Knight (102 page)

Whoever claimed business wasn’t personal only dealt in money and drugs, not stolen innocence and fear. Killing my father was the only reason I breathed, and the only way to ensure Rose finally had peace. Nothing would take that second chance from her.

Nothing
.

And that meant making sure Martini’s ass would be on that bus traveling back where she belonged.

But the thought festered in my head.

I had to keep Rose safe. I had to right a wrong twenty-one years in the making.

But Martini? I’d protect her from Temple, but sending her home was as bad as giving Rose to my father.

No.

It wasn’t just as bad.

It was worse. Because now I
knew
.

“Jesus Christ.” I regretted not stealing one of Martini’s flasks, though the gun in my pocket would go down smoother. I headed toward the hotel.

I’d change the ticket. Send her to New York or D.C. Somewhere Goliath couldn’t find her.

Somewhere…I might be able to find her again.

Once I redeemed myself for Rose, I’d need to beg Martini for forgiveness too. It was easier to plead my sincerity in blood than it was to face them with just my remorse.

I didn’t make it to the lobby. The lone figure with swaying hips and a bag cast over her shoulder met me first. She took one look at me in the shadows before fleeing the opposite way in a dead run.

Not this shit again.

I bolted after Martini, catching her just as she crossed into the parking lot. She fought against me, but my hand squeezed above her elbow, striking a nerve and dropping her bag to the ground.

“Let go of me.” Martini hissed, though she didn’t meet my eyes. “Don’t touch me.”

“Where the hell are you going?”

“Away.”

“Away
where
?”

“What does it matter?” She shook her arm free. “I’m leaving. Problem solved.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

“Oh right because you want to send me
home
.” She hoisted the bag over her shoulder. “Yeah, thanks, but I don’t do buses. They freak me out.”

She tensed to move. I didn’t let her run.

“Let’s go inside,” I whispered. “Now.”

The dim parking lot hid her gaze, but I imagined her eyes crashing with silver, molten and ready to burn.

“Screw you, Brew. I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

“
Why?
” She pushed away from me. “Look, I’ve made some really fucked up mistakes in my life, and my taste in men is the reason I’m in this mess, but I will not stick around while you judge me.”

“Martini—”

“You hurt me.”

She said it. I was ready for it. But my betrayal ran through me like a rusted blade, tearing me open even when I was already sliced up for repentance. Martini’s voice wavered, but she didn’t let me see her cry. That was good. I’d watched enough women cry. I couldn’t handle any more tears.

And I couldn’t let her leave.

Not without apologizing.

Rose’s voice echoed in my head. She might have been mad at me—hell, she should have hated me for what I did—but she sounded...happy. Thorne was a bastard, but he treated her well.

She was in school. Making money with her music. She was laughing again. She was in love. It felt like she was finally forgetting all the shit that happened to her.

But I wouldn’t forget it.

The truth no longer burrowed inside. It eroded through and infected everyone around me. My guilt struck my own conscience, and now it lashed at Martini.

I couldn’t let her leave. Not without explaining.

She’d be the only one who would understand.

I seized her, hard enough to bruise. Her words hardened even as she ceased struggling.

“If you force me inside, it’ll be a real kidnapping,” she warned. “Can you handle that?”

No.

But that was my own problem.

I hauled her into the hotel, aiming for the bar instead of the elevators to the room. No good would come from the tight quarters and the messed up bed that taunted me with the memory of her body, arched and ready.

I forced her on a bar stool and slammed my hand over her wrist to prevent her from bolting. The bartender said nothing and kept his mouth shut as I slipped him a hundred dollar bill.

“Dirty vodka martini for the lady,” I said. “Whiskey for me. Leave the bottle.”

Martini huffed, but the bartender worked quick, setting the drinks in front of us and splitting when I tossed him another hundred. I don’t know why he gave me a beer too. Some Pittsburgh thing. I pushed her drink toward her. She tensed.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “I’d rather not be pinned down.”

And she thought I was the bad liar.

I let her go, regretting the bruise staining her skin. A shot of the whiskey chased away that guilt, but I had twenty-one years of remorse and only five ounces of alcohol. I’d need a new liver before I’d cleared my soul.

The martini touched to her lips. She took a sip and rolled her eyes.

“Too much brine,” she said.

“Want another?”

“I want to leave.”

I pushed the whiskey toward her. “Here.”

“I’m not in the mood to drink.”

“Neither am I.” I took the shot and wished it fired out of a .45. “But we’re going to need it.”

“For what?”

It wasn’t the burn of the alcohol heating me. It was probably brimstone, my own personal ride into hell that made room for two.

I didn’t expect her to forgive me, but I had to keep her safe. We had bared more than our bodies to each other. She deserved to know the truth.

Or maybe I couldn’t keep it in anymore.

Hell if I knew.

I took another shot. Black out drunk wasn’t good enough. I’d poison myself. Speak the truth once and then burn away the brain cells that made the memories replay in my mind.

Martini tried her drink again. She’d order something stronger when she realized how lucky she was to be sitting on a barstool and not grinding my cock.

“I’m supposed to be dead.” I talked into the shot glass. It was easier than looking at the beautiful woman with tear-stained cheeks who flinched at the anger in my voice. “I should be dead.”

“Because you betrayed Anathema?”

She spoke it so easily, like tearing my club apart was the same as missing Church or knocking a prospect out cold.

“No,” I said. “Because I betrayed Rose.”

That shut her up. The glass clinked onto the bar. The bartender slipped into the hotel, and the other patrons in the corner were more preoccupied with their phones than us.

