Exiled (Anathema Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

into, when the
bad boys weren’t bad enough anymore and I searched for someone bigger, meaner, and
a hell of a lot more fun when the leather stripped away.
    Goliath
wasn’t my first mistake—he was just my worst. And I owned up to it. When I
controlled him, I managed the relationship. And the placating worked. At least,
I thought it did.
    He
reached behind him and tugged his jacket up. The motion was quick, but that
didn’t offer me any comfort. He pointed the gun at my neck, right where the ink
hid under the sweater. I stayed still.
    I
definitely didn’t have enough to drink.
    “This
job...is different, baby. You gotta pay attention. You gotta be a good girl and
wait for me to come and get you or these guys will rip the skin from your bones
while they fuck you.”
    Jesus
Christ, what the hell had he got us into? The worst deals Sacrilege ever
made were backyard weed scores and the occasional meth haul. Nothing dangerous.
Nothing skinable .
    The
dread coiled in my stomach.
    I
wanted nothing to do with the deal anymore. Especially since the deal looked
like it was…me.
    Goliath’s
eyes cleared for a moment—the rage and aggression shed for insane ambition. I
stared at the gun.
    “Baby,
how much do you love me?” He asked. “Will you do this for me?”
    The
word hung in the air. I answered reflexively. Like I had a choice.
    But
my reaction was genuine. My relief quick. His favor was the first taste of
freedom I had in months.
    It
was my chance to leave him.
    And
nothing would stop me from getting free.

 
     
     
    A
woman sat on my bike.
    It
was the most dangerous place in the world for her.
    Had
a man trespassed, he’d be laid out on the concrete cradling a broken nose and
counting the teeth scattered on the pavement.
    But
the blonde leaning against the handlebars gave me a fucking smirk. The kind of look
that gripped a man by his jeans and twisted until he handed over his wallet or
fell in love. She mugged with a smile, charmed with a twirl of her hair, and
saved her perfect ass from my temper with an arching eyebrow.
    She
was the type of pretty worth a night of regret, but I knew better. Pretty was
about as good for my bike as a ride on dry gravel. I jerked a thumb over my
shoulder.
    She
spoke first.
    “Hi.”
    Disarmed,
and she didn’t even throw a punch. The leather jacket tailor-fit her frame,
snug against a thin waist and swelling hips that promised endless trouble. Her boots
had heels, probably to pin down the men who fell for her siren song. Her jacket
wasn’t zipped, but a pink, silk scarf tied over her neck and obscured the
cleavage from her plunging neckline.
    She
was the most beautiful woman I’d seen in three thousand miles and thirty-eight
years.
    And
she sat on my bike.
    “Get
off.”
    I
counted the seconds her silver eyes dared to meet mine. She glanced down, batting
her thick lashes as she studied the ground with a bite to her lip and another
squeeze on my jeans.
    How
fucking old was she? College probably, though I doubted many people in the coal
mining town saved their pennies for higher education.
    “I
can’t get up.” Her lips puffed into a perfect pout.
    She
didn’t want to play this game with me.
    “It’s
real easy, Darling. Stand up. Get the hell off my bike.”
    “I
told you. I can’t.”
    Those
silver eyes pierced my patience, daring me to haul her over my shoulder. I
considered it. She thought she could tease without consequence, thought she’d
handle how I punished little flirty girls for playing a game they’d never win. She
crossed her ankles and settled in. Defiant.
    I
hardened.
    And
I hated myself for it.
    “Get
off the damn bike.”
    “They’re
waiting for you inside the garage.” The woman teased me with a glance over my
leather. “I won’t let anyone touch your ride.”
    A
scratch to the paint would be nothing compared to the bruise on her ass.
    The
bag weighed heavy. I didn’t ask what a busted-up garage with more weeds in the
parking lot than customers