Knight (113 page)

She pushed him into the chair.

My father’s grin was a sick chill in the room.

“Someone oughta put you in your place, doll.”

Lyn matched his tone. “You’ve been in jail for too long, Blade. You can’t handle me.”

“What’s to handle? You got a mouth, same as every other whore. If it ain’t sucking, it’s good for nothing.”

“You learn that lesson in prison?” She studied him, unimpressed by what he offered. “Maybe I should pretend I dropped the soap. See if that gets you hard.”

“Ain’t no part of me that’s soft.” He rubbed his crotch. “You gonna dance, or will it jerk itself?”

Lyn wagged a finger. “My club. My rules. I invited you here as a show of good faith for Anathema. Figured you’d like to blow off some steam.”

“Happy to oblige. Get on your knees.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t do audience participation.”

She didn’t expect him to rise out of the chair, but Lyn didn’t know my father like I did. She refused to step away. That was her first mistake.

“Change of plans,” he said. “Not in the mood for a tease.”

“Need a cell mate to fluff you?”

Second mistake.

“Why don’t you use that smartass mouth of yours and welcome me back?”

“Careful, Blade. I don’t think you’ve ever been with a woman who bites.”

Last mistake.

“Nah.” His voice lowered. “Cause I’d knock out all her goddamned teeth for trying.”

The gun rapped against the base of his skull. He stilled. Lyn’s smirk exchanged for a shiver. She held out pretty long for spitting in the face of the devil. She scowled, and the door closed behind her.

My father didn’t move. “Thought you were dead, son.”

“Not yet.”

I pulled the gun from the holster behind his back. He never bothered with one strapped to his ankle. His knees didn’t bend so good anymore.

“All this work just to get me alone?” He said.

“Figured you’d be thinking with your cock.”

“I’ve been in jail a long time, Brew. Can you blame a man?”

The gun trembled in my hand once. I jammed it against his skull. “Yes.”

“Christ.” My father sighed. “Is this how you’re clearing the air?”

“You won’t be breathin’ it for much longer.”

“Why are you upset?” His voice hardened. He spoke with the familiar, heavy-handed advice of a father that always made sense, despite his perversions and sickness. “Anathema ain’t gutted in the street. Knight prevented Temple from rolling over the Valley. Thorne pussyed out before executing you for being a traitor. You made out pretty good for fucking over your club.”

“You think I give a damn about Anathema?”

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

“This ain’t about the MC.”

He groaned. He dared to move, rubbing the exhaustion from his face.

“You’re pissed about Rose, aren’t you?”

The hatred burning my veins sizzled everything in me to ash at the mention of her name, with the casual condescension he used as an excuse for his abuse.

“You got a lot to answer for,” I said.

He waved a hand. “Do you want to blow my brains out, or do you want to hear my apology?”

“You think you can
apologize
for what you did?”

He snickered. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“Because I know you. You’re not sorry for hurting her.”

He shrugged. His step forward was tentative, testing if I’d let him move. I did, only because the rage demanded I see him too. I braced to look into his eyes.

And I saw only myself.

The same dark, dead brown stared back. His flat, deceptive gaze was every dishonesty I imagined rotting in my gut, every assumed strength I used to make my deals, and every destructive power I wielded to save my ass when my hourglass trickled with the stolen sand of my enemies.

“She’s
fine
.” He shook his head. “Jesus. It didn’t happen that often, and when it did, it was quick. It was better than me beating on her, wasn’t it?”

“You son of a bitch.”

“I was usually drunk or high. Hardly remember it.”

“She remembers it.”

“She never stopped it.”

The gun rose. He snorted.

“I’m sorry. Jesus Christ, give me a minute. I admit it. It was a fucked up thing to do. I get off on power, and she respected me.”

“She
feared
you.”

“I can’t go back and undo it,” he said. “Move on. What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Blood.” I imagined it. My finger froze over the trigger. “A painful death. A way to make sure she’s never afraid again.”

