Free Exiled (Anathema Book 2) by Lana Grayson Page A

and collapsed onto the
bed.
    “Curtains.”
My patient voice was a gift, one not stolen by the scream of profanity hailing
my mind. “Turn out the lights.”
    Everything
burned, ached, and throbbed. The mattress cradled me about as good as the
gravel on the highway. But a bed was a bed. I didn’t care if the world spun
itself into oblivion as long as I got to rest.
    The
phone in my pocket vibrated. The new message flashed white on the too-bright
screen. I read the message before I realized it was more painful than the burn
of the road.
    I
sang @ a real club 2night! My big brother should watch the video. You’ll be
proud!
    She
meant it when she signed the text— <3 Rose .
    It
was easier to face the uncertainty of passing out in a shady motel with the
cops and a murderous MC prowling the streets for me than it was to reply to the
message.
    I
shoved the phone in my pocket.
    Then
I welcomed the black.

 

     
     
     
    Run.
    The
hotel room was too quiet after the roar of the road and the crack of gunshots
and thunder.
    I
had to find somewhere safe to stay, a place where I could wash the blood off
and hide from the most terrifying mistake of my life.
    The
sugar crash caught me first. Then the shock. Then the crippling, nauseating
fear.
    I
spent ten minutes in the bathroom heaving up every scream I swallowed on the
road. I used the next ten to scrub Route 19 out of my legs. Cleaning up after a
disaster came as easily to me as closing my bar. I wasn’t about to panic yet.
Now wasn’t the time to whimper about the crash, surrender to the brutal freaks
that chased us, or worry about the man who saved me by murdering two bikers.
    Worse
things had happened to me in the past. Hell, worse injuries and crashes too. I
lived with Sacrilege long enough to understand what scars were earned and which
were self-inflicted.
    I
loved the club. I loved the bikes. I loved every single thing about the lifestyle
and the road and the family built within the ranks. It was Goliath I didn’t
love, and, Christ, did he make it hard to leave.
    I
edged out of the bathroom. My warden-turned-hero passed out on the bed. He
hadn’t managed to pull himself onto the mattress. Both of his legs hung over
the side. His leather was beat too. Scratched and torn and probably covering a
dozen bruises on his muscular form.
    He
took the brunt of the crash. I heard him strike the guard rail, but the gunshot
was all that echoed in my ears now.
    I
didn’t know who Noir was.
    I had
never heard of Temple MC.
    I
doubted Kingdom would care about our accident.
    The
mysteries tied into a knot bigger than the one tangling my stomach. Everyone
was in so far over their heads they’d be lucky to keep it attached to their
neck once everything went south.
    I
had to leave. It was my only option. As always, I had a plan. And maybe I
cracked my head on the road, but I saw my opportunity.
    I’d
run.
    I’d
get far away from Kingdom and Sacrilege while Red found the money to buy my
freedom back.
    I’d
call Sam. Tell him about the crash. About Noir dumping the bike. Then I’d lie
and tell Sam Noir died on the side of the road. I just barely managed to crawl
to a hotel where I tended to my wounds and survived the raging concussion
blasting at my head.
    If
Noir resurfaced, I’d claim I didn’t have time to take a pulse, what with the
police and multi-mile shootout targeting my back. If he didn’t...then it all
worked out. I’d escape, he’d clear his conscience of trafficking a woman club
to club, and Kingdom would eventually get their money.
    A
win was a win, and I was so tired of losing.
    I
grabbed my bag, but it hurt just to swing it onto my shoulder. The bed looked inviting
with the more injuries I discovered. But I raced the ticking clock and the
frantic clutch of my heart. Both pounded entirely too fast.
    Noir
shifted. He grimaced against the mattress. His arm tucked awkwardly at his
side.
    The
purse was heavy enough, I didn’t need any more burdens weighing me down. He