Knight (3 page)

“Blade Darnell is
dead
,” Heathen said.

Jesus
fucking
Christ.

We were
all
dead.

“He’s dead?” I asked. “But Anathema isn’t howling. How do you know? Where’s your proof?”

“Got all the proof I need. Blade hasn’t checked in. Didn’t call. Owes us money.  We had an arrangement, and he warned somebody was comin’ after him.” Heathen pointed at me. “Now Blade ain’t here to tell us what happened. We got to connect the dots ourselves.”

And I didn’t need to guess. Plenty of people wanted Blade dead—most of them from his own club. He might’ve been the vice president, but the shit he pulled and the people he hurt tested everyone’s loyalty.

It wasn’t often blood outranked ink, but Blade made an enemy out of the most innocent, and that didn’t set well with the ones with heavy trigger fingers.

So he was dead.

And I was fucked.

Heathen leaned close, twisting the knife. “What do you know, Knight? Unburden yourself.”

“Got no burdens.”

“That so?”

I could tip-toe all I wanted around the mine-field, but, no matter what I did, I’d end up bleeding shrapnel from this clusterfuck.

“I don’t know anything,” I said. “Been out of Anathema a long time. Last I saw Blade, he was getting his dick sucked at his Welcome Home party after he got out of jail. I showed up because he told me to, because
we
—” I stressed the word. “
We
, me and Toviel and Temple, planned to start moving the drugs. I did what I promised. Toviel Aren and I had a deal.”

“You ain’t talkin’ to Toviel Aren.”

No shit, and that’d turn this side-show into a homicide. “I tolerated the insults tonight because I respect Temple MC. I’m owed a little in return. Tell me what the fuck I’m doing here and let the woman go. I’ve gone thirty-two years without getting my ass thrown in jail, and I’m not being indicted tonight for kicking your ass onto the highway.”

“Talk all you want, Knight. If I hear confession in there, maybe you get a quicker death.”

“What the hell do I have to confess?”

Heathen’s eyes passed from Lyn’s tits to me only because he preferred blood to a blonde.

“You’re the bastard that murdered Blade.”

I wasn’t about to die today.

Once upon a time, I had a lot I wanted to do with Luke. To him. For him. Because of him. Dying was never one of my preferred fantasies.

Luke didn’t kill Blade. He didn’t even know the monster was dead.

I wasn’t supposed to know either.

I charmed them with silence, but what was left unsaid roared through the warehouse. Fortunately, no one paid attention to me. Even with my tits practically exposed, our mustached captor had the hard-on for Luke. Mustache wanted to make him bleed.

So I stayed quiet, one of my best ideas since the jackasses with wandering hands hauled me from Sorceress’s dressing room, stole the five hundred bucks I’d counted, and tossed me on a truck.

I’d been kidnapped. What fucking luck.

At least I looked good. The belly-dancing costume wasn’t the outfit I wanted to be buried in, but sitting half-naked gave me an advantage. I was a hell of a lot less threatening than Luke. It didn’t matter that his hands were bound. That blue-eyed bandit in a stolen cut could start a war with a single word. He’d done it before.

“You think I killed Blade Darnell?” Luke’s voice rasped, spitting razors. “Why the hell would I kill him? I spent the last year trying to free his ass from jail. For Christ’s sake, I set up this goddamned deal.”

“Blade knew he had enemies. Said you were waiting.”

“Waiting for
what
?”

“A chance.”

Mustache took particular glee in jerking off the handle of his knife. I knew fetishes. His would bleed us both.

“Blade was a fucking lunatic, but I sacrificed
everything
to help him. Talk to Toviel Aren. He knows I wouldn’t do something that stupid.”

“Our prez is sucking air through a tube. Now I’m in charge.” Mustache leered at Luke. “And I say you did it.”

