Knight (85 page)

The blow job was easier. I swore and reached to unfasten my belt. I didn’t expect her gasped apology. She flinched away, protecting her face.

I’d take the belt and make a noose for myself.

“Easy,” I said. “I’m not gonna hit you.”

Her hands trembled as she tucked her hair behind her ears. It didn’t matter if it was the withdrawal or if she was legitimately scared. My blood still laced with ice.

I wished I hadn’t thought it, but my mind darkened all the same.

Had Rose ever felt that way?

Of course she did.

I saw it. The rest of the family saw it. All of the Anathema MC saw it.

But no one ever did a goddamned thing about it. My family was loyal to each other, but my brother and I honored our father over Rose’s safety. And now? She shared the bed of my former president, and her fear was the only reason he let me live. Carrying that burden was worse than coming to God with a face full of dirt and a bullet to my head.

“Sorry.” I rummaged through a fistful of twenties from my pocket. I counted out a hundred and change. “Take it and go.”

“What?”

“Just take the money.”

“But I didn’t suck you off.”

As if I didn’t feel dirty enough. I shook my head.

“I changed my mind. Take that for wasting your time.”

She was tired. Grateful, but tired. She ran a hand through her frizzy hair and dared to meet my gaze. She didn’t like what she found and looked away almost immediately.

“Why are you doing this?”

She asked a lot of questions for a whore who got a bonus for doing nothing. That wouldn’t get her far in this business.

“You’re too young for this life. I’d hate to see someone I loved forced into doing this.”

She smirked. Genuine. Her front tooth was crooked, only slightly, what you’d expect from the awkward high school senior who missed her enrollment at a community college and signed up for a far different life.

“What. You have a daughter or something?”

She overstayed her welcome. I crashed the door against the wall and pointed into the night.

“Get out.”

“Sorry?” She flinched when I repeated myself. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I slammed the door behind her. There wasn’t just one thing wrong with me. Hell. Only a few things were right.

But that would change. The past three months served as my purgatory. I only needed to survive until I had the opportunity to avenge what had been wronged. I was alive because I was the only one who could welcome justice into an unjust world.

I betrayed the Anathema MC, destroyed my family, and lived in exile—all because of one man.

My revenge would become my redemption. With one bullet, I’d end his corruption, finally protect my family, and absolve my traitorous name.

I waited for the opportunity to kill my father.

The minutes didn’t pass fast enough.

Two types of people existed in the world—those who drank gin, and people with taste.

I prided myself on my superior taste.

Except, as a bartender, I probably should’ve liked gin. Or tolerated it. It was a popular alcohol served in endless cocktails. Plus, it was one of those classy spirits that didn’t belong in the Steel Tavern. The MC didn’t order it much, so at least the bottles displayed nice on the shelf behind me.

My nails rapped on the bar, tickling their way to the tumbler. I shot cough syrup easier than this stuff, but I wasn’t getting off easy this time. It was a slow night, and I didn’t have any excuses or people to serve. Most of Sacrilege was on a run—their second of the week. That left a taste in my mouth as bad as the drink.

I washed the bar while the two cherry-cheeked prospects paid more attention to the Penguin-Flyers game than their beer. They were no help. Neither of them understood nuances or flavors or why anyone would drink something that tasted like a whipping by a pine tree.

I liked a flogging, but gin was one strand of twinkling lights and an angel away from ringing in the Yuletide. Good thing the bar’s clientele rarely ordered anything beyond what was on tap or whatever had the highest grain. It got them drunk and sterilized their wounds. We prized efficiency.

The tavern door scraped open as I shuffled empty bottles along the mirrored wall. The flash of leather sat at the bar, laughing at me before he even sat down.

“You still can’t drink it?”

I didn’t need Red’s attitude. I passed the tumbler to my cousin. He grinned as he downed the gin and licked his lips.

“Refreshing,” he said.

