Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(38)

It was in the Target snatching up some clothes—all black, of course—that I finally released my anger.

I had deliberately wandered away from Lucky when he had his back turned, inspecting the various sugary snacks while muttering something about how it was better to be prepared in the event of PMS. That should have been offensive for not only me, but for womankind in general. But the way he said it wasn’t derogatory and dripping in patriarchy. It was like childhood naivety wrapped up in a male deliciousness with a low, raspy voice.

Hence the reason I escaped, so I didn’t pounce on him in the candy aisle in front of a family with a child on a leash.

That child was already going to have enough problems by the look of the way it was struggling against that leash. I didn’t need to add to them.

I was mentally calculating how much was in my bank account—I was pretty sure it was nowhere near triple digits—and how many pairs of underwear I could get away with getting. And ignoring the fact I was getting the most expensive shitty lace black ones instead of sensible cotton that came in ten packs. Like I was playing with fire, expecting to get someone to see that.

I’d already played with fire and gotten burned; what was another scar? At least this one would be enjoyable to get.

I absently scratched my arm. Lucky was no longer in smelling distance, which meant my craving was amped up about a thousand percent.

I glanced around, half expecting him to be standing somewhere, watching me with his arms crossed, grinning. I didn’t think it was possible to sneak away from alpha bikers. Didn’t they have like twelve senses or something? By the way Lily talked about Asher I would have thought so.

“We have a lost child in the store,” a voice sounded from the speaker phone. “Would a Rebecca Flannery please come to checkout five. Your”—there was a clearing of a throat—“father is here waiting for you.” There was no mistaking the slight dreaminess to the woman’s tone. She was most likely wagging her tongue at the sexy, grinning, idiotic biker standing in front of her.

There was a muffled sound on the speaker. “Firefly, come back to me. I have snacks,” Lucky’s husky voice sounded through the entire store, no doubt causing womb flutters everywhere. Even the middle-aged woman wearing a muumuu and inspecting the cotton underwear ten-pack snapped her head up the moment he started speaking.

“Also, cleanup on aisle three.” There was a pause. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Despite myself, and the insects crawling up my arms, I smiled.

I made it to the counter where Lucky was leaned over, his amazing denim-clad ass and the grim reaper on his cut all I could see as he talked to the near-drooling checkout chick.

As if he had Bex radar, he straightened and turned, eyes finding me in a second. His face lit up and his grin intensified. “I found you.”

I made it to him, holding back my smile. “I wasn’t exactly lost.”

His eyes twinkled. “Yes, you were, firefly.” His face was bright, but the multitude of meanings weighed me down.

The checkout chick, who indulged in too much bleach and was wearing a uniform two sizes too small, gaped at me, then Lucky. “That’s your daughter?” she asked in disbelief.

I started to speak but Lucky slung his arm around my neck.

“Yep, isn’t she adorable? She looks old for her age, and I look great for mine, obviously. I had her young. Even at twelve, my swimmers were world-class.” He winked at the checkout chick, who was still gaping.

I snorted. I couldn’t help it. The look on her face was f*cking priceless.

“Okay, it’s getting past this one’s bedtime, so let’s get our shit and go,” Lucky said, snatching everything out of my hands to dump it on the counter.

Both the checkout girl and I were dazed by the man in front of us, albeit for different reasons.

Surprisingly, she recovered quicker than me. Which meant by the time I came to, Lucky was handing over a wad of cash.

“Hey!” I protested, stepping forward. “You’re not paying for me.”

He glanced at me. “Funny, ’cause I just did.”

I scowled at him. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need you buying my shit.”

Arguably, I couldn’t take care of myself—my mess of a life and bank account was a testament to that—but still. My life was my own to f*ck up. And my bank account was mine to empty.

He ruffled my hair. “We need to get you home and wash your mouth out with salt, young lady. You know better than to f*cking curse.” He took the bags and walked us towards the double doors.

I glared at him. “You’re not doing that,” I snapped.

“What’s that, beautiful?”

“That alpha, ‘I take care of everything because I have balls’ thing. I can pay my own way. I’ll never be a ‘kept’ woman. Or a prostitute,” I added.

That made Lucky stop and turn to give me his full attention. “I paid for that shit because it’s my fault that you need it. I ‘kidnapped’ you, which means I should foot the bill. I don’t pay for sex, and you sure as shit don’t ever need to f*ckin’ charge for it. I’ll never let that shit happen.” His voice turned serious at the end. “And even if I did ever pay for the pleasure of your company, you’d be worth a f*ck of a lot more than cheap lace underwear, which I totally f*ckin’ approve of by the way. No matter how cheap, your ass will make that shit look ace.” He winked at me. “We good? Or you gonna nurse another snit in the car. I’m good with either option because you’re cute as f*ck when you’re angry.”