Read Online Exiled (Anathema Book 2) by Lana Grayson - Free Book Online

The drug trade necessitated it. Every
hard vice and unforgiving sin passed either through their territory, their
hands, or their workshops. Temple controlled the drugs. They also controlled
the money, politicians, and land. Everyone wanted a cut.
    And
I was the son of a bitch who worked out a deal with them.
    I
was the son of a bitch who ruined it all.
    They
thought I was dead. If they recognized me, figured out I lived, breathed, and
slithered the earth like the damned snake I was, every last hope I had at hunting
my father would be flayed out of me by the chains wrapping over their fists.
    I had
ripped the Anathema patches off my jacket, but stripping the leather only
destroyed my identity. It didn’t hide me.
    I
didn’t recognize Temple’s treasurer or secretary. But the sergeant-at-arms? That
sleazy motherfucker lurked in the shadow of our meetings, hand always on his
gun. Like he thought I’d pull something. Like he thought I was stupid enough to
fuck with the most powerful MC in the state.
    But
I was stupid enough. I pissed off Temple and Anathema, even when I
thought I could create the alliance that would save us both. Christ was I
wrong. Not only did Anathema suffer from my idiocy, my brother poisoned himself
with any drug he found and Rose...
    Thorne
would protect her, but it was my fault she ran into the arms of a ruthless president
of a goddamned motorcycle club instead of confiding in her own family.
    Martini’s
nails dug into my jacket.
    Just
what I needed. Not only did they see me, they saw Martini—the feisty little
blonde who ruled the world with the mischief of her smile. She talked big about
bruises and fists, but getting beat on by a drunken boyfriend was nothing
compared to getting buried up to her neck in the desert for the scorpions to
sting and the elements to scorch.
    If
she even made it to the desert.
    Temple
trafficked more than drugs, and the men transporting kidnapped women wouldn’t
stop to buy them a milkshake because they got bored on the trip across the
state lines.
    For
five miles my mirrors reflected only the flicker of lightning bearing down over
our escape. Our luck didn’t last long. I swore as three pinpricks of light
crested a hill behind us.
    They
chased, but I’d be damned if my end came with a hammer imbedded in my skull.
Not before I had my revenge. Not before I got Martini to safety.
    The
fuckers could do whatever got them off as long as they did it to me. Capture
me. Threaten me. Beat my miserable hide until they wore the ink off my skin. But
I’d break their necks with my bare hands if they even looked at Martini again.
    Rose
was enough. I wasn’t about to damn another woman in my own cowardice and
abandonment.
    I
didn’t take my eyes from the road. “Hang on!”
    Martini
shrieked as the bike tore through the asphalt and burst onto the highway. The
late-night truckers disguised my presence. I wove between the trailers, ducking
into and out of streaks of red brake lights as I turned my headlight off.
Martini ducked against my back.
    “ What
are you doing ?” She cried.
    The
few streetlights dimmed a yellowish haze over the road, and the approaching
storm lit the rest. It was enough to see, and I’d traveled through worse.
Speeding border to border in the middle of the night—no lights, no stops. I
raced the darkness, the police, the DEA, and whatever half-cocked meth-head MCs
might have followed. Except then, I had night vision glasses. Kevlar. No
sweet-tart passenger grinding against my back whenever my bike bounced on the pavement.
    I
didn’t trust the roads here. I usually studied the maps and researched the best
routes. I had to learn the dangerous areas where the police and feds lurked,
baiting the runners. Riding blind at my speed tempted fate, and I wore out my
welcome at death’s door when I escaped Anathema’s retribution.
    Martini
behaved herself, but Christ only knew if she’d freak and topple us both. I
wasn’t about to dump the bike or let the