“Son, I’m sixty-six years old. If you think she’s got anything to worry about, you and I gotta discuss our family’s prostate issues.”

“You won’t hurt her now. You won’t even get close.”

“Then why are you jerking that gun off? Thorne ain’t gonna let me touch her. If Keep would sober up and stand on his own fucking feet, he’d match your shot bullet for bullet. So what’s the problem?”

“The
problem
?” I gritted my teeth. “I trusted you with her.”

“And she turned out fine. Not some fucking foster kid or scraped cells in the dumpster of a clinic.”

I rushed him, slamming the gun off his temple. “Don’t talk about her like that!”

He ducked away from the next hit and rubbed the blood from his eyebrow. My father wasn’t a man who tolerated an attack, but he stilled his fists before he made a mistake. He spat out a mouthful of blood and grunted though the pain.

“
Fuck Rose
. What the hell are you doing pointing a gun at my face? It’s history. It’s nothing. She’s grown up, and now she’s bending over for Anathema’s president every goddamned night. She doesn’t matter.”

“You son of a—”

He pointed at me. “Screw your head on and drop the attitude before you get killed too.”

“You think I have anything to live for? You destroyed everything important to me.”

My father laughed. The lines in his face loosened. He didn’t look so old now.

“Did I ask you to help Knight and Temple to get me out of jail?
No
. You did that yourself.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did I tell you to manipulate The Coup to believe you betrayed Anathema?
No
. Did I tell you to move the drugs and make the deals that would ruin Anathema? Did I ask to raise a baby when I was forty-five fucking years old and pulling the favors to keep your ass from getting shived in prison?
Did I
?”

“No.”

“That’s fucking right. So you better listen to me if you plan to protect Rose, Anathema, and your worthless ass. You’re in big fucking trouble, Brew, and you ain’t got a clue.”

I didn’t pull the trigger. My jaw clenched, and I lowered the gun.

“Why should I trust anything you say?”

“Because no matter what I did to Rose, I’m your father. I taught you to listen to me. Not because we’re blood, but because I lived to be sixty-fucking-six in a one-percent motorcycle club that constantly pisses on their connections with a damned drug cartel. You better start minding me.”

“I don’t need you,” I said. “You taught me how to be a monster when you should have learned how to beg for your life.”

“I don’t beg.” He tapped his forehead. “My brains are better served in my skull than on the floor of this tastefully redecorated club. And you know it.”

“You better list the reasons before my finger slips.”

My father accepted the challenge. He motioned to the chair. I didn’t shoot him when he sat.

“How about the mess you made between Temple and Kingdom?”

I didn’t let my expression shift. “What mess?”

“Son, not many men are capable of starting a war between Temple and one of the largest MCs on the eastern seaboard. First Anathema and The Coup. Now this?”

“What’s your point?”

“You got a good talent for blundering your ass through life, Brew. Here I thought it was Keep that was the goddamned screw-up.”

“Temple made that move against Kingdom. Not me.”

“Yeah, well.” He leaned back and sighed. “Imagine my surprise when I get a call from Toviel Aren. He tells me that you’re alive, like a fucking messiah from the tomb. But he also says you’re ferrying around a sweet little gash who helped her MC plot to assassinate him.”

I didn’t react. He knew about Martini. Christ, he knew about everything.

I stole some of Martini’s confidence and let his revelation roll off me. “No one told me they plotted a war.”

My father scowled. “Doesn’t fucking matter. You’re a
Darnell
. You’re supposed to
think
. But that’s too much for you anymore. You can’t do anything right.”

“Cocky thing to say to someone holding a gun. You taught me how to shoot.”

He frowned. “You left Anathema and rode across the country looking for anyone to blast your brains out because you were too chickenshit to do it yourself. If you were gonna kill me, I’d already be dead.”

“Fuck you.”

