Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(55)

I wanted to cry. To scream.

“You be quiet, be a good girl, and I’ll give you extra dinner. You just have to give me something.”

He turned me over so my face squashed into the pillow. I couldn’t breathe, and his weight at my back meant I couldn’t move. Panic settled over me like spines from a cactus.

Then he didn’t wait for me to give him anything. He took it all. Everything I didn’t even know could be taken, stolen.

I’d wanted to scream. But I didn’t. I stayed silent and horrifically awake through it all. It seared into my brain, my soul.

I rubbed my arms. The air was warm, but the past surrounded me with the chill of the memory. Of the nightmare. “It only happened once,” I whispered. “Once was all he got before I ran.” I blinked away the memories of living on the street for two days. Two days of homelessness was better than two seconds in that house. I would have spent two decades there if possible. I sucked in a breath. “They caught me, the people trying to help.” I laughed bitterly. “Yeah, to help. But luckily they didn’t take me back there. I got into another home where I stayed until I was old enough to escape. Or try to.” I stared at him. “Once was enough. More than enough to make sure the chains of that night would ensure escape was impossible.”

I waited for the poison to set in, for him to rear back and create distance between himself and those ugly words.

It didn’t come, the distance. Instead he yanked me to him, circling me in his embrace so tight it was as if he were trying to meld me into his body. His scent engulfed me, clean laundry mixed with tobacco and leather. It chased away the bitterness of his breath that came with the memory. His arms, instead of making me feel caged in, set me free from his grip.

He pressed his lips to my head. “Shit, Becky,” he murmured.

Too soon, he let me go. Not fully, but enough so he could meet my eyes. “Really hate that we’re havin’ this conversation in the f*ckin’ parking lot of a grocery store, but I guess that’s kind of my fault,” he said, his voice even. I didn’t miss the way he held his body, the fire burning behind his eyes.

Despite all that, I let out a small choke of laughter at his words. It was cleansing, a release of some sort. “Yeah, but is there an ideal place for you to hear that?”

His grip tightened. “No. Except in a place where time travel exists so I could go back and rip that f*cker’s dick off,” he clipped.

I shivered at the iciness of his rage, despite the fact his arms were warm around me.

He met my stare. “He got a name? You remember it?”

I laughed again. “I remember his f*cking Social Security number.” I rattled it off, my voice robotic. I’d done it for as long as I could remember. When the darkness got be too great, I concentrated on the memory, promising myself I would never forget because one day I’d use the information to get revenge.

Then he did something I didn’t expect at my words. He grinned. But not like I was used to seeing, with light and humor, making me squirm at the GQ-ness of it all. No, this one was dark, velvet evil that promised murder. And still, because I was f*cked-up, it made me squirm. “Excellent,” he hissed.

Without letting me go, he reached in his pocket and grabbed his phone, pressing a couple of buttons before putting it to his ear.

“Who are you calling?” I frowned.

He put his finger to his lips.

My eyes widened. “Did you just shush me?” I asked dangerously.

He ignored me. “Wire. Hey, bro. I need a location on a Walter Asper,” he greeted, rattling off the Social Security number I’d memorized.

There was a pause as he waited, and it hit me.

“Gabriel,” I whispered.

He kissed my head. “A second, baby,” he murmured, his eyes far away.

He stiffened as I heard the muffled voice of someone else. “Good. Text the location through to me.” There was a pause. “No, I don’t need backup.”

Then he hung up the phone.

I stared at him. “Is there a reason why you just got the location of the man who f*cked up my childhood?”

Gabriel kissed me lightly on the mouth. “Oh yes, there’s a f*cking reason.”

Releasing me from his arms, he leaned over, opened a bag on his bike, and retrieved a leather vest. He held it out to me.

I stared at it. “That doesn’t go with my outfit,” I said finally.

He looked me up and down.

I was finally able to wear tank tops and was making the most of it. Though it was little more than a scrap of fabric, I compensated for the fact it showed a lot of belly and considerable cleavage with high-waisted jeans and my signature boots.

“Yeah, as much as I don’t want to cover that up, we’re goin’ on a road trip and you need protection.”

I didn’t miss the double meaning behind his last word, but I didn’t focus on my feminism being f*cked with.

“Road trip,” I repeated.

He nodded.

“Where are we going?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

His eyes were dark. Midnight. “Can’t time travel, but we can do what should’ve been done eleven years ago,” he said, his voice velvet.

I stared at the leather. I knew what was going to happen if I took it. Where the final destination would be. It would be another mark on my soul, and I would be blackening his.