Knight (111 page)

I was cold. Vulnerable. Naked.

He didn’t care.

“You’re gonna be real sorry you fucked up.”

I didn’t have time to brace for it. The leather rose and fell before I was ready. The familiar strike landed too close to my face and lashed too much of the metal buckle against my shoulder. Goliath reared back again before my cry ended.

So it would happen like this then.

I counted the strikes. Ten and he usually unzipped his pants. Fifteen and he’d jerk himself off, slowing the blows while he fisted his cock each time I sobbed a frantic apology. He rarely got to twenty—too overwhelmed with lust and too drunk with power to let a helpless woman go without another form of punishment.

I waited for the adrenaline rush to wash over me, to protect me from my foolishness as the desperate shield to my own bad decisions.

It didn’t happen.

I waited for the rush of anxious desire, the swell of whatever was broken inside me that responded to Goliath’s aggression.

It never surfaced.

The part of me that wanted danger chipped away in the shattering blows of the belt.

Goliath seized my thigh. It wasn’t Brew’s heated grasp that pulled me closer as we rested in bed.

The pressure that trapped me against the squeaking mattress and grunting man wasn’t the tender brush of air that caressed my skin when I offered myself to Brew.

Goliath’s breathless profanities weren’t the frustrated confessions of a man overwhelmed and struggling against his urges.

Brew praised. Goliath insulted.

Brew pleasured. Goliath hurt.

My body once didn’t know the difference. Now was a terrible time to recognize the truth.

Goliath rolled off of me after only a few minutes.

The dark hid my shuddering, but his thick arm wrapped over me, trapping me against his clammy, heaving skin and a bed coated in the unforgiving scent of his sweat and taking. The night claimed him in a quick sleep before he hardened enough to take more.

The exhaustion and drugs would capture him until morning, but I didn’t move. His arm stuck over my welted skin, heavy and fat with the mixture of brawn and undisciplined strength. He smelled of sweat and staleness, clung to me as oppressive as a July without air conditioning, and snored his satisfaction like a greedy animal content from its rutting.

Fuck, did I hurt. My back. My sides. My arms. Other parts. The adrenaline wore off, and the tears remained.

But now wasn’t the time for pity and rage.

I made a plan. An escape. I checked off what I needed, what was around to grab, and a safe place to run to tend to my wounds and regroup.

Nothing would stop me. I was going to leave. If he was lucky, I wouldn’t rip out his throat first. If I was lucky, I’d be given the opportunity to squeeze the air from his lungs.

We didn’t rest for long. Goliath’s cell rang, and he kicked me in the knee, forcing me to stiffly move so he could get his phone from the nightstand. The green florescence from my alarm clock blinked that it was early enough. I winced as I grabbed my fallen shirt and headed for a shower.

His profanity stilled me. I threw the shirt over my head as he pitched the phone into the wall.

“You fucking cocksucker!” Goliath dove at me. The drugs hadn’t worn off, and he fell hard against the floor.

I didn’t have time for panties. I slid the denim over my bruised ass and tried to run just as Goliath’s fist connected with my gut. The hard, metal rings patrolling his fingers sliced against the reddened flesh of my side, right where the belt had bitten and bled.

I fell. No pretending this time. No submission. Just pain and the tickling realization that something had gone utterly wrong during the night.

His fist twisted in my hair, and he hauled me to my feet. The apartment door crashed against the wall and ripped from the hinges. He dragged me across the floor and shoved me through the entry.

I didn’t move fast enough. His foot connected with my spine. I screamed as I tumbled down the stairs, crashing against each step until I struck the bottom. My arm twisted under me. Better than my neck, but not by much.

This…wasn’t how it normally happened.

This was worse. Much worse.

“Get up, bitch.” Goliath rolled me over and slammed me on the bar. “Stay right fucking there.”

My vision blurred like I sampled a bit of everything from the alcohols behind me. Goliath shouted for the lights, and the building lit up.

I wished it hadn’t.

I didn’t recognize the men, but the inverted crucifixes on their jackets shared all the secrets.

We spent days running from Temple.

And now?

Three officers stalked my bar, whispering to a sweating Sam and eying the hulking Goliath with one hand on their guns. My vision cleared enough to read the labels on their vests.

President
.

Secretary
.

