Knight (120 page)

Red roses.

“Forget it,” Rose said. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Just hear me out—”

“Dad asked for a party.” It wasn’t what she meant to say, but even speaking of the lesser of the two evils was enough to make her tremble head to toe. “I mean…Blade demanded a party. So Anathema can welcome him home from jail.”

Brew stared at her, checking his voice before he started to yell. Goliath’s blood hadn’t cleared from his hands before he had to kill again. He nodded at Thorne.

“You gonna let that happen?”

“Don’t got a choice,” Thorne said. Keep swore. “Unless you want more bodies piling on the floor. I can’t do a goddamned thing. He’s my VP. He wants a party, he gets a party.”

Brew shuddered. I took his hand, but I doubted he felt it. The hardened rage and shock of murder tensed his body and blurred his mind. His eyes sharpened, and pure hatred infected the black smoke lingering in his gaze.

“Give Blade his party. Let him celebrate. Let him have all the fun in the world.”

Keep and Thorne nodded, sensing Brew’s intent before he even needed to say the words. The death of one man wasn’t enough, not when he had more to atone for, more to protect.

His voice rumbled like the throttle of a red-lined engine.

“His Welcome Home party just became his wake.”

“What do you think?” Martini twirled in an outfit that revealed more than it covered. “Cute?”

Cute wasn’t the word that came to mind.

Fucking sexy. Goddamned dangerous. One flash of skin away from the worst mistake of our lives.

The leather vest covered her breasts, but she wore nothing beneath it. Her pale skin peeked and hid, chasing the edge of the leather against her tummy. A new, red scarf shielded the tattoo on her neck. The ends plunged to tickle what the vest didn’t hide. Little booty shorts cupped her ass, and her toned legs bounced as she examined the outfit in the mirror. She layered a bit of vixen red lipstick over her pouting lips.

Her body tucked neatly into the sluttiest fucking outfit I’d ever seen.

An ass that begged to be slapped.

Legs that would wrap around me.

Tits that’d bounce with every thrust of my cock.

“Hell no, you’re not wearing that!” I adjusted my jeans. “Jesus Christ.”

Martini’s eyebrow rose. “This is what Lyn has her dancers wearing.”

“You’re not a dancer. You’re bartending.”

“Think I haven’t bartended topless before?” She teased me with the cut. “If you’re good, I’ll demonstrate later.”

I said nothing.

“Brew, there
will
be a later.”

Glad she was so hopeful. The prickling creep of fear tightened over my guts. I combated it with sheer determination, but I didn’t let the dread go.

Fear was good.

Fear reminded me of why I was staining my hands with yet another man’s blood.

Goliath’s death came easily. Reflexively. He’d terrified Rose. Tortured Martini. He stormed into our goddamned clubhouse and thought he’d exchange a bullet for my father’s fifty grand and earn a free shot to pummel, rape, and murder my old lady.

The scarf fell from Martini’s neck, and the bastard dared to show me how he permanently disfigured a creature too beautiful for his ugly scrawl. I didn’t have to think. I coiled that damn scarf around his throat and didn’t let go until the bastard stopped convulsing.

I murdered, but it wasn’t a hard decision, not when it came down to killing him or losing both women I loved more than my own life.

But this murder wouldn’t be like Goliath’s.

Martini volunteered her help even though the thought crippled me. She dressed as one of Lyn’s dancers and offered to serve drinks to Anathema as they celebrated the return of a man they believed put the club above and beyond his own life. His own money.

His own family.

They were probably right. Blade never did anything for his family. His lessons were meant to manipulate. His orders delivered to mold my brother and I into obedient soldiers who’d do anything, ruin everything, and destroy their own honor to put
him
first.

My Rose suffered at his hand. Keep got the beatings, most of them savage enough that he used the damn drugs just to survive the pain.

And me?

I became my father, the ruthless bastard who’d kill those who stood in his way.

But we were different, and it took Goliath’s blood for me to understand how.

I wasn’t in it for the money. I didn’t get off on violating a young girl. I didn’t care about amassing the power to control my MC and watch as the world burned for a drug trade.

I only wanted revenge.

I wanted to ensure my
daughter
never needed to worry about that monster stealing another minute of her life.

It was time to protect my family, my club, and myself from his corruption.

“You sure about this?” I asked.

Martini tugged on the vest, hiding her curves from my view. Not that it mattered. I had memorized her body during the week while we hid within Pixie and waited for the moment Paul “Blade” Darnell was properly welcomed back into the Anathema MC.

She nodded. “Don’t worry about me, Brew. I told you I would help you. I meant it.”

“I’m asking you to help me murder a man.”

“I know.”

“It all depends on you.” I hated to admit it. Hated putting her in that position. “I need someone I can trust at the bar. Thorne’s gonna make him drink at the toast, and no one can see you put the drugs in the beer.”

Martini took a breath. “You can count on me.”

“I’m not gonna be out there to protect you.”

“I’m safe now, thanks to you.” Her cheeks flushed, but she never tired of saying it. “Besides, someone has to watch over Rose.”

Just her name ached my chest. She hadn’t spoken to me since she watched me murder a man with my bare hands. It wasn’t the greatest bonding moment, but neither was her real father murdering the man who molested her.

Christ, we were worse than dysfunction. It was a wonder she turned out half as well as she did, and it was a goddamned miracle she had survived long enough to experience her peace.

“I won’t find you until...after,” I said.

The flash of worry that cut across Martini’s features was lost in a cool wink. The silver promise of her eyes held me. She offered me a courage that transcended the wild pulse of vengeance.

