Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink #1) Read online

  NINE

  Anya knew something was wrong the moment she locked the bar and turned, finding Reaper right behind her. She looked up and smiled at him, pleased that he actually was waiting for her after work, even though it had taken her until three to clean. Preacher had let both Heidi and Betina off two hours earlier and told them to make themselves scarce. She was used to working that last hour of cleanup alone, but not two. It didn’t make sense and had left her uneasy.

  Something was off from the moment Reaper had disappeared into the back room along with Preacher and the members of the band. No one had come back for hours, until Preacher returned, let the waitresses off and just grunted something about her closing on her own. At first, she thought he was testing her to see if she could do it, but that didn’t make sense because she’d been closing that last hour alone, handling the till, mopping up, locking the doors.

  In the end it was Reaper who confirmed something was drastically wrong. He’d always been expressionless and scary looking with his scars and the streaks of gray running through his long hair and peppering the scruff on his jaw. But it was his eyes that had changed. Before, when he’d looked at her, even earlier in the evening, there’d been warmth under all that ice just for her. Now, no warmth. No ice. He had the flat, cold eyes of a killer. Distance was there. Death. For the first time, she was really afraid of him.

  She shivered and rubbed her arms. He stepped back and indicated she go down the stairs first. In the darkness of the parking lot, she spotted several Torpedo Ink members, all wearing their colors. They were spread out in a strange pattern, almost as if they were blocking every exit. She hesitated and Reaper crowded her back, but he didn’t touch her.

  “Reaper?” He didn’t respond, and her anxiety grew. “What’s going on?” She didn’t like the icy fingers creeping down her spine, or the sudden goose bumps on her arms.

  “Get moving. Let’s just get home.”

  She moved down the stairs with reluctance, trying to suppress the feeling of doom growing in her. She had a very healthy dose of self-preservation. It came from living in shelters and on the street. Her warning systems were blaring at her.

  Reaper swung his leg over his Harley, straddling it. She started to step up and then hesitated again, looking around at the silent men waiting. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Get on.”

  She shook her head. “Reaper, you’re freaking me out.” She gestured toward the others. “They’re freaking me out. I’m not just getting on your bike and riding somewhere without you telling me where.”

  “The clubhouse. I’m taking you there. Just get on, Anya.”

  “Will I be safe?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that?” he demanded. “You got something to hide?”

  “We all have something to hide.”

  “Something that would hurt the club?” he persisted.

  She frowned at him. “Of course not.”

  “Then you’re perfectly safe.”

  She studied his face. There was no warmth. Nothing but those dead eyes. She climbed on behind him and sat up straight, not leaning into him. She held on to his hips, digging her fingers in when the bike moved into the curves. It was telling to her that he didn’t reach back and take her hands to pull her arms around him. Did she believe him that she was safe? The others fell into formation around them. She didn’t look at them, her mind running through the possibilities of what could have happened.

  She had nothing at all to do with the club. She stayed out of club business deliberately. She was in trouble, clearly, or she wouldn’t have been living out of her car, but they knew that or they wouldn’t have agreed to pay her under the table. She had nothing to worry about.

  She was off the bike even before Reaper shut it down. Her knees threatened to give out when she saw the number of Harleys lined up. Everyone. Something big had to be going on.

  Reaper’s fingers curled around the nape of her neck and he escorted her into the common room. She expected him to take her down the hall to the bedrooms, but instead, he chose to lead her behind the bar to one of the two doors there. The door he chose led to a narrow stairway. She didn’t like it at all.

  “Reaper?” She needed reassurance. His palm was warm on her neck, his fingers digging into her skin.

  “You’re fine, Anya. The club has a few questions for you. Just answer them honestly and everything will be fine.”

  She stiffened, slowed her pace, but he pushed at her, making it impossible to stop. At the bottom of the stairs was another narrow hallway. He shoved open a door, and she went inside the large room because she didn’t have a choice. Immediately he closed the door behind them. Inside, the club members sat around a table. All of them. Even Lana and Alena. They all looked at her with varying degrees of expression.