They didn’t bind my hands or feet, but I didn’t blame them. I couldn’t stash a gun in my thong. Two men stood guard, and Mustache kept his eyes on Luke. If I ran, I wouldn’t get far. Even if I kicked the heels off, the bullet would fly a lot quicker than my temper. If I stole the weapon of the man closest to me, I didn’t think I could take all three out before Mustache killed Luke.

And that thought squeezed my chest more than when I panicked during my own capture.

I was too much of an idiot to let anything happen to Luke, despite the problems my feelings caused us both. Nothing good ever came from the MCs. Not the men. Not the plans. Not the battles they waged on my own property. I spent thousands in repairs and renovations to Sorceress after the last war spilled onto my stages. At least spackle covered bullet holes easier than concealer hid bruises.

Mustache turned to me. He thought he was tough. He was, but I was tougher. I had to be. I didn’t have the benefit of a bike, a club, or a dick. Everything I gained, I earned with my own skills. As a result, every MC wanted to take a share. None of them deserved it, but I played the game.

It taught me how to face assholes like Mustache without earning additional liabilities.

“Beautiful, your friend doesn’t want to cooperate,” he said.

I pretended like the thought didn’t twist me in fear. “He’s not my friend.”

“He’s not your John.”

“I’m not a whore.”

“If you want to survive tonight, you will be.”

It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard those threats before. I didn’t flinch, and he wasn’t surprised. He probably thought I was some crack-addled junkie too hopped up from my fix to understand the consequences of disobeying a man like him.

He didn’t scare me. The only one who did was the jackass at my side, sitting silently and awaiting his death.

“You know, Beautiful, the last place anyone saw Blade was at your club.”

I knew that was going to be a problem. “Can’t help that I run a good business. A lot of guys come to my club.”

Mustache gave me a leer that should have cost him money. “I bet they do. Think hard, couple weeks ago? You held a party for him.”

“I wouldn’t throw a party for that asshole. Anathema celebrated his release from prison. They came to me. What was I supposed to do? Take photo IDs? What guy is going to sign-in for a lap dance?”

Mustache smacked me. Hard. My jaw popped, but I didn’t groan, even though it’d likely bruise.

I didn’t know what would run out first—my patience or my courage. A girl didn’t need balls to be brave. She needed to give good head and keep a better head on her shoulders. Losing my temper wasn’t worth losing my life.

Or getting Luke hurt in the process.

I lowered my gaze and hoped he’d think it was deference. “Blade was at the party, but I was managing half a dozen girls, a fully stocked bar, and thirty drunk bikers wrecking my best dancers. I have no idea what happened to Blade.”

“That’s a shame.”

“That’s what happens at Anathema’s parties.”

“You absolutely sure, Beautiful?”

“Yes.”

Mustache sighed. “Then I guess we’ll never fucking know what happened.”

I tensed, but I wasn’t quick enough. Mustache lunged across the table, slashing the knife at Luke’s throat. Luke dodged the blade, and he kicked my chair, spilling me to the ground and out of the danger. I shouted as Mustache swore and attacked again.

“
Stop
! He doesn’t know!”

Mustache stilled the knife. I earned his smile instead. This wasn’t a man who was used to subtleties, but even he read through the lines.

I’d made it twenty-seven years without getting assaulted, aside from handsy bikers while I danced. I paid good money to stay protected, and I had more blood on my nails then pretty French tips.

Guess that ended tonight.

Mustache grabbed my wrist and twisted me to my feet.

“Sounds like we can get the little bitch to talk.”

“Lyn, stay down!” Luke launched at Mustache. Temple’s men were quicker. He got the butt of the gun to his head, and he was lucky it wasn’t the bullet. “Don’t you touch her.”

Mustache wasn’t kind. He jerked my arm and hauled me from the table. I didn’t know what he had in the back of the warehouse, but my ass was entirely too expensive for his tastes. I wasn’t a whore, and I wasn’t a victim. No way was I dying for one of Luke’s mistakes. I suffered enough as a result of his goddamned biker war.

