Read Online Warlord (Anathema Book 1) by Lana Grayson - Free Book Online

and pushed away. The tremors rocking his body nearly propelled him
through the door. I only hoped he had enough sense to get his fix before
grabbing Rose.
    Pretty little
thing that she was.
    I smirked.
    “Meeting
adjourned.”

 

     
     
    Twenty-one was
too old to run away from home.
    Except leaving
town wasn’t accurate. I wasn’t declaring my independence. I quietly stole
it before my brothers realized just how pissed I was.
    I packed a spare
change of clothes, but the second pair of jeans and shoes didn’t fit with my laptop,
flute, and guitar’s looping pedal. The keyboard jammed across my car’s backseat.
I needed it more than the TV Brew acquired for me last Christmas.
    My suitcase
bulged with more musical instruments and equipment. No guitar, of course. I
regretted stumbling into that mess, but at least it was already handled.
The tie severed, the debt repaid as much as my brothers would allow.
    My cell buzzed in
my pocket. I groaned. No way was I talking to either brother.
    Not after they
hauled me out of Anathema like I was some sort of wayward child.
    Not after they
shoved the stack of twenties into my purse.
    Not after they forced
two prospects to escort me home.
    They flipped
tables, swore at me, swore at each other, and screamed until all I imagined was
breakfast back home where Dad rampaged through the halls, my brothers and their
new patches slammed the front door, and Mom wept in the bathroom with a bottle
of bourbon and a pocket full of Vicodin.
    The phone buzzed
again.
    Absolutely not.
    My brothers
could scream and stomp and threaten all they wanted. It wouldn’t change a damn
thing. I was done . I’d find a new job at another dollar coffee diner—one
that hadn’t watched my brothers beat my boss to a bloody pulp. I’d upload another
song on YouTube to get some ad revenue. Hell, I’d even sell the few pieces of
jewelry I had of Mom’s—Craig’s List. No more pawn shops.
    I’d make it on
my own.
    My brothers
wouldn’t like it.
    And Dad would be
furious. And it didn’t matter how many secure walls and steel bars the courts
used to separate us. He could still get to me. I’d never be far enough from
that man. As long as he breathed, he’d always be too close.
    The phone
continued to buzz.
    I ripped it from
my pocket. No sense hiding from Keep and Brew. No Darnell ever left without a fight.
I only hoped I didn’t end up tethered to my apartment with my car keys stolen. Or
worse. Tethered to an IV with half a dozen concocted stories about the stairs I
accidentally tripped down.
    I didn’t
recognize the number, but Brew and Keep never stayed on the grid with a real
cellphone. I tried to growl. My sharp squeak was about as metal as a clarinet
with a splintered reed.
    “ What ?”
    The unfamiliar
voice hesitated. “Is this...Rose Darnell?”
    My blush might
have spread pink from my cheeks through the stranger’s phone. I cleared my
throat.
    “Oh!  Yes, sorry.
That’s me.”
    “This is Randal
Nix. From Club Sanctuary.”
    My stomach
flipped like I had wandered too close to a drum kit and got drop-kicked by the
percussionist.
    “Yes!” The squeak
hadn’t disappeared. “Of course. Hello!”
    “Would you be
available this Friday for a booking?  Two hours. Nine until eleven. We’re paying
three hundred dollars.”
    My heart
flooded, sputtered, and stalled out before he even finished offering. I sunk
onto my bed, completely missing the mattress and plopping on the floor. The
quilt fell to my side, and my suitcase tumbled with it. A tennis shoe stuffed
with a dozen guitar picks escaped the bag and spilled.
    “Hello?” Randal
asked. “Rose?”
    I couldn’t
speak, but I never did like silence. Dad did. He hated when I sang. When I
cried.
    When I tried to
scream.
    I blinked and
forced myself into any bit of noise.
    “Yes,” I said. “I
wasn’t expecting a call.”
    “Something’s
come up. A slot is available if you want it.”
    “I—” The
suitcase popped a hinge and opened. I