. Even argued with him.
And he let me. Had it been any other time, Brew would have apologized. Made
sure I was okay.

Nothing in his
voice sounded like Brew.

I dove through
that window, cutting my hands, tearing my shirt, and hissing as the bite of the
glass wrenched through my jeans and left a trail of sticky blood against my
calf.

I loved my
brother, but that’s why I moved. Why I ran. In that moment, in that second of
pure stress and fear and rage and
grief
, my brother became another man.

Someone hard.
Someone determined. Someone dangerous.

Brew acted
exactly like my father.

And he knew it
too. That was why he didn’t apologize. Why he forced me through the window,
over the glass, and into the night. Fear and heartbreak would save my life, but
it wouldn’t save my brother. Not when he resigned himself to death. But did he welcome
the bullet because of his betrayal of Anathema, or because he failed to protect
me?

The night deceived
a calm and peaceful presence as The Coup’s rampage halted. They ducked for
cover behind the cars and barriers in the parking lot. I recognized the
panicked, grunted cry of Bounty as a bullet pierced his shoulder. I couldn’t
see who posted on the roof, but I guessed. Keep. Despite the trembling of his
hand, he never missed a target.

I brushed the
glass from my clothes and hopped up, grabbing the lip of the window well and
hauling myself over the aluminum edge. I tumbled onto the concrete behind the
club. Brew grunted below. A series of raw scratches clawed his flesh, matching
the jagged scrapes on his knuckles and hands. Blood stained his shirt and obscured
everything, even the dark blot of ink immortalizing Anathema’s scarred demon
upon his skin.

“Come on,” he
whispered. “Stay low.”

He checked the
gun’s clip. Even in the faint light of the alleyway only a few gold bullets
glistened in the clip. He grunted.

I wasn’t ready
for this. Wasn’t ready to run. Wasn’t ready to get caught in the middle of a
war. Wasn’t ready to lose one of the men who mattered most to me in senseless
violence or blind penance.

Tears I didn’t
remember crying stained my cheeks. Brew didn’t offer sympathy. I hurried to
match his steps, and in the darkness, the uneasy silence, and the lingering
scent of sulfur and burnt metal, I feared it would be the last time I saw any
of them.

And I hated every
minute of my past for wanting to be rid of them.

Sorceress
separated its debauchery and wild nightlife from the rest of the valley with a wrought
iron fence and half a mile of undeveloped commercial property. Brew didn’t head
for his motorcycle. He pushed me toward the fence, and offered his hand as I stared
at the six foot tall looming monstrosity.

“Just like when
I taught you to climb a tree,” he said. “I’ll give you a boost.”

“I broke my arm
when I climbed that tree.”

“I’ll catch you
this time.”

He grabbed my
hips and hoisted me up. I clutched the top of the iron fence and struggled to
haul myself up and over the pointed parapet. Brew pushed up my feet, but he
shouted just as the sharp crack of metal against skull drove him against the fence.
I dropped before making it to the other side and collapsed next to my brother.
He wavered and tossed an arm over me, but Exorcist had slammed the gun hard
enough against his head to render him unconscious. I screamed, but the gun rose
before I could protect Brew.

Exorcist pulled
the trigger, and the bullet sliced through Brew’s chest.

His body
lurched, twitched, and fell limp against the ground.

The spray of crimson
doused me in sickening warmth. I screamed, and the metallic tinge of my
brother’s blood bittered my mouth.

“Get up.”
Exorcist aimed the gun at me. “You stole from me. I’m getting it back.”