Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(101)

“Nat introduced me to it all,” I said, not knowing where to start, but the beginning seemed best. Not the real, ugly beginning—I wasn’t ready for that—but one of the beginnings. “The drug scene,” I continued, scanning the room but not really seeing anyone. Instead I saw the back room of the club and Nat grinning while handing me a little white pill. “She did it in a way that made it seem like nothing, no big deal, no worries. Like the opinion I’d had on drugs my entire adult life had been misplaced and they weren’t as serious as I’d built them up in my head. Like I was only now just getting in on the secret that everyone but me knew. Drugs were okay.” That night, that first night, I got it. This was how people got through life. I’d been stupidly naive in thinking anyone could get through it sober.

I moved my attention back to the room. “She was like my spirit guide, giving me pills to fly me high, giving me more to bring me back down. And finally giving me the syringe that changed it all.” That was another night burned into my existence. Some crappy party. No, not even a party, just a handful of sketchy people in an even sketchier apartment. I’d been anxious to leave but Nat had convinced me to stay. She’d held out the syringe to me and I’d paused. Who would have thought what a ripple effect that pause would have? How much hung in the balance? If only I’d just gone with my gut instead of taking the vial that held my doom.

“I’m not blaming her. I guess that’s what a lot of addicts do, search desperately for someone, anyone, to point the finger at, lay the blame on. God forbid we actually take responsibility for flushing our own lives down the crapper.

“I’m under no such illusions. She may have offered, but I accepted. I swallowed those pills. I injected myself. I was the master of my own destiny.” I paused, the slideshow of horrors from that little room playing on repeat in the front of my mind. I struggled to escape it, to find my way back to the room. My throat was raw as I spoke my last sentence. “In this case, I was the master of my own demise.” My gaze touched on Gabriel’s for the first time since I’d gotten up here. “Or so I’d thought. Someone very important to me pointed out that all of that shit was winter. Drugs stripped everything off me, like leaves from the branches on a tree, and it looked like demise. I didn’t believe him. Then.” I stared at him, seeing myself in those eyes across the room, and for once, I didn’t hate what I saw. “But now I think, if you’ll excuse the Game of Thrones undertone here, summer is coming.”



I walked into the clubhouse and froze the moment my eyes hit the common area—more specifically the sofa and TV. Even more specifically who was on the sofa and what was on the TV.

For once, the common room was empty of prospects, club girls, any old ladies, and any patched members I begrudgingly accepted as family.

Right then there were only two people—three, including me. Gabriel was on the sofa, leaning back with one of his long, sinewy, and tattooed arms draped along the top of the sofa. The other lay softly on top of a dark head which was situated on his thigh. The head of a beautiful little girl who was lying on her side, using Gabriel’s impressive, denim-clad thigh as a cushion. Her little face was scrunched up, a thumb in her mouth, and her eyes were closed in sleep.

I’m not one for womb clenches at any moment, especially at the sight of children. I didn’t like children. I had no desire to have them. No way, no how.

Right then, I seemed to have forgotten that fact. Because looking at Gabriel, thoughtlessly giving such a young girl easy affection, the image of him, in his cut with tattoos and the innocent, beautiful little human, my womb clenched.

Then my gaze moved back to the television.

“What are you doing?” I asked, finally realizing I was turning into some sort of Peeping Tom, though I was sure Gabriel knew I was there. He had badass skills.

The way he jumped told me his badass skills were on vacation. Amazingly, the little girl on his thigh stayed in her current position, still firmly gripped by the sandman. I felt a pang of envy at how little people welcomed oblivion so easily.

You could welcome it that easily, the devil on my shoulder said. All it takes is one shot.

I shook the thought away with great effort, my hands shaking slightly.

“Shh,” he hissed.

I raised a brow. Belle didn’t wake up with him almost crawling up the back of the sofa, so my simple question probably wouldn’t wake her. But then, he wasn’t looking at Belle. His gaze was glued to the TV.

My mouth had a mind of its own and a small grin tugged at the corners. “Did you just shush me in order to keep watching My Little Pony?” I teased, my eyes on the ridiculous pastel cartoon.

“I’m not watching My Little Pony,” he scoffed, though his gaze didn’t move. “I’m watching Belle, who happens to like Rainbow Magic. I’m just being an awesome uncle and letting her have her way.”

My grin turned into a full-blown smile. “Babe, Belle’s asleep,” I pointed out.

Gabriel suddenly tore his gaze from the TV. It didn’t go to Belle, as I expected, but came straight to me. I felt his eyes at my smile and I couldn’t even take it off if I tried. Something moved beyond them before he quickly glanced down at the sleeping toddler on his lap. Registering that she was, in fact, asleep, he quickly fumbled for the remote and turned off the TV.

“You’re a Brony,” I said, on the edge of laughter.