Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(20)

Okay, this chick was insane.

I crossed the living room to open the door. Lucky had his gun out, as did Asher, pointing them at Tyson and Artie. Both of them were backing away with their hands up. Artie had a bleeding nose.

Lucky turned. “Oh hey, Becky. How’s life? You don’t have to go to such lengths to get me over, you know. Just a phone call or a text would suffice. But it was turning into a boring Saturday night and my trigger finger was getting rusty,” he said conversationally, like he wasn’t pointing a gun at two retreating *s.

He held up his free hand. “One second.” He turned his head back. “You *s come within one f*cking mile of Becky again and I’ll come and scalp you while you’re sleeping.” The change in his tone was chilling, and, because I was f*cking deranged, f*cking hot.

Tyson sneered. “You’re not gonna be around forever. We’ll get her where she belongs,” he spat.

I watched the side of Lucky’s jaw harden. He stepped forward, his gun level. “You’re not gonna be around forever, and I’m f*ckin’ tempted to make your forever end now but I’m not too keen on spending date night cleaning up your brains. So how about you go back to the gutter where you belong and I’ll make sure Becky remains where she belongs, with me,” he growled.

There was a pregnant pause before both men edged to the stairs and retreated into the shadows.

Both Asher and Lucky waited a beat before lowering their guns. Lucky turned to me and I folded my arms. “Date night?” I repeated.

He grinned and I felt that expression to my toes. “Yeah, well, we’re not exactly the conventional couple. What’s a date night without guns and death threats?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “We’re not a couple. Period.”

He shook his head and stepped out of the shadows, chuckling. “You keep tellin’ yourself that, firefly.” He patted my head.

I scowled at him. “I don’t need to keep telling myself the truth,” I shot back.

“Kids, can we bring the bickering inside? You’re letting in the chill,” Rosie called from inside. “Lucky, I’ve got beer for you if you don’t tell my brother I’m giving Jagger somewhere to stay tonight.”

Lucky grinned and tucked me into his shoulder, directing us back into the apartment. “I can’t be bought with beer. I’m more loyal to my prez,” he said as we stepped inside.

Rosie grinned between us and held up the box. “I’ve got Pop-Tarts.”

“S’mores flavor?’

She nodded.

“I didn’t see or hear a thing,” Lucky said.

Asher shook his head, then focused on me. His gaze was shrewd as he took me in and his eyes hardened. “Where’s Lily?”

I yanked out of Lucky’s grip. Not because it was uncomfortable; it was too f*cking comfortable. His pleasing smell of leather and tobacco made my eyes go lazy. But I’d been puking all day and my hair was unwashed. That smell would make his eyes water.

“At work,” I replied, crossing my hands over my chest. I was more than aware I was only wearing an oversized tee, no bra. Granted, the tee almost reached my knees and provided more coverage than even my most conservative outfit, but I had no makeup on, my face was pale and splotchy, the circles under my eyes almost black, and my freckles made me look like a twelve-year-old with mono.

Asher obviously observed this. “You okay?” he asked, his voice thick with concern.

That hit me. Hard. Because it was genuine. I knew I wasn’t Asher’s favorite person, and for good reason, but there he was, coming to my rescue and being actually worried about me. It was all because of my connection to the woman who he was infatuated with, but still.

“I’m fine,” I said.

Lucky seemed to shake out of his cocky delusion and saw what Asher saw. His grip was heavy on my shoulders, almost to the point of pain, as he turned me roughly so I faced him.

He took me in and his form hardened. “What the f*ck?” he bit out.

“You want to let me go?” I hissed. “I like my shoulders not crushed by The Incredible Hulk wearing leather.”

“You want to tell me what’s wrong with you?” he clipped, not letting me go.

I struggled under his grip and the weight of his stare. It unnerved me, his change. Not an ounce of his previous humor lurked behind his stare.

Asher stepped forward. “Brother, you might want to let her go,” he said, his hand going to Lucky’s shoulder. Lucky glanced down at Asher’s arm, then at his own inked hands, as if he was surprised to see them clutching my shoulders. He immediately let me go.

I rubbed my shoulder distractedly.

“Fuck,” he muttered, stepping forward. Asher hovered close, as if he anticipated having to step in.

I wasn’t afraid. I knew he wouldn’t put a hand on a woman in anger. Men who did, they had something about them. Something people like me sensed straight away. I’d known it about Dylan the second I met him, but because I was majorly f*cked-up, I took up with him anyway.

“Did I hurt you, Becky?” he asked, concerned.

I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I lied. I actually welcomed the pain. It was a nice distraction from the relentless itch I was fighting, even now.

He glowered at me. “You need to stop it with the f*ckin’ ‘fine.’ You’re not. Jesus, look at you. Are you sick?”