“I’ll be right here,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

I kissed her, the press of her leather and bared skin instantly hardening me. She nestled in my chest, squeezing tight enough to flare the nagging wound in my shoulder. It was a good pain. Reminded me of Rose, of the road, and of the little flirty girls who needed to be protected.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

She hurried from the room. Her black shorts concealed absolutely nothing as she ran downstairs to catch a ride to Sorceress.

Blade’s party began in an hour.

His life would end before the party did.

Keep tucked the keys in the truck’s ignition. I didn’t like driving a cage, but I needed the cargo room, and I liked the disguise. A plain leather jacket and jeans only did so much. I knew too many people in the Valley, and they’d flip shit if they spotted a ghost.

Lyn left the dancers’ entrance unlocked. I snuck through the halls as the music blasted through the club. Classic rock—the songs Dad liked and the same covers he made Rose play to entertain the men. Lyn lowered the main lights and let the disco balls and laser shows kick the fluorescents onto the walls. It was too dim to see beyond the bouncing tits. Fine by me. No one needed to witness this justice. It was too personal.

The stage lined with girls, and the bar filled with leather jackets. In the middle of the drunken brothers, squealing dancers, and chaos of Anathema’s first celebratory party since the split—my father reigned. He claimed a seat, a girl on each leg, and a drink in each hand. He welcomed the praise of his club with all the ego of a king and sedition of the black-hearted usurper.

I edged into Lyn’s office, watching the party on the security TVs. The door locked, but the one with the key slipped from the excitement and into the quiet.

Lyn didn’t stay quiet for long.

“He requested Rose sing.”

Of course he did. He wanted to punish her. What better way than to fuck with the only confidence she had?

Lyn crossed her arms. She shared half of Martini’s outfit, preferring the stitched on magic of leather pants. Her vest buttoned. Barely. Lyn dared men to look only to wield the power a C-rack and heart tattoo inked above her slit held over their cocks.

“How long is this charade going to go on?” She tapped her nails against her arm. “This is getting dangerous—for you and her.”

The monitor hid nothing. Rose trembled over the stage, aided only by Thorne’s presence in the front row and a drink rushed over from Martini. She grabbed the microphone with a false confidence and strapped the guitar over her chest.

The little sundress was far too conservative for the club, but the men cheered her just as loudly as they did the half-naked dancers humping the poles.

She strummed a note. Lyn’s cameras didn’t have sound.

Another show of hers I missed. How fucking Cats-in-the-Cradle.

“She’s okay,” I said. I pretended the thought didn’t slay me. “She’s playing, even with him watching.”

“What a proud daddy you must be.”

I exhaled. “Go enjoy the party, Lyn. Have a drink.”

“Already did.” She rubbed her temples. “That little tart you found is heavy-handed on the alcohol.”

“That’s the point.”

“She’s made three hundred dollars for herself too. She’d work out great here.”

“She’s taken.”

Lyn shrugged. “If you burn this place to the ground, I might have to use her to recoup my losses.”

“Ain’t nothing happening to Sorceress tonight.”

“Now where have I heard that before?” She dropped her guarded tone, but it didn’t relieve me any. “Remember this, Brew. And god, I love you to bits, but if you fuck this up, it won’t just be half the MCs on the east coast chasing after that fifty grand. Blade knows I set him up last time, and we’re using
my
club to stage this grand disappearing act.”

“Don’t worry, Lyn.”

“I have to worry, especially when you guys forget your ink isn’t bulletproof. I don’t care if you war in the streets, but you’re using my livelihood as the OK Corral. Again.”

“Thorne’s gonna give a toast, Martini will make his drink, and Keep will get him outta here before anyone has to reload.”

“And when the Feds come dusting for prints?”

“Martini says her cousin is very good at cleaning up messes.”

Lyn snorted. “I hope he’s got a big enough broom.”

She nodded to the screen. Rose’s song ended, but it wasn’t Thorne who hopped onto the stage to take the microphone.

It was Blade.

And he forced an arm over her shoulders, dragged her close, and greeted the club with a wide, Cheshire grin.

“Son of a bitch,” I said.

Lyn was already out the door. I followed, racing through the darkened hallways and avoiding eye-contact with friends I grew up with. They ignored me, too enamored by the girls with their hands down their pants to realize a dead man lurked within their ranks and plotted murder.

“Friends!” Blade held his beer to the crowd. More than a drop spilled on Rose. She ducked away, but he held firm on her arm. “Brothers! It’s good to be home.”

Anathema cheered—fifty brothers who had no idea what Blade Darnell considered
home
.

He took a swig of his beer before passing it to Rose. She held onto it, like she always did when he hauled her to the clubhouse and kept her around for whatever perversion he planned. Within seconds, Rose transformed from a beautiful and healing woman into the freckled, timid little girl living in lies.

“I’ve been sitting in that cell for three goddamned years,” Blade said. “Just waiting for the day to stand with my brothers and wear my cut again.”

More cheers. Thorne seethed near the stage, his attention focused only on Rose. She soothed him with a tiny wave.

Neither of us could do a goddamned thing to help her.

“Gotta say boys, I never thought I’d have a chance to hold my little girl again.” Blade didn’t hug. He trapped. Rose stiffened. “Nothing is more important to me than my family. I have one remaining son and my beautiful Rosie-Bud. And I lost too much time. Look at her! All grown up into a woman now!” His attention smothered her as the brothers gently cat-called her. His voice lowered. “We have a
lot
of catching up to do.”

The club clapped. Keep paced below the stage, finally subdued by Thorne’s punch to his side. He didn’t collapse, but the pain distracted him from fucking everything up.

Blade raised his hands. “I got a request. Let’s get a nice song playing. It’s about time I had a dance with my daughter.”

Lyn grabbed me before the gun aimed. I blinked away the blurred rage as Rose took the microphone and unstrapped the guitar with a deliberate slowness. She passed it down to Thorne. The neck broke in his grip.