  Lana looked upset. Alena looked bleak. Preacher wouldn’t meet her eyes. She turned to Reaper, the one man she thought would stand for her. “What’s going on?”

  “We have a few questions,” Czar said, his voice pleasant enough. “Would you mind sitting over there, Anya?” He pointed to a chair that was on a raised platform. It was only one step up, the surface wide enough to hold two chairs.

  She shrugged, and looked up at Reaper again, needing reassurance. He caught the nape of her neck and looked into her eyes. “You answer every question truthfully, do you hear me? Don’t try to bullshit him, just get this over and tell the truth. Everything will be fine if you do.”

  “What’s going on? Just tell me what’s going on.”

  Reaper didn’t answer. He took her arm and led her to the seat. She was alone then. She’d been alone all her life. She could do this, whatever it was, and then she would be gone. Reaper stood with the rest of them, not with her, and he’d made that very clear.

  She pulled her arm away and sank into the chair without a word. Absinthe took the chair beside hers.

  “He’ll need to hold your wrist, Anya,” Czar said. “Just answer his questions.”

  She held out her wrist to Absinthe. She wanted it over. Her heart beat too fast, but she was scared and couldn’t control that. She shut off the part of her that was hurt beyond measure by Reaper. What had she thought? He’d fucked her. Hard. Left her alone. That was what she was destined to always be. Alone.

  “What’s your real name, Anya?” Absinthe asked.

  His voice slipped into her head and beat at her. Like fists pounding at her mind, demanding entrance. It wasn’t that his voice was loud, just the opposite. It was soft. Gentle even. That was so deceptive. It hurt and she nearly pulled her wrist away, knowing he was taking her pulse. That wasn’t all he was doing. He wanted truth.

  “Anya …” She hesitated. “I changed my name because it isn’t safe to use my real name.” She told him the strict truth.

  “I need to know your real name,” Absinthe persisted.

  Anya looked around the room. These people were the ones she had contemplated having as her family. They’d banned together against her. Reaper stood in the shadows, close, but so far away she knew he was lost to her forever. She couldn’t see his face, but he stood with them. Against her.

  Her head pounded. Pounded. It felt like those fists were punching through her brain. “Stop it. You’re hurting me,” she whispered. “You have to stop.” She didn’t know what he was doing, but she knew it was Absinthe. His voice.

  “Answer the question.” That tone never changed, but the pounding increased.

  She yanked her hand away from him and stood. “Fuck you. I’m not going to stay here and let you do this to me.”

  Absinthe didn’t move. It was Reaper who did. Reaper who gently put his hand on her belly and pushed her back into the chair. Reaper who secured her wrists and ankles to the chair. For the first time, she noticed that the chair was bolted into the floor. She didn’t fight Reaper because she knew his strength. She knew there was no use. She hadn’t known he’d go so far in his betrayal of her.

  Absinthe spent the next t
en minutes asking her name, and Anya held out just because she was so hurt. So angry. She didn’t know why they needed her real name, but she imagined that they’d been offered a reward for her. By the time she knew she had no choice, her head hurt so bad she could barely speak.

  “Anya Mulligan.”

  Absinthe’s fingers were gentle on her wrist, taking her pulse. He nodded his head. “Why don’t you want us to know your real name?”

  “Because someone wants me dead and I’m not stupid enough to leave a trail for them.” She nearly spat that at him. They had her name, nothing else mattered.

  “How did you come to work at our bar? How did you hear about it?”

  “I was hungry, stopped in Sea Haven and went into the grocery store. On the bulletin board, there was an advertisement for a bartender and when I talked to the owner of the store, a woman named Inez, she said you were all very nice boys. That’s exactly what she said. Go ask her.”

  “Where did you work before you came here?”