He ignored the profanity. “Let me break it down for you, son. You kill me, and Temple will have no one buzzing in their ear to stop them from firebombing Kingdom MC. That type of war won’t clear out the competition. It’ll destroy both clubs and murder a lot of disillusioned men.”

“You don’t want to save lives.”

“I’d like to save my own.” He laughed. “Temple is gonna assume Anathema took me out. They’re gonna retaliate, roll over this weakened club, kill everyone inside.” His eyebrow quirked. “Those guys like their victory spoils. Nothing would get them off more than passing the dead president’s old lady around on their cocks.”

“Leave Rose out of this.”

“I couldn’t care less about Rose. But what about that sweet-tart you left behind?”

My grip tightened on the gun. “What about her?”

“Martini, right? She’s pretty. Saw the pictures.” He winked. “Just my type.”

I had no doubt. She was mine too. I raised the gun.

“
What about her
?”

“Martini knows Temple was responsible for the assassinations of Kingdom MC’s officers. And Temple doesn’t want that secret spreading. Not yet.”

Fuck. “So?”

“What do you think they’ll do when they find her? I heard she doesn’t have a body guard riding her around Pittsburgh anymore. Pretty little thing like that might get stuffed in a drug shipment and ferried across Erie. There’s a lot of men who would pay a good price for a pretty ass like hers.”

Rage tunneled my vision. I didn’t speak. My vengeance demanded blood—not just for Rose, but to protect the woman who tore me apart and forgot to sew me back together.

My father shrugged. “I could help her.”

It was the truth, and nothing more evil existed than his honesty. “You’d tell Temple to back off of her?”

“Brew. Son. You say the word, and I’ll convince Toviel she isn’t worth his time.”

Where was the catch? My father didn’t work for free, and no woman was ever deserving of his help. I waited as his expression darkened.

“If you kill me,” he said. “She’ll have a cock in her mouth, a dick in her ass, and a bullet in her brain by tomorrow morning.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“So, use your head. What do you think is the best way to handle this situation?”

I didn’t answer. He didn’t care. He spoke for me.

“I got no interest in Rose,” he said. “She lives her life, I live mine, and she keeps calling me Daddy.”

“Fine.”

“All I want is to make sure Anathema and The Coup earn their fair share in Temple’s drug trade. It gets us money, protection, and the opportunity to spend my days riding my bike and my nights fucking a teenager. What do you think?”

The gun stuffed into my jacket. Not like it would fire anyway. The bullets were just as useless as me.

“I don’t think I’ve got a choice,” I said.

“You never did, son.” My father met my gaze. Darkness stared back. “Now, you better go find that little blonde before someone else does. I’d hate to see either of you get hurt.”

I didn’t give him the pleasure of hearing me swear. I headed to the door. He called for me, and like the bastard I was, I hesitated.

“Good to see you again, son.”

Hi, Rose! We haven’t met, but I’m your biggest fan
.
I’m in town and wondered where you’d be playing...

The email spun like my own web of deceit. It wasn’t a source of pride anymore. Just necessity. I tamed a psychopath biker as easily as I learned where an aspiring singer lived in California.

The goal was simple. If I found Rose, I’d find Brew.

Rose emailed with a club and time, and from there I had no problems. I flew into the town and started my search. A charming conversation and free drink gave me names. A wink taught me everything I needed to know about the Anathema MC. And a squeeze of a bicep and giggle pointed me to the club’s bar and haven.

I wasn’t proud of myself, but pride wouldn’t save Brew.

I’d warn him.

Then I’d apologize.

And I didn’t have a plan after that.

The address wasn’t hard to pin down, but finding a cab willing to take me to Pixie cost me my last fifty. The clubhouse was an unmarked, shady little bar on a rough street. I expected trouble, but it didn’t stop me from slipping through Pixie’s entrance. I surveyed the interior. Brew’s brother, Keep, owned the bar. Brew said he earned the handle
Innkeeper
for managing both the drinks and the business they conducted over their tumblers.