Read Online Warlord (Anathema Book 1) by Lana Grayson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lana Grayson
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hadn’t even folded the clothes right. Just
stuffed shirts and skirts into any opening I could find. I had the drama down,
but graceful wasn’t yet in my repertoire. “This Friday?”
“Is it possible?”
If I was still
in town. I banged my head against the bed. The mounded blankets didn’t help
clear the cacophony.
“Only two
hours?”
“For Friday, yes.
If we like what we hear, it might become a permanent booking.”
Of course it would.
“Three hundred?”
“I can see our
terms aren’t acceptable.”
“No—I mean...”
“Four hundred. For
the first performance. We can negotiate a contract if the arrangement works.”
My mouth watered.
“Well...that’s generous.”
And absolutely
the worst timing imaginable. I gnawed on my lip. It’d be awfully hard to escape
my brother’s reach if I accepted a gig centered right in the middle of the
city.
Independence.
A solid gig.
Freedom from my
brothers.
Four hundred and
the possibility of a contract.
I kicked the
suitcase and silently swore.
“I’ll be there,”
I said.
“Excellent. We’ll
see you Friday. Daryl, our floor manager, will help you set up.”
Not much to set
up without equipment. I thanked him, probably three too many times, and hauled
my butt from the carpet. Regret sucked. Especially when it smacked me just as
soon as I finally achieved everything I worked so hard to accomplish.
Except this guilt
was worse. It gutted me. Pitted my stomach and soured everything that hadn’t
already been twisted, curdled, and rolled. I should have been excited. Should
have leapt around my bedroom, celebrated with ice cream, and started planning
my set—as if I didn’t know exactly what I would play and what lighting I’d
request.
Most people made
sacrifices for their dream. They’d give up their jobs, their friends, and their
families just to have that one shot to make it.
Instead, my
dream sacrificed everything. Freedom. Safety. A world beyond the 1% and police
files on my family’s name.
Music bound me
to the valley just like the patch on my brothers’ jackets marked their
territory. I sighed. I even played the acoustic guitar. No wires to hold me
down. Only opportunity.
The knock on the
door wasn’t unexpected. I checked my phone. An hour’s peace. Had I not taken
the call, I might have sped out of town already.
Or they would have
caught me loading my car.
Thank goodness
for small miracles.
The pounding
didn’t stop. I scowled. They’d drum against the door all night. Maybe I
wouldn’t answer. Maybe I’d put my headphones on and pretend like my lunatic
brothers weren’t shouting for me from the landing of my apartment. My neighbors
could call the police, but I doubted they’d respond if the caller mentioned the
Anathema patch on their vests.
Brew shouted for
me, the edge of his voice laced with bundled aggression and something else.
Fear .
My throat closed.
I hated the feeling, the panicky sweat that prickled my neck when I heard my
brothers’ angry desperation. Didn’t happen often. I could count on my hand the
times the chilled grip choked their voices. When Mom died. When the DA
threatened Dad with the death penalty. When Anathema bled over the streets and
Exorcist’s war nearly decimated their ranks.
I sighed. No
sense in worrying them while I pouted in my apartment. Trying to run was cruel
enough, and they deserved to be called psychopaths to their face. At least
they’d know it came from the heart.
I stalked to the
entryway but flinched as Keep launched his weight into the door. The wood
squealed, and the hinges cracked. I shouted but a second kick shattered the
door and wrenched it open. It smacked against the wall, the knob imbedding in
the drywall.
“Jesus Christ ,
Rose!” Brew pushed Keep out of his way to loom over me. “When we knock, you
fucking answer! Who the fuck knows what might have happened to you?”
My mouth
dropped, and a stunned squeal eked out. “Are you two out of your minds?”
Keep
stuffed shirts and skirts into any opening I could find. I had the drama down,
but graceful wasn’t yet in my repertoire. “This Friday?”
“Is it possible?”
If I was still
in town. I banged my head against the bed. The mounded blankets didn’t help
clear the cacophony.
“Only two
hours?”
“For Friday, yes.
If we like what we hear, it might become a permanent booking.”
Of course it would.
“Three hundred?”
“I can see our
terms aren’t acceptable.”
“No—I mean...”
“Four hundred. For
the first performance. We can negotiate a contract if the arrangement works.”
My mouth watered.
“Well...that’s generous.”
And absolutely
the worst timing imaginable. I gnawed on my lip. It’d be awfully hard to escape
my brother’s reach if I accepted a gig centered right in the middle of the
city.
Independence.
A solid gig.
Freedom from my
brothers.
Four hundred and
the possibility of a contract.
I kicked the
suitcase and silently swore.
“I’ll be there,”
I said.
“Excellent. We’ll
see you Friday. Daryl, our floor manager, will help you set up.”
Not much to set
up without equipment. I thanked him, probably three too many times, and hauled
my butt from the carpet. Regret sucked. Especially when it smacked me just as
soon as I finally achieved everything I worked so hard to accomplish.
Except this guilt
was worse. It gutted me. Pitted my stomach and soured everything that hadn’t
already been twisted, curdled, and rolled. I should have been excited. Should
have leapt around my bedroom, celebrated with ice cream, and started planning
my set—as if I didn’t know exactly what I would play and what lighting I’d
request.
Most people made
sacrifices for their dream. They’d give up their jobs, their friends, and their
families just to have that one shot to make it.
Instead, my
dream sacrificed everything. Freedom. Safety. A world beyond the 1% and police
files on my family’s name.
Music bound me
to the valley just like the patch on my brothers’ jackets marked their
territory. I sighed. I even played the acoustic guitar. No wires to hold me
down. Only opportunity.
The knock on the
door wasn’t unexpected. I checked my phone. An hour’s peace. Had I not taken
the call, I might have sped out of town already.
Or they would have
caught me loading my car.
Thank goodness
for small miracles.
The pounding
didn’t stop. I scowled. They’d drum against the door all night. Maybe I
wouldn’t answer. Maybe I’d put my headphones on and pretend like my lunatic
brothers weren’t shouting for me from the landing of my apartment. My neighbors
could call the police, but I doubted they’d respond if the caller mentioned the
Anathema patch on their vests.
Brew shouted for
me, the edge of his voice laced with bundled aggression and something else.
Fear .
My throat closed.
I hated the feeling, the panicky sweat that prickled my neck when I heard my
brothers’ angry desperation. Didn’t happen often. I could count on my hand the
times the chilled grip choked their voices. When Mom died. When the DA
threatened Dad with the death penalty. When Anathema bled over the streets and
Exorcist’s war nearly decimated their ranks.
I sighed. No
sense in worrying them while I pouted in my apartment. Trying to run was cruel
enough, and they deserved to be called psychopaths to their face. At least
they’d know it came from the heart.
I stalked to the
entryway but flinched as Keep launched his weight into the door. The wood
squealed, and the hinges cracked. I shouted but a second kick shattered the
door and wrenched it open. It smacked against the wall, the knob imbedding in
the drywall.
“Jesus Christ ,
Rose!” Brew pushed Keep out of his way to loom over me. “When we knock, you
fucking answer! Who the fuck knows what might have happened to you?”
My mouth
dropped, and a stunned squeal eked out. “Are you two out of your minds?”
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