Knight by Lana Grayson Page B

hadn’t dropped a grenade in the box with the letter, so I took it as a good sign.
    Anathema was doing a run—a job with their best men. They’d be armed, dangerous, and looking for trouble.
    Whoever sent it might have meant to keep my men out of their way. Prevent violence. Everyone would make it to their beds that night with whatever gash they were lucky enough to hump.
    Or it might have been an opening. The club would be exposed, their members riding outside of their territory. Anathema’s wares and bikes were unprotected. Women without their muscle. A stash ripe for the picking. We were still reeling from Anathema’s last attack, when they pinned us down and stole our load of muled electronics. They lured us into the shootout and left my men to act as decoys for the damned police.
    It might have been a great time to get some of our money back…unless the message was a trap.
    Moving on a fully protected Pixie wouldn’t leave much meat in the street for the coroner to catalog.
    I poured a drink over the note. Not even alcohol cleared it up.
    Maybe the message came from some jaded motherfucker who’d had enough of Thorne’s shit and decided the grass was greener. Hated to tell him, but unless we were smoking it, ain’t no way The Coup looked better than Anathema.
    “Fuck me.” I rubbed my eyes. This wasn’t a riddle. The message was part of a puzzle blown to shit by men with more guns than brains. I couldn’t trust it until I verified it.
    But I wasn’t risking my men. The only ass I’d endanger was mine. And, if I was lucky, I wouldn’t have to drag it back to bed.
    A man could only spend so many nights with his cock in hand and regret as an afterglow. I wasn’t sleeping well anyway. The truck hadn’t moved from outside Lyn’s apartment, but plenty of bikes drove by. Some ours. Some Anathema’s.
    Some Temple’s.
    I had to sort shit out with Anathema. It was the only way the woman who refused my help would finally accept it. Just offering my protection insulted her.
    Too goddamned bad.
    Lyn was one-of-a-kind, probably for the benefit of all of humanity. But that attitude attracted every low-life, dangerous, scum-bag to her doorstep. That included me, but at least she aimed her heels away from my balls.
    For now.
    It was the only thing I could ask short of her dropping to her knees and giving them the TLC they craved. I had been hard for her since the first time I watched her shimmy around a pole, and I fell in love the instant she introduced herself.
    What I wouldn’t give to make her my greatest mistake and biggest weakness. Men didn’t get chances with her—they earned her respect. But she thought she was indestructible. A woman like her didn’t wilt like a flower, she fragged like a grenade. Two nights ago was the first time I saw her bleed, and that image plagued me more than the promise of what she hid beneath a powder pink robe.
    She didn’t realize the danger she was in. She refused me, but she wasn’t getting rid of me. Not until I handled Anathema and Temple and made sure she was safe.
    And if that included dropping the cut and taking a sedan out for a drive at eleven o’clock on a random-ass Wednesday to spy on Anathema, all the better.
    I wasn’t planning on taking a bullet for Lyn—I’d do whatever I could to prevent the gun from firing.
    The highway cleared late at night. It was easy for me to drop under the speed limit as the headlights of five motorcycles filled my rearview mirror.
    Even reduced in numbers, Thorne managed his men with discipline. Five bikes flanked an unmarked truck, carefully guarding whatever contents they packed inside. Cigarettes. Electronics. Anathema never had a path to get into the harder trades. The opportunity for drugs and guns died with Blade.
    I wore a hat, but my blood pressure spiked as the bikes thundered beyond the sedan’s window.
    I recognized my brothers. Thorne led the pack. Ace and Tanner flanked the truck, part of Gold’s crew. Gold rode