Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(53)

The thought terrified me. Of seeing him. Trying to explain what it was that had me running like I’d been afraid.

Me? Afraid.

Because I loved him.

Fuck.

There are two things completely free from logic in this world. Fear and love. Two things I promised myself I wouldn’t surrender to because lack of logic in my world meant lack of life.

So I didn’t love. And because I didn’t love, I had nothing to fear. I’d already discovered nightmares were real before I’d reached high school, experienced the horrors that happened in the dark. Yet there I was, bursting with love. And fear. I’d given into both and couldn’t do anything about it. More importantly, I didn’t want to do anything about it.

And that had me wanting to escape. Myself, him, everything.

But life had other ideas.

More precisely, death.





Chapter Twelve





“She had been innocent once, a little girl playing with feathers on the floor of the Devil’s lair.”

-Laini Taylor



He caught up with me the next day. At the grocery store, of all places. I was being a total coward and ignoring every single call—all twenty-seven of them—after letting Rosie deal with the bellowing alpha the night before.

But I was still recovering.

It was like aftereffects of a migraine. The actual episode was over but the fragility of my head still remained. My sanity. The pain was a shadow that was hard to forget. So I was hiding from him until I found a way to build up my walls again, to forget that pain.

Without drugs.

How fun that would be.

That choice was taken away when I was deciding between skim and two percent.

Both milk bottles were ripped from my hands and set back down roughly. Then Gabriel had me by the wrist and was dragging me bodily from the store.

I struggled against him. “Let me go,” I hissed.

He didn’t look my way. “Not happenin’.”

I struggled again and people looked, but no one came to my aid. Probably because this was a small town and everyone knew Gabriel and the leather on his back.

I just didn’t know that the cut of leather gave him carte blanche to manhandle women in the f*cking grocery store.

Obviously it did.

“Don’t worry. Only a woman getting dragged out of a grocery store by a f*cking biker. Nothing to make you actually do something about,” I shouted at no one in particular.

One woman wearing a low-cut pink dress that looked like it belonged on a Vegas stage, not in a grocery store, actually grinned at me.

Grinned.

Not even the security guard did a thing, just nodded pleasantly at Gabriel as if we were strolling past hand in hand and I wasn’t getting dragged while struggling like a banshee.

“This f*cking town has some serious f*cking issues,” I said as we reached the parking lot. “Serious f*cking issues,” I shouted back to the store.

We made it to Gabriel’s Harley before he turned.

“Get on,” he ordered.

“Not f*cking likely,” I snapped back.

He stepped forward, toe to toe with me, his face granite. “Becky, get on.” Everything about that action was meant to intimidate—his voice, his height, his face devoid of the light humor that was his default. That, as I’d learned in the cabin, was his mask to hide his true face. The damaged, dangerous, broken man before me.

I didn’t back down. “I’m not scared of you,” I hissed. “And you may be able to drag me bodily out of places on account of the fact you have too few manners and too many muscles, but you can’t command me to do anything. So unless you want to hog-tie me to that bike, I’m not going anywhere.” I crossed my arms.

He held my stare like he was considering it, actually considering tying me to a motorcycle and driving off.

“Fine,” he relented, and I tried to hide my triumphant smile.

“Okay, now that we’ve established you’re a f*ckin’ nutcase and this town has zero issues with kidnapping as long as the kidnapper is wearing a Sons of Templar cut, I’m going to go. Preferably over state lines.” I made to leave but he caught my wrist.

“I said fine to not putting your sweet ass in danger by forcin’ you on a bike, but I ain’t lettin’ you leave,” he growled. “Not until you’ve talked to me. And if it has to be in a f*ckin’ parking lot, so be it.”

I struggled against his hold but he didn’t let go. It wasn’t painful, but it was firm. “You’re seriously doing this?”

Not a spec of his trademark humor danced behind his eyes.

“You’re seriously doing this,” I muttered.

“I’ve got no f*ckin’ choice,” he growled. “You won’t answer my calls, you got Rosie as a f*ckin’ sentry, and that bitch is scarier than Gage when she wants to be. This was a last resort. Not one I’m particularly comfortable with, but it’s necessary ’cause I’ve been goin’ f*ckin’ insane with worry, and anger, over what happened last night. What I did.” As if the reminder was enough, he let me go, stepping back. He ran his hand over his bald head and I noticed the way his eyes were slightly bloodshot, indicating lack of sleep.

“Talk to me, Becky. What the f*ck happened?” he asked, his voice softer. “How bad did I hurt you?”