  “San Francisco.”

  “Where in San Francisco? Which bar?”

  God. She hated this. Hated that every secret she had was being forced out of her. The pounding never let up. When she was silent, he asked again, and this time where was a subtle change in his voice. That changed the feeling in her head. Along with the battering of fists in her head, she felt the sensation of a knife slicing into her brain, cutting away the barriers so Absinthe could get to the information he wanted.

  Her stomach lurched. She was going to be sick. She tried taking deep breaths. “There’s a club called the Ghost Club. I worked the bar there.” What did it matter if they knew where’d she worked? They had her name, they could sell her.

  “Are you still working for them?”

  Her head was killing her. She could barely see, white spots dancing in front of her vision. “You have to stop.” Tears came no matter how hard she tried to prevent them. Her stomach cramped, protesting the pain. She turned to look at Reaper. “You’re letting him do this to me. You’re letting him torture me. I’ll never forgive you. Any of you.”

  He moved then, going to his knees in front of her. “Anya.” Her name. Soft. Were there tears on his face? She couldn’t tell because her eyes were streaming. “Answer the questions, baby, just answer him.”

  Why had she thought he cared? He only cared about her answers. Someone sobbed. It sounded like Lena, but maybe it was her own voice. She was hurting so bad she couldn’t focus. What had Absinthe asked her? She just had to get it over with. Even if they killed her, it would be better than this.

  “What did you ask me?”

  “Are you still working for the owners of the Ghost Club? Did they send you here to get information on us? On Czar?”

  That voice sliced into her brain one more time and her stomach heaved. She vomited all over her lap, all over Reaper. His cut. His disgusting colors that meant so much more to him than any woman ever could.

  Someone pressed a cold cloth to her mouth. To her face. They were a blur, and she didn’t care who it was. As soon as she could speak, she answered. “No. Of course not. I ran from them. They’re trying to kill me.”

  There was silence. “She’s telling the truth,” Absinthe said. “No one could lie through that. She’s not working for them.”

  “I’m getting her out of there,” Reaper said.

  “Finish it,” Czar said. “We’ve gone this far. We have to know.”

  “Why do they want you dead?” Absinthe asked.

  She felt hands working on the bonds on her ankles. She was too far removed from them all to know who it was. “I found construction plans on the floor of the wine cellar, for tunnels below the club, and I was crouched down on the floor looking at them because they were so cool. Two men came in to get wine and they were laughing, talking about scoring big, taking some big shot’s wife and how they had him by the balls. I didn’t think they saw me, but then one came back as I was heading up to the bar. I got out of there. By the time I decided to leave for good and went back to my apartment, I found my roommate dead. They’d done horrible things to her. I knew they thought she was me, so I ran.”

  Her stomach lurched again. Her eyes felt like they were bleeding. Tears tracked down her face. “I thought I’d found a family. I thought I had a man. God, how could I have been so stupid? You aren’t decent people, any of you. You’re no better than they are.”

  “She’s done.” Reaper lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest.

  She tried to push him away. “Get off me. God, you want the truth? How about how I was real and you were fake? You fucked me and left, you bastard, but then it wasn’t real to you, not ever.” She swung at him. Connected. There wasn’t much room and she was weak, so it didn’t do more than bounce off his chest. He didn’t even flinch. He ignored her struggles and started out of the room.

  “I’m sorry, Reaper, I tried to be as gentle as I could,” Absinthe said. “It’s hard controlling it when someone holds out. She was holding out to protect herself, not because she was spying on us.” He sounded ravaged. Destroyed.

  Anya felt destroyed. She wanted to push Reaper away, but she didn’t have the strength. She couldn’t even see, just blurred images. She was covered in vomit, but thankfully, so was he. She hoped his colors were ruined. She hated the sight of them.

  Reaper carried her up the stairs and into the bathroom. “I’m just going to clean you up, Anya,” he said.