Revealing the truth in a dingy bar three thousand miles from home wasn’t any better than Rose confessing to us, scared and huddled in the basement of a strip club while The Coup torched the building. It didn’t matter where we said it. The words should never have been spoken aloud.

It should never have happened to her.

“My father molested Rose when she was a child.”

Martini’s gaze snapped up. “
What
?”

“He sold pictures of her when she was young. He used to beat on her. Abuse her.”

She hadn’t expected that. No one would have thought it.

“Brew—”

“He raped her when she was a teenager. More than once, until he was thrown in jail for murder.”

Martini paled. She reached for her drink but stopped to cover her mouth instead.

“Jesus, Brew. I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t know.”

It sounded pathetic. Like it was an excuse or a reason for it to happen. That only made me angrier.

Sadder.

“I had no
fucking
idea it happened,” I said again. Harder now. Like it would matter. “Rose was terrified of my father. But she never said anything to me. I…didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Martini’s bag dropped to the floor. She took my hand without hesitation. “Brew, you never would have let anything happen to her if you knew.”

Like hell. “But I knew something was wrong. She was quiet and scared and she despised everything about Anathema.” I poured another shot. It went untasted. “It was never about the club though. She hated
him
. She wanted to get away from Blade. She just…couldn’t. My brother and I forbid her to leave the city. She blamed me for being trapped. She says she doesn’t, but I know the truth.”

Martini spoke too softly for the torment I deserved. “That’s not fair. You said it—you didn’t know.”

“Because I wasn’t
watching
. I didn’t think. I didn’t
want
to think.”

My hand trembled. I needed another drink, but the bottle wouldn’t steady in my hands. Martini took it from me and served the whiskey. I didn’t throw it back.

“I’m just like him.”

She frowned. “Like who?”

“My father.”

Martini sucked in a breath. “You aren’t. You’d never do something that horrible.”

“We treat women the same. Disposable. Something to toss around, fuck, and slap until they leave or we get bored.”

“No.” She shook her head. “That’s not you at all.”

“It’s true. I can feel it. I
want
the same things he did. That dominance over someone? The power. It gets me off, Darling.” I dared to meet her gaze. The silver shimmered, gentle. Too gentle for me. “I never forced a woman before, but I’m capable of it because of him. His blood is mine. It’s why Temple dealt with me, it’s why I won’t...”

“Won’t…?”

“Let myself hurt you.”

Her eyes widened. She flushed and turned to the bar. “You...wouldn’t have hurt me.”

“I don’t trust myself.”

Her smirk came and went. “I do. Did. Still probably do, but that’s my own shit to work through.”

“I can’t handle that temptation. I’ve already fucked up Rose’s life. I’m not going to risk destroying another.”

“Brew, you are nothing like your father. What he did was wrong and vile, but you’re worried about
hurting
me. That is something your father never would have thought about. You care, and so you’ll never be like him.”

“I’m not taking the chance.” I poured the last of the whiskey into my glass. “I’m going to kill him.”

Martini choked on her drink. “You’re
what
?”

“When Knight, the VP of The Coup, contacted me to make that deal with Temple, we knew it would only work because they trusted me as Blade’s son. But the deal went bad when Anathema outted me as a traitor. My president planned to kill me. Rose intervened. She thinks Thorne spared my life because she begged.” I snorted. “That’s not true.”

“Why then?”

“They pretend I’m dead because I’m the only one who can end it. Thorne can’t kill Blade. He’s part of Anathema, and the club would disintegrate with more bloodshed. But a ghost can’t cause a war.”

“Except Temple might realize you’re alive.” Martini’s whisper didn’t belong in such a dark conversation. She crossed her arms, shielding herself against the implication. “What happens then?”

“Nothing. I’ve been biding my time, waiting for my father to get out of jail. I can’t die yet. Not when I’m so close. Not when I can give Rose a life free of fear.”

She shrugged. “What about me?”

“I can’t risk them hurting you.”

“But you can’t do this alone.” Martini stilled, her eyes narrowing over the drinks. Her voice strengthened. “There’s more to all this. Temple and Kingdom and what Sacrilege was doing messing with men like them. Brew, there’s a reason Temple is here, and it isn’t
you
.”

“It doesn’t matter why they’re here.”

“It does to me,” she said. “We’ve gotta figure this out. Stay one step ahead of them. You can’t keep running until the jail sets him free. Not when there’s five headless bodies in a cottage and men searching every hotel from Philly to Pittsburgh for us. This is bigger than you, Brew. Bigger than Rose. But the only way you can stay alive to help her is if we deal with it.”

She sipped her drink, downing most of the contents with a wink. “And I’m going to help you.”

“Why would you help me?” The bastard in me still imagined what she hid under her clothes, the lovely curve of her hip and the raspberry pink tip of her nipples. I had a perfection I never deserved and destroyed a woman I had no right to touch.

“Because someone has to prove to you that you aren’t anything like your father,” she said. “And someone has to keep me safe when I refuse to get on that bus tomorrow morning. The man who bought that ticket is going to be mad, and I need someone to defend me.”

“Darling—”

“Save it.” She silenced me with a smile—genuine and beautiful and nothing I thought I’d ever see again. “You are not your father. You’ll keep me safe.”

“That’s a big mistake.”

“So I’ve heard.” She tipped her glass, watching the droplets of vodka swirl against the side. “I should probably confess something too.”

I snorted. “What could you possibly have to confess?”

Her expression twisted, the gentleness stole from her lips. She sucked in a breath, her eyes hardening. A moment passed before she decided against speaking about whatever hung over her head.

“I’m much more a fuzzy navel girl.”