Sergeant-At-Arms
.

Son of a bitch. The man from the diner leered at me. The time on the road hadn’t been kind, and neither was the scrape of the asphalt from where he fell during our chase. He snorted, taking a look at everything Goliath just used and bruised. He didn’t care that I was hurt.

I didn’t either.

The very same men Sacrilege was supposed to assassinate held us hostage in our own clubhouse. Pain was the least of my problems.

Sam wasn’t wearing a shirt. They let him keep the sheet he slept in, but he wasn’t ready for this meet. Neither was Vet, stashed in the corner as he rolled against his own drunken stupor.

Temple’s president stepped forward—as old as Sam, greying, and thick with a greasy undercurrent of entrapment and violence. My stomach heaved so near him. Even without a word passing from his thin, goatee obscured lips; I knew everything he said dripped with deceit.

“My name is Toviel Aren,” he said with a nod of his head. “I’ll let you live if you answer a question.”

Like hell. He had no intention of letting me live. I didn’t agree, but he asked it anyway.

“Where is Brew Darnell?”

I forced my expression to blank. It wasn’t hard. Goliath clipped me in the lip and above my eye. The swelling was humbling.

“Who?”

Goliath launched at me. “Fucking cunt.”

The other Temple officers and Sam grabbed him before he struck me, though I tumbled off the counter and behind the register in panic. I hurried to my feet as a gun cocked and aimed for my head.

“You may know him as Noir.” Toviel gestured with the weapon. “Where is he?”

My stomach heaved. I licked my lips and tasted blood. This wasn’t good. I needed a stall, a way to force some coherent thoughts through the panic. I offered him a sad, frightened quirk of my shoulders.

“You mean...his body?”

Toviel chuckled. “His
body
?”

I didn’t like his tone. My fingers laced under the bar. The shotgun I kept under the register had only one shell in it, and I wanted nothing more than to deliver the spray point-blank into Goliath’s head.

But that petty vengeance wouldn’t protect anyone.

I had bigger problems than ripping the cock off a man who abused me and lived to beat me when I was down.

Three Temple brothers lurked in the room. I could shoot one before they jumped me, but I had nothing to reload with. The gun had one shell, and I had no other options.

“Sweetheart?” Toviel didn’t mean it.

“I...” I hesitated. “He’s dead.”

“Dead? What a shame.” Toviel glanced to his brothers. They laughed. Sacrilege didn’t. “What happened?”

They bought my sweet and innocent act, but they’d rip my head off just the same. The game got harder. Ratting on Sacrilege was suicide. I had to pretend like I wasn’t supposed to say what really happened. Like I was covering for Goliath and the club. My only hope was that he’d reward my loyalty with a crack against Toviel’s skull.

I didn’t hold my breath.

“It was an accident,” I said.

“You can tell us, sweetheart.” Toviel’s leer left a grimy film over me. “We’re all friends here.”

He snapped his fingers. The slimy Sergeant-at-Arms pounded on the utility closet behind him. He jerked the door open and seized the man beaten and bound within.

Red landed on the floor, sneering at the Sergeant with a look that would finish the cut bleeding from his neck.

“Okay, Martini.” Toviel extended his hand, and the others crashed Red into a table. They were lucky Red’s arms tied behind his back. My cousin had a nasty right-hook. “One last time. Are you certain Brew Darnell is dead?”

I took a chance. “Yes. I…killed him.”

Toviel’s men scowled. Red met my gaze as blood poured from his nose. He shook his head—
no
.

Christ. That figured.

“Sweetheart, Darnell
is
alive.” Toviel took his aggression out on Red, slamming a fist into his side. Red immediately threw up.

This wasn’t good. My voice shrilled, but it wasn’t my acting that called to Toviel, it was the pure, unconsecrated fear he so preferred.

His fist rose again. I shouted.

“I don’t know where Brew is!” I cried. Red swore through the hit. “He left me. He found out I was supposed to kill him, and he said he would hunt me down and hurt me if I told anyone he left—”

“Save it.” Toviel laughed. “Baby, you better just shut your mouth while you’re still ahead.”

The Sergeant-at-Arms studied my lips. “Or while she can still give head.”

Shit.

My stomach quaked. The lashes and welts over my skin were nothing compared to the hollow dread that ate me from the inside.