  She couldn’t stand so he set her on the bathroom floor. Immediately he tugged off his jacket and shirt, tossing them into the corner. Her shirt followed. His boots and jeans were gone, then her shoes and jeans. She didn’t even protest. She barely was aware of what he was doing and she didn’t care. Her head pounded out of control. She kept her eyes closed, because it was disorienting to open them with her vision so blurred.

  Water hit her, hot and cleansing, pouring over her as Reaper leaned her against the wall of the shower. Her legs wouldn’t hold her and she started to slide down the wall. Hands reached out and caught her. The water kept pouring over her body, washing the scent of vomit from her skin. She pushed at the hands, wanting to turn around. Wanting him off her skin.

  “Get him off me,” she whispered, desperate to have Reaper removed. “I don’t want any part of him touching me.” She wrapped her arms around herself and once more tried to collapse.

  Reaper caught her in his arms and stepped out of the stall. Savage was there, wrapping a towel around him while Lena wrapped a towel around Anya. Reaper didn’t miss a step, even with the towels draped over them; he stalked down the hall to the bedroom. All the kindness in the world wasn’t going to fix this, and he couldn’t blame her. She was right in her assessment of him—of the club. They protected their own. She hadn’t been included in that, not even by him.

  Anya didn’t burrow close against his chest. She didn’t turn her face into him. She turned away from him. She didn’t fight him, she lay passive and broken in his arms. Her words echoed in his head. It was the only thing he’d heard after the interrogation. The only thing. Get him off me. I don’t want any part of him touching me.

  She would leave and he would lose the only woman capable of saving him. Of living with a damaged, broken man. He didn’t know anything other than the club. His sole purpose had been protecting the club members. He had done what he always did and in doing so, had watched them torture an innocent woman. It wasn’t like there would be permanent damage. She would have a migraine, possibly for a couple of days, but then she would be fine. Fine without him.

  “Reaper? Get these down her.” Steele thrust four round pills into his hand. He was their acknowledged doctor. He knew more about healing the human body than most doctors. He’d been given specialized training once it was recognized he had a rare gift for healing. He’d been taken every day to do his studies with four of the most brilliant surgeons in the country. He devoured books at an astonishing speed and retained what he read. He had become a doctor at the age of
sixteen and apprenticed under the four men, each sending for him daily and returning him back to the school in the evenings.

  Reaper accepted the pills and put them on the bedside table. He finished drying Anya off while Lana pulled the privacy screens to ensure the room stayed dark even in the morning. He sat on the bed, stretching his legs out, his back to the headboard and then pulled her to him so she was forced into a half-sitting position, her body between his legs.

  “You have to take these.” He pushed the pills against her lips.

  She shoved at his hand. “Don’t want anything from you. Just go away.”

  “That’s not going to happen. Take the pills. They’ll help.” He kept her prisoner in his arms, caging her against his chest.

  She took the path of least resistance and tossed back the pills, following them with the water from the bottle he forced to her lips. He let her slide down into the bed, but positioned her head on his lap, his hand stroking her dark cloud of hair. It was falling out of the roped crown she had chosen to wear to work. He pushed his fingers into the thick mass, finding pins and pulling them loose to ease the weave, hoping to help with the headache.

  “I know you’re upset with me, Anya, and you have every right to be. I should have just asked the questions myself.”

  She remained silent, eyes closed, but he knew by her breathing she wasn’t asleep. Her face was pinched with pain, and she rocked her body back and forth as if that could ease the torment of the headache.

  “Would you have told me the truth if I’d just asked?” It was important for him to know if they could have avoided Absinthe questioning her, using his gift against her. Absinthe wouldn’t have used that razor technique had she answered him and told him her name. He would have just gently pushed as he normally did when the club needed something.

  Anya didn’t answer Reaper immediately. Her lashes fluttered and eventually she gave a little shake of her head, her fist knotting in the sheets and pulling the hem against her mouth.