"Another thing that's important to know," Absinthe said, "the Ghost Club only hires bartenders who know flair. They have to be good. Really good."
Reaper stiffened. Alena and Lana had told them all that Anya knew how to do tricks, that she'd used that knowledge to work her way up through the clubs to better pay. No one looked at him, but he felt the tension in the room mounting.
"Did anyone think to find out the wages a bartender gets at the Ghost Club?" Czar asked quietly.
"It's one of the highest paying in the city," Steele acknowledged. "We didn't ask if they were missing a bartender, but . . ."
"Don't." Reaper's fist hit the wall. "Don't go there."
Czar sighed. "We have to go there, Reaper. You know that. We can't discount any possibility. We look at everything no matter how remote. It's a big coincidence that Anya showed up here with no money but wearing designer jeans. She gets paid under the table, the perfect damsel in distress. She's also gorgeous, has tons of experience and is guaranteed to bring in more customers. Of course we'd hire her, we'd be fools not to. We have to look at the possibility that they're putting bartenders in biker bars to gather information on club members. It would be a brilliant move."
The pressure in Reaper's chest was suddenly enormous. His heart ached. Anya--a spy? She had a memory. She put things together fast. He'd just been thinking that.
Czar looked straight at him. "A bartender hears everyone's woes. If they're gamblers, she's going to know."
Reaper shook his head. "This is fucked-up."
"We're just talking about possibilities."
"No, you're not. You know damn well you think it's a reality."
"I didn't say that," Czar said, "but it warrants investigation."
"You fucking mean interrogation." Reaper straightened, turning his gaze on Absinthe. "You go near her and I'll kill you. Do you get that, brother? I'll fucking kill you."
"I'm not interrogating her," Absinthe said. "I won't do it, and not because you're threatening me, you dumb fuck. I like her. She's a good person. I don't believe she's part of this crap going on. She isn't the type of woman to let someone harm other women."
"Reaper"--Czar's voice was mild--"shut the fuck up and rein it in. I say what we do, not Absinthe. I tell him to question her, he does it." He didn't look at Absinthe. "That's the way we work. We're a team, and you both are part of that team. Reaper, you aren't even with her yet and you're ready to turn on your brothers? That's not happening. God. I don't need bullshit when we have a real problem."
Reaper took a deep breath. He detested that Czar was right. Why had his first thought been to protect Anya and not his club? Not his brothers? That was unprecedented. He was losing his fucking mind over the woman. First his dick, now his brothers. He was losing control. Maybe she was a plant; if so, he'd kill her himself. His stomach lurched and his heart jerked hard. Painfully. "Consider it reined in."
Czar nodded. "No one in our club has a gambling problem," he said. "Even if she was here to spy, she wouldn't have much to tell them."
"She went to your home, Czar," Master pointed out. "She met Blythe and Emily. She saw the way you are with them. The way all of us are with them."
"Actually, Czar, she's never asked a single question about any of us," Preacher said. "I work with her all the time."
Reaper sighed. These were his brothers and sisters. "No, but she's highly intelligent. She puts things together fast." He felt he had to at least admit that.
"Maybe," Lana said. "But I watched her at Czar's house. She wasn't pumping for information. She wasn't looking for it. She was all about Reaper and very nervous around us. I believe she's running from something, but I don't think she's spying on us. If she were, why wouldn't she have asked to stay in the compound instead of camping out in her car? There are apartments over the bar. She didn't ask to stay in them either. Those would be opportunities for a spy."
Reaper shot her a grateful glance.
Czar sank back in his chair for a long moment weighing the consequences, the damage Anya could do if she were a spy and then he hit the table with his fist. "Damn it. Just damn it."
Reaper's heart sank. Either way he was going to lose Anya. If they didn't question her, there would always be club members, even him, looking at her as if she might be a spy. If they did, she wouldn't forgive him, and he wouldn't blame her. He knew they had to question her. It didn't make sense not to. There was too much at stake.
"When?"
"After her shift tonight. We may as well get it over with, Reaper." Czar sounded tired. He looked at his oldest friend, the man they all owed their lives to. He had sacrificed his soul, his sanity for them, and now they were repaying him by accusing his woman of being a spy.
The air was heavy in the room. They all felt it. Every last one of them. Reaper pushed away from the wall.
"I'll be back. No one touch her until I get here," he decreed.
"Reaper . . ." Czar began.
He shook his head. He didn't want to hear it. Maybe it hadn't been redemption that had been close, he knew there was no such thing for him, but Anya had felt like that. He'd sacrificed everything he was, everything he could have been to give his brothers and sisters a chance at a life. Anya had been his reward for that. His one chance. He would have nothing after this, and he wasn't the only one who knew it.
He didn't look at them. In that moment, he detested all of them. He detested the unbreakable bonds he had with them. Ties that had been forged in hell. He went out the back door so he wouldn't have to face her. He didn't want to see her, to have her look at him with those green eyes and that smile that took his breath and sanity. He'd go to hell for her, but he couldn't stop what was coming.
Reaper went straight for his bike. He needed the wind. It wouldn't cleanse him of his sins, and it wouldn't stop what was coming, but he had to get his mind right because if, when she was questioned, he thought she was innocent, he'd stop the interrogation immediately. If he didn't, and she was the enemy, her death was going to be quick and clean and she'd never see it coming.
His vision blurred and he stumbled. He caught himself and kept walking until he was at his bike. Ice closed in on one side. Storm on the other. He didn't look at them, but he shook his head. There was a lump in his throat so large he could barely draw breath, and it burned like hell behind his eyes.
"Need to be alone."
"Not happening, brother," Ice said softly. "We're going with you." He straddled his bike. Storm did the same.
Behind him, bike after bike started up. His brothers, surrounding him. He still couldn't look at them. He pulled on his gloves, his dome, sank onto the familiar leather and backed his bike out. They were all there in force, Czar included.
Reaper roared out of the parking lot, uncaring of speed limits, reckless when water shimmered in his eyes, making it difficult to see. He flew down the highway, taking the curves fast, trying to run from himself. His life. The betrayal he knew he was about to visit on Anya. He believed her innocent, but the fact was, there was damning evidence against her. The timing couldn't have been worse for her to show up at their bar.
Her laughter echoed through his mind and he turned up his speed another notch, trying to outrun that as well. She'd taken hold of him, gotten inside, and twice he'd fucked her hard, without any tenderness, and he'd left her alone. He'd written his name on her and asked her to wear it. He had the feeling she had done that for him. He'd taken from her over and over, giving her nothing back and now, fucking hell, he was about to destroy her.
Anya was more fragile than he wanted to admit. He saw it sometimes in her eyes, that vulnerability that told him she hadn't had it easy. Maybe her life hadn't been like his, or that of any of the members of the club, but she hadn't had it easy. He hadn't even asked her about her life. He'd been too busy feeling. Acting on those feelings.
He headed to the point above the ocean where he often went just to look at that wide expanse of water. He stopped, uncaring that bikes pulled in behind him
at his back. He couldn't look at them without wanting to . . . He shut down that line of thinking. Fighting anyone was out of the question, and it wouldn't change the fact that he would have to be the one to betray Anya. Or kill her if necessary, because that was always on him. In the end, that was all he was.
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 banded 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 ten 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 there 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 she'd 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."