Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(52)

He stopped me. “Becky, don’t f*ckin’ run.”

I started to shake, my hold on sanity tenuous. I needed out. “Let me go,” I pleaded, my voice shaking.

Again he sensed it, the desperation that came with that plea.

I didn’t look his way again. I found the door, my escape, and I ran. Ran to try and get clean.



“Dude, I’m totally with you on not talking to the rat bastard, even though I have no idea what he did,” Rosie said, her eyes on me. “I don’t need to know. I saw what state you were in when you got home.” She shivered, as did I.

State was a good word for it. I was almost f*cking catatonic. It was the surprise that got me. I hadn’t expected it to hit me so hard. I thought I’d made peace with that particular demon years before, found a way to fight it. Not defeat it, that’d never happen, but keep it in its corner. Turned out I hadn’t. It had been biding its time, waiting, lurking, until the opportune moment came to tear at the shreds of innocence I had left.

It was safe to say there was nothing now.

Rosie had blanched, actually f*cking paled, the moment she saw me. I was pretty sure I would have too. Naked except for a f*cking trench coat, muttering about how I needed to be clean and shaking so hard I’d bitten my tongue and actually drawn blood.

“Shit,” she’d exclaimed. “Bex, what did you take?” Her voice was calm, purposeful.

I let out a frenzied and hysterical giggle at that. I supposed I must’ve looked like I was on the edge of overdose. And in a way, I was. I’d overdosed on him. On us. On the depravity he didn’t even know he’d unearthed, the depravity we’d shared.

“Bex,” she repeated. “Do I need to call an ambulance?” She had her phone in her hand though she was biting her lip, knowing my hatred for hospitals.

I shook my head quickly. “I haven’t taken anything. I promise.”

Something in my voice must have been convincing. “What do you need?”

“Clean,” I choked out. “I need clean.”

To her credit, she didn’t look at me like I was crazy, which most likely would have sent me over the edge. “Okay, we’ll get you in the shower.”

She led me into the bathroom, turning on the water for me. “You need me to stay?” she asked, her voice even.

I shook my head. “I’m good.”

She didn’t look convinced.

Yeah, I so wasn’t good.

“I’m not going for the razorblades, I promise. I just need to be clean,” I said, my voice stronger. I was coming out of that terrible abyss with the calm Rosie was emitting, and the steam filling the room.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be right outside. Making tea and Pop-Tarts.”

She gave my hand a final squeeze and left the room.

Left me to get clean.

When I emerged, as clean as a shower would ever get me, she handed me a steaming mug. I took it.

“Drink,” she ordered.

“Is there tequila in this?” I asked hopefully.

She gave me a look. “I did think about it, but I didn’t know how tequila would taste with Earl Grey. And I also don’t know the rules for giving a recovering drug addict hard liquor, so I went with no, sorry.”

I smiled at her. “Probably a good call.”

I sipped the tea, sitting on the sofa.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked, sipping her own mug which wasn’t steaming like mine. I had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t have Earl Grey in hers.

I didn’t. Like would rather get a bikini wax with duct tape kind of didn’t. But I found it all pouring out anyway.

When I’d recited the whole gory and thankfully short story, she sat in front of me, a tear streaking through her makeup. “Fuck, Bex,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. It was my coping mechanism. “It’s life. I dealt.” I paused. “Or thought I did. Then that happened with Lucky and I kind of… freaked out.”

Rosie nodded. “Understandably.”

I gaped at her. “You don’t think I’m a total f*cking head case?”

She gaped back at me. “Babe. You’re standing. Breathing. Living. You know how to do winged eyeliner better than anyone I know and have a kick-ass sense of humor, all despite that f*cking nightmare. You’re a miracle.” She leaned forward to squeeze my hand. “Freak-outs, they’re normal. I have one every second day when my hair doesn’t cooperate. People lose their shit. Fucking necessary. It’s only when you try and swallow all that down, keep it bottled up, that it turns to crazy.”

I blinked at her. “I’ve never thought of it that way before.”

She smiled. “Probably because you’ve never thought too hard on it before. We never do about our ugliest shit. We run from it. Try not to look too closely. But it catches up, forces our gaze.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I agreed.

“You know he’s not going to leave you alone,” she said gently.

She’d barely managed to keep him from storming in not an hour before. I’d heard his shouts.

But she did.

“No, I don’t think he will.”