I’d smack the dimples from his cheeks. “Thought you were with the guys on the run?”

“I came back early. Wanted to talk.”

“Get you a beer?”

“Better get me two.”

I twisted the cap off an Iron City for him and poured another ounce of the gin. He searched over his shoulder, running a hand through our shared blonde hair to smooth the spikes his helmet had matted. I didn’t like his scowl. Red was only twenty-six, only a year older than me, and already his time in Sacrilege MC bled his expression into the same grimace as the fifty-year old grey-haired, pot-bellied bikers. He didn’t belong in the MC, but he never believed me.

“Things go well?” I stomped a foot as I took a swig of the gin.

Red shrugged. “Didn’t ask me to clean up.”

My stomach twisted. I never knew what to say when he talked about his skills. “That’s a relief.”

“Yeah.”

He grinned as the prospects hooted in front of the television. The Pens hadn’t scored, but the right-hook into a Flyer’s defenseman was as good as a goal. At least, for people who didn’t know how it felt to get hit. I forced myself through another sip. Red wove his fingers through the peanuts in a nearby bowl. I batted his hand away.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He frowned. “You’re done.”

I pushed the peanuts at him, but the bribe didn’t work. “Done?”

“You’re not poking around Sacrilege’s business anymore.”

“You didn’t say
please
.”

“Something came up. It’s too dangerous now. Just keep your mouth shut and we’ll try and survive this together.”

I laughed. “Are you serious? Did you hear something?”

“Whatever crawled up Harbinger and Goliath’s asses? It’s big. And I’m not getting you involved.”

“I’m not involved.” I flashed a smile that never worked on him before but was too pretty to waste. “I’m just…interested. I’m only asking a few questions, seeing why our boys suddenly have all this extra money floating around.”

“This is bigger than some new score.”

I leaned in closer. My eyes probably widened too curious—a silver spark I never hid from Red.

“Drugs?”

“I don’t know.” Red rubbed his face. “I saw guns.”

My mind blitzed with possibilities. Guns. More money. Sacrilege’s scrambled meetings late at night. The second run this week. Whatever was happening in the club was major. We weren’t big enough to earn much or attract the attention of the larger clubs, and we weren’t powerful enough to piss away the extra money suddenly stuffing our wallets.

Something was up, but I didn’t have a clue what it was.

And neither did Red.

So it was up to us to find out. Not just to satisfy my curiosity—though it burned like an inferno fueled by the fat stacks of cash Goliath and Harbinger stowed away. Red was just as obsessed with their newfound secrecy.

Except I wasn’t a member. Red was. But he didn’t have an officer patch on his cut, despite how badly Sacrilege needed him. Red kept everything…clean. That was probably why they didn’t completely trust him. A man with his education and specific talents could get away with murder and make it look like the blood never spilled.

“I don’t trust this, Martini,” Red said. “You gotta stay out of it.”

“You asked for my help.”

“That’s when I thought Harbinger and Goliath stole extra electronics or made a deal for protection money. Whatever they’ve organized isn’t little or easy. And it’s not safe for you.”

“But I can do this,” I said. “How else do we figure it out? I’ll talk to the guys and Goliath. Liquor them up. Wink and flirt. They’ll tell me a few secrets, and we’ll work from there.”

“Too risky.”

I pitched the rest of the gin in the sink. Without a little red cloak and a picnic basket, the drink’s woodsy beat-down just wasn’t worth it.

“If Sacrilege gets in trouble, you’re gonna be the one cleaning it up,” I said. He knew I was right. “I don’t think they can handle anything big, and I don’t trust them to do anything right. If you get caught fixing their mess, you’ll be the one they sell out. And I’m not going to let my cousin get the blame for any crazy-ass scheme they’ve concocted. You’re better than this world.”

He met my gaze. “The guns they have? The money they’re talking? This isn’t a normal operation. You can’t interfere. If they think you’re trying to stop them or sabotage them—”

“I’m not! I just want to know what they’re doing.”