Brew warned what Temple would do to me. I hadn’t believed him. I thought I could handle myself if the worst came to the worst. A smile. A giggle. A gentle touch to someone’s arm and a quick pout when I needed to earn a quicker friend.

It wasn’t going to work this time.

Flirting only worked when men weren’t murdered and money wasn’t on the table.

And sex only worked when it was my choice to spread my legs.

I lowered my head, stroking my eye as if wiping a tear away. The motion hid my glance under the counter. A candle lighter rested against a dried rag and a few piles of cocktail napkins tangled in silverware. Whoever took my missing shifts left the area a freaking mess. The shot gun tucked tight under the countertop. At least that was still there. The bluff of all bluffs.

Sam stepped forward, casting a miserable look at my bleeding cousin heaving over the table.

“Okay,” Sam said. “Martini told us the truth. We don’t got any more secrets. We told you about Kingdom’s offer. No one attacked your men. So far, you’ve only hurt us—especially poor Red over there—more than we’ve hurt you. Let’s call a momentary truce. Just talk this out.”

Temple didn’t look to be big talkers, and they weren’t the type to honor a truce. The attention passed from me. I took the gifted moment and seized the one bottle of liquor stashed under the bar. I moved it next to my lighter.

Gin
.

As if the world hadn’t fucked me enough.

Toviel waved a hand. The Sergeant-At-Arms backed off of Red, though the fucking snake kicked his knee before parting from him.

“This isn’t gonna be easy,” Toviel said. “You were hired to kill us.”

Sam nodded. “We got approached by a bigger club with more weapons than neighborly goodwill. We didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh, you always have a choice. I’ll give you one right now.” Toviel wiped the blood from his hands with a handkerchief. “I propose a new alliance. Temple owns Sacrilege. Do as we say, or we’ll skin every one of your women and children alive.”

“Jesus,” Sam swore.

“You work for us. And your first job is to go find every last one of those Kingdom MC fucks and slit their goddamned throats. Think you can do that?”

Goliath nodded when Sam paled. “Yeah. We’ll do it.”

“Good.” Toviel stared at me. “Next order of business. We took out the Kingdom officers in the cottage, but we got two witnesses who can still talk.”

Sam grunted. “Martini won’t say nothin’.”

Toviel shook his head, and the filth of his intentions soiled every part of my skin.

“Yeah, we’ll teach her to keep quiet. Your sweetbutt is a witness. We’ll take her with us and decide what to do.”

I tensed against the muffled scrape of the gun unhooking from under the countertop. I worked quick. Only one shell, but one shot was enough.

“What about Brew Darnell?” Sam didn’t even try. The fucking coward would let them rape and murder me if it protected his ass. “Do you need us to find him?”

“And fuck it up again?” Toviel frowned. “Brew Darnell is probably in California. His father was released from prison. He’s got a grudge against Blade. He’s going to settle a score.”

“I’ll kill him,” Goliath growled. “I’ll rip his goddamned head off his neck.”

“Do it, and you’ll get fifty thousand dollars.”

Sam and Goliath blinked. I clutched the gun.

“Fifty grand?” Goliath repeated.

“His father set the bounty. He won’t live long enough for you to make it to California.”

Fuck.

I swallowed my sickness. It returned, vile and burning.

Blade realized Brew was coming.

And why wouldn’t he? If Rose revealed everything that happened to her, Blade would anticipate his son returning to avenge his little sister. He lured Brew into a fucking trap.

And I had no way to warn him. Temple would claim me as their prize for the night. By morning I’d be their bloody trophy for conquering the region.

It wasn’t going to happen.

I wouldn’t let it happen. Not anymore.

I ducked behind the counter and ripped the cap off the half-empty bottle of gin. The dry rag stuffed deep inside. Toviel shouted for me. So did Goliath. I slammed the bottle against the counter, pulled out the shot gun, and jumped up.

Toviel got a little too close.

The gunfire cursed the bar with a spray of shrapnel. I reloaded the gun even though I didn’t have another shell. The bluff worked. The men yelled and leapt under the tables. Toviel sunk into a puddle of blood.

It bought me time. I grabbed the lighter and torched the rag inside the bottle. It felt like I was always wishing for an alcohol other than gin, but it’d have to do.