My shoes cost me five hundred dollars, and they were worth every penny. The thin, sharp heel pierced through Mustache’s foot. He roared. I twisted and aimed. No man liked a fist to the balls, even the worst of the masochists.

But I punched too high, overestimating Mustache and his tough-guy act. I grazed what I meant to crush, and that left him angry, not crippled. He cursed before retaliating.

I grabbed any weapon I could find. I swung a metal folding chair, but a beast like Mustache wasn’t crumbling because of a hit. Luke swore, leaping over the men at his sides.

And then the world exploded.

The windows burst into shards of glass, raining as ruthlessly as the hail of bullets spraying over the industrial floor. The echo of gunfire blasted through the empty warehouse. I covered my head and ears.

The attack wasn’t coordinated, wasn’t efficient, and would kill us before they rescued us. That meant it was The Coup who did the fighting, sweeping in to retrieve their stolen president.

I shrieked under the gunfire. The Coup were as bad as Temple. It was a shootout between the psychopathic and the sociopathic, and both sides armed themselves with hatred, sadism, and bloodlust.

But The Coup had none of Temple’s discipline or loyalty. If I knew those traitors and cutthroat criminals, they didn’t arrive in the nick of time to
save us
. They came for the bloodshed, and that got them harder than a free lap dance and mug of beer.

Luke dove over me as the glass shattered. He stole the knife from the table, but he couldn’t free himself without my help. I slashed through the ropes binding his hands.

That was one favor he owed me.

Luke’s men shot every window, crashed through the doors, and set fire to the warehouse in three separate locations. Thick, black smoke bellowed outside, a beacon for any cops in the area. They’d descend on us and arrest as many men in cuts as they could fit in their cars. At least my silken costume would earn me a couple phone calls after I was tossed into jail next to them.

“Go!” Luke pushed me toward the door. “Stay low.”

My ass shimmied in the skirt and thong. At least it looked good army crawling out of this gun show. I shuffled along the ground and ducked as another blast of gunfire turned the warehouse into Syria. Luke didn’t wait. He wrapped me in his arms and rushed to the exit, barreling against the door with his shoulder and bursting outside.

For the first time I was glad Temple kidnapped me while I wore the scarlet silk. It kept The Coup from holding their triggers down and making me a bigger crimson mess. Luke shouted to his men. They pointed behind, offering cover fire.

Their bikes were parked beside one lone truck.

They planned our rescue, and I hated that I owed them for my life. This wasn’t my fight. I didn’t belong here. Yet somehow every mistake Luke made and every problem the MCs caused wound up in my lap.

I leapt into the passenger seat of the stolen U-Haul. One of Luke’s officers threw him the keys. He dropped inside.

I knelt on the seat, brushing as much glass as I could from the material. Luke jammed the truck into gear and peeled out from the parking lot.

My breath stuck in my chest. Escaping gave me no relief. We landed in the middle of the desert—scrub brush and dirt surrounding the two lane highway. Who the hell knew how far we were from the Valley, or how fast we had to drive to get to safety.

I wound the silk of my skirt and ripped it. Luke hissed as I bandaged his arm and swore when I knotted the makeshift wrap over the wound. He didn’t take his hands from the wheel, and I checked the mirrors to see how screwed we were.

The Coup ended their assault as quickly as it began. Their bikes caught up to the truck within a mile. I counted the men, but I didn’t like our odds. Only four members of The Coup assembled to rescue their president, and they were far from their own territory—a desperate section of the Valley that shrunk by the day.

Temple followed.

I didn’t need to be a psychic or a general to realize their retaliation was going to hurt. We led the most dangerous biker gang on the West Coast into our city, and neither Anathema nor The Coup pumped enough blood through their war-torn brains or cocks to appease Temple.

“Put your seatbelt on.” Luke didn’t say please.

“Are you kidding me?”

“If you think we’re getting out of here without a fight—”

“Give me some credit.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d hurt me. “I’ll give you five miles before Temple creeps up our asses.” I pointed at him. “And you’re bending over first.”