Beyond the Horizon (Sons of Templar MC #4)(20)

“Do you really have to go?” I whispered against his mouth, self-respect be damned, I didn’t want him to go. Didn’t want the spell to break with the harsh light of day.

He regarded me before sighing and straightening. “Yeah, babe, club shit.”

I tried not to let my disappointment show.

I think I failed because his face softened. “I’ll be back. Stay. Sleep. Don’t f*ckin’ move outta my bed,” he commanded hoarsely.

He waited for my nod, then left the room.

I didn’t know how the heck I managed it, in an unfamiliar room, in a biker clubhouse, but I fell right to sleep.





I awoke to a pounding headache. I blinked at my unfamiliar surroundings in confusion before realizing where I was. What happened last night, no early this morning. What I’d told him—about me, about my life, about my father. Holy shit, it was real. The fact I was waking up in Asher’s room in the Sons of Templar compound was proof enough. And the tenderness between my legs served as more evidence. The pounding headache was an unwelcome reminder.

Since I hadn’t exactly slept last night, I was guessing I was experiencing a delayed hangover. They weren’t fun.

Note to self—don’t drink.

Though, if the tequila was the reason I was waking up here, was the reason I turned into somehow desirable to Asher, I’d put it in a sipper bottle and take it everywhere I went.

Last night was something more than just sex. Through the haze of residual drunkenness I could still see it. I knew that girls were desperate to find a connection to their first time. Maybe that was what I was doing, desperately seeking something more than just losing my virginity to a guy I’d only just met, and letting him own every inch of my body. But that was just it. I felt owned. Possessed. In a good way. I belonged to him. Already.

I pushed up out of bed and put my palm on my forehead. “Ouch,” I muttered as the motion sent sharp pain through my skull. My stomach rolled slightly.

I searched the floor for my dress.

“Great,” I muttered to myself, picking up the garment that would be useless in covering my modesty thanks to its lack of buttons.

I will admit, Asher ripping the buttons off my dress was fricking hot. It did hold a slight dilemma as to clothing choices now, though. He did say he’d be back, and the clock told me it had been three hours since he left. I was only using the facilities, so I shrugged on a tee shirt that swamped me, covering more than the dress would have.

I reluctantly opened the door, emerging into the empty hall. My heart pounded with nerves. I was in a biker compound and felt heaviness in my chest as the reality of this settled. Now that Asher was gone, that demon that clenched its fists around my personality, muting me, returned. I didn’t do well with all-girl sleepovers, feeling awkward and on the edge of a panic attack the one time I did it. How was I meant to navigate this?

I took a deep breath, found my strength and luckily found the facilities without encountering anyone. With luck, everyone would either be sleeping off hangovers—like I wished I was still doing—or out on this elusive “club business.”

My luck ran out as I almost collided with a girl as I approached Asher’s door.

“Sorry,” I apologized quickly, stepping back.

The woman regarded me. She had bleached blonde hair; it was haphazardly thrown into a messy ponytail. Her makeup, likely from the night before, was slightly smudged and there was a lot of it. She was wearing heels and the shortest red dress I’d ever seen. And she was looking at me like I was the dirt on her stiletto heel. The pressure on my chest intensified, and I felt panic bubbling in my stomach.

“Watch it, bitch,” she sneered.

I shrank back into myself at the hostility. I wasn’t prepared for it, and it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Her kohl-rimmed eyes ran over me, I knew the look. It was one a predator gave its prey, she identified that I was weaker than her, someone she could assert her dominance over. I’d had it happen to me. Not often, but a couple of times, from girls who thought I was trying to “steal” their boyfriends. Which was a joke really when I’d never even had a boyfriend, let alone had enough romantic skill to steal someone else’s. When they’d unleashed on me, I’d turned mute, tried to make myself small and quiet, the way I’d survived when I was escaping my father’s wrath. The woman glanced at the door my eyes were darting to. I yearned for the solace that Asher’s room offered, and she let out a cruel laugh.

“Asher’s really scraping the bottom of the barrel,” she mused. “He likes his women sexy usually, not Mormon mutes. Wouldn’t be getting myself comfortable there, Jane. He’s probably already abandoned you, hoping you’re gone when he gets back,” she hissed icily.

My face paled at her venomous words. I tried not to hyperventilate.

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s what he did, isn’t it? Left at the crack of dawn? Honey, take a hint. He’s not into you. You should go back to the convent.” She patted my arm condescendingly and smiled with venom before turning on her heel.

I quickly darted through the doorway, blinking away the tears. Though the woman had been horrible and unnecessarily bitchy, she had been right. It was as if she’d spotted every single one of my insecurities and attacked them. I couldn’t survive here. Where I would have to live on the edge of panic every time I needed to use the facilities. I wished I wasn’t like this. That anxiety didn’t dictate every inch of my life, but wishing didn’t get me anywhere. The certainty that I would never be able to survive this lifestyle washed over me like ice water. No matter how I felt about Asher, he’d quickly lose interest when he realized how weak I was.