Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(19)

I expected her to look panicked when she turned but her face was light. She leisurely walked to her bag as if there weren’t two goons shouting threats at the door.

She rifled through her stuff, snatching her phone and putting it to her ear.

“Lucky?” she greeted, inspecting her nails. “I’m good, how are you? Oh cool, say hey to Jagger from me. Tell him if he needs a place to stay tonight, I’ve always got room.” There was a pause and she winked at me. “Well, you don’t actually have to tell my brother, you know? Grow a pair and stop being so f*cking well behaved for an outlaw. Anyway, we’ll fight about that later. I’m thinking I might need a little backup. I’ve got some wannabe goon squad assaulting Bex’s door and interrupting my favorite scene in Magic Mike. I’d take care of it but I just got a manicure and—” She stopped talking and her eyes went wide. “Chill, dude she’s fine but—” Again she stopped talking and then put the phone down, turning to stare at me.

“Okay, so you did not tell me Lucky and you have a thing.”

I blinked at her, but then my attention flickered to the vibrating door. “We don’t have a thing,” I said. “Do you think that lock will hold?” Asher had just installed two deadbolts because he was a man and had to take charge of such things. Our old locks would have given away the moment someone started banging. These were legit, but our door was crap. I didn’t think it’d be hard to kick down.

Rosie waved her hand. “It’s fine,” she dismissed. “Now you and Lucky. Spill.”

As if this was actually the time to have a chat about men.

“There’s nothing to ‘spill,’” I argued.

She raised a brow.

I sank back onto the sofa, my hand on my forehead. “I’m a stripper recovering from drug addiction. Do you think a relationship with a biker is what I need right now?”

Rosie folded her arms. “Maybe it’s exactly what you need.”

I gaped at her. “Lucky is, like, your family, right?” I clarified. I had learned Rosie was Cade, the president’s, sister, so I was pretty sure that made her biker royalty.

She nodded. “I’ve known him since he was fourteen and I was seven. He rolled into town with a stupid grin, running as fast as his gangly legs could take him. I would say he’s like a brother to me, but I tried it on with him when I was drunk two years ago, so that would be sick.” She gave me a look. “Don’t worry. He was quick to run away from me and my advances. And I mean run. All of those men are total pussies when it comes to me. They’re all too afraid of my brother to even have wet dreams about me. Talk about twat blocking.” She rolled her eyes.

I shook my head and grinned, despite the constant banging at the door jarring my shattered nerves. “Okay, so whatever he is to you, you’re close,” I surmised.

She nodded.

“So I’m assuming you care about him?”

She nodded again.

“Then you don’t want him with someone like me.”

She frowned. “Someone like you?” she repeated.

“Yep. We’ve already established my label as stripper and, very recently, ex-junkie.” I pointed to the door. “Plus I’m the object of that sort of drama. Which involves the goons from my place of ex-employment most likely coming to rough me up in order to persuade me into solicitation. Not someone you’d want to bring home to Mom, or even your outlaw biker family. I’m too much even for your family,” I said.

She narrowed her eyes. “Seriously?” she snapped. “That’s why? That’s why Lucky hasn’t touched any of his normal girls and isn’t joking like a twelve-year-old? Because you’ve got stupid shit like that stopping you from being with him? You think you’re not good enough for him?”

I gaped at her, at her anger. Then I stood, crossing my arms. “I don’t think it. I know it.”

She rolled her eyes. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not talking about a choirboy here. We’re talking about Lucky, member of a motorcycle club. He doesn’t just carry a gun as an accessory, you know? He’s used it. Many times. And not to do the deeds of the common people. And even if he was a f*ckin’ lawyer, or cop”—her eyes flickered with something, but I didn’t have time to inspect it—“it wouldn’t make a difference. You’re good enough,” she said, her voice firm.

“You can’t say that,” I argued. “You don’t even know me. Trust me—my life, it hasn’t been good.”

Rosie cocked her hip. “Newsflash, honey: life is rarely good. In fact, most of the time it f*ckin’ blows. But it’s usually the people who have the best upbringings turning out to being the most depraved of them all. A bad life doesn’t create a bad person, and usually the opposite is true. Lucky is a good f*cking case study, as are most of the men in the club. Most of them came from the stuff of nightmares. They’ll never be good in the conventional sense, but I’d put my life in their hands in an instant.” She eyed me. “I don’t know you, but I know you’re not bad. I’ve seen that too, and you’re not it.”

I was going to argue with her further but there was an abrupt end to the banging, followed by sounds of a struggle.

Rosie’s eyes lit up. “Boys are here.” Her grin faltered. “I wish we had popcorn for this.”