“Doesn’t matter. You gotta be ready to run.”

I didn’t like how that sounded. “Leave my home? My job? You?”

“Leave Goliath.”

I stole his beer, taking a swig. Leaving Goliath was easier said than done. Back when we first started dating, before his obsession, I might have gotten out. Now? Goliath dropped the charm and presents and sexy promises and tied an invisible noose around my neck.

“I’ll find out what’s happening here. And then maybe we can stop it before they get in over their heads.”

The door swung open. A bearded man stuffed into leather pants a size too small hollered from the doorway.

“I want the dirtiest Martini in the house!”

Red hid his concern in another gulp of beer. Conversation apparently over.

I waved at Harbinger and winked. “You and every other horny old bastard in this club, Sam.”

He cackled and shed a dusty jacket somewhere between the entry and the tables. The prospects stood as their president waddled past the television. He saddled up against the bar, slammed a crisp one hundred dollar bill down, and ordered a round for his men.

I didn’t ask where the money came from. Red didn’t let his eyes linger on the bill. If the cash didn’t come from the run, God only knew what couch cushion Sam dug through to earn it. He smoothed his chest-length beard with a grin and twirled the edges of his mustache for me. I gave my best too-cute-for-the-club giggle and offered him a beer.

“Make yourself something,” he said. “Double the olives.”

My eyebrow perked. “Please. There’s only one good olive in this place.”

Sam laughed and wagged a finger. “You’re trouble, Olivia. You listen here, Red. Never trust a gal who can drink you under the table. Little advice that served me well for fifty-eight years.”

Red snickered. “And that’s why you haven’t gotten laid in five.”

Sam pitched a handful of peanuts at Red and threatened to stuff the men who laughed into the empty bowl. Red ducked behind the bar to refill the snacks. I scooped the ice into the shaker and chased him away as he stole a bag of pretzels.

Sacrilege’s aging club president stayed at the bar for the show as I shook the ice and wiggled every good part of me with it. I poured the vodka martini into a chilled glass, decorated it with one perfect olive, and toasted him. Sam got his beer, I sipped my house drink and namesake, and not a drop of gin threatened the sanctity of my bar.

The prospects cheered as the hockey game turned violent. Sam joined in the festivities, spilling most of his beer on the floor. He twisted and ordered another, plopping a second hundred down as the players separated and the game went to commercial.

“I’ll need a lot more of these,” he said.

“Celebrating something?” I earned his wink. I wrinkled my nose like a little bunny and ignored Red’s rolling eyes. “What’s so exciting?”

“Just you wait, Martini. Got some good things planned for us.”

“Oh yeah?” I opened the other beer, but I didn’t pass it beyond the counter. I leaned over, letting my chest press against the bottle. “Like what?”

“Can’t jinx it yet,” he said. He took the beer with a slow hand. “But good things are happening. You keep these coming for my men, hear me? Black me out, and one of those hundreds will be for you.”

“Sam, you make my job too easy.”

“Yeah, well.” His patience faded as the door slammed again. Not the excited bang of more returning members looking for a quick drink and quicker buzz. The crash jostled the televisions and silenced the prospects. “You might decide to black out too.”

So it’d be that kind of night.

Red tensed and swore, chugging his beer. It might have been a good idea, relaxing him a bit and taking the edge off. Then again, alcohol made Red chattier than usual, and Goliath wasn’t fond of the blue-eyed heartbreaker from Ambridge when he was silent and sober.

“Goliath already started celebrating,” Sam said. “Might be best to let him keep drinking.”

Red snorted. He drank from a bottle as it was easier to crack into an impromptu weapon, but Goliath didn’t need glass to hurt. I wasn’t about to spend my hundred dollar tip on first-aid supplies to clean shards of glass out of my boyfriend’s skull and stitch my cousin’s lip. Again.