Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(73)

It was crumbling willpower that stopped me. The determination not to go anywhere near the man who held what was left of my ashy heart. The man who led the dirty life but was squeaky clean. I couldn’t see him. Look at his easy smile, get hypnotized by his eyes, let his strong arms touch me. It would make the dirt visible, unbearable.

I was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, sucking on a Diet Coke with my eyes glued to the TV. I was doing my best to ignore the constant itch and focus on the dull burning in my arm from the tattoo. It was comforting, having constant pain to focus on.

Lily had managed to text me after we’d dropped her off at home.



Lily: Asher is not going to kill you. In fact, he says he’s eternally grateful to you for being so impulsive and rash.



I’d grinned at the phone. So the biker didn’t mind his little flower getting marked. Though it wasn’t surprising since she’d inked their wedding date on her wrist in roman numerals.

Rosie had gotten a peace sign, made from birch and flowers, with a gun pointed at it, also threaded with roses. That’s something a therapist would have loved to dissect. Me, I gave her a thumbs-up and let her be. If she wanted to tell me, she would.

Because my attention was so transfixed on meerkat mating rituals, I didn’t even notice the door opening and closing, or the footsteps in the hall. Well, I noticed but I didn’t decipher that the footfalls were not gentle clicks from Rosie’s heels, but hard thumps from motorcycle boots.

Given my track record, it was probably a bad thing being that unaware, but whatever.

“Get up,” a deep voice ordered.

I jumped, or more likely crawled, out of my skin and spilled Diet Coke everywhere at the unexpected presence.

My heartbeat returned to normal when I realized it was not a murderer standing in front of me.

I glared at him. “What’s your f*cking trauma? Ever heard of knocking?” I hissed. “Or announcing yourself when you enter a room?” I added, standing and trying to wipe the sticky soda off my hoodie.

Gage stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed. “I thought the slamming of the door might have given you notice that someone was entering the house.”

I glared at him. “I assumed it was Rosie—you know, the woman who actually lives here? Most other, normal humans who don’t reside in a dwelling knock to alert their presence.” I stomped into the kitchen to get a cloth to wipe up my mess.

Gage’s eyes followed me. “Would you have answered if I knocked?” he asked in a flat voice.

Good point.

Since I had gotten back from my little holiday at Thousand Acres or New Beginnings or whatever the f*ck it was called, I had sequestered myself in Rosie’s house. Luckily she was totally down with that, and dutifully watched David Attenborough documentaries—I’d moved on from serial killers—with me whenever she was home, which was a lot. When she wasn’t here, it was Lily.

Now and then, it was Gwen and Amy, or Lizzie, with her two weird kids, who I kind of liked. Despite the fact I hated kids.

Other than that, I did not see anyone else. I knew there was a Harley constantly parked outside Rosie’s house, though I didn’t peek often, just in case I caught a glimpse of him.

“That’s the whole point of knocking,” I informed him. “You give the person inside the choice to answer or not.”

“You don’t need that choice. You’re coming with me. We’re going to a meeting,” he declared.

My eyebrow rose, the only outward reaction to his words. Inside, my stomach dropped and my mouth went dry. “A meeting?” I repeated.

He nodded. “Yep. Get shoes on.”

I didn’t move. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to go to a meeting,” I informed him sharply.

He didn’t move. “I didn’t ask whether you wanted to or not. I said we’re going.”

I felt my hackles rise at yet another alpha throwing his weight around. It was better than the shame of every single one of these people knowing about me. Knowing what I was. An addict.

“You can’t make me,” I declared, crossing my arms and regarding him with defiance. With confidence I was faking.

He could. He mostly certainly could make me do whatever he wanted me to do. The thought soured in my stomach and made my skin crawl. He was big. Every biker in the goddamn club was big. Not all were tall like this motherf*cker but almost all were built like brick shithouses. Some of the older members had let themselves go and a beer belly covered what would’ve been a healthy six-pack in their heyday, But even with the extra pounds they held muscle. I could only think of two men who didn’t conform to the ‘must be muscled and menacing to enter badass club’ rule. Wire, the skinny guy who constantly had an energy drink in his hands and spent most of his times with computers, and Skid, the gangly prospect I’d met what felt like years before.

Gage was like neither of them. He was much taller than me, but that wasn’t saying much.

He was attractive, another rule of the club. Though it was in a darker way than most of the other men. They were badass motherf*ckers, don’t get me wrong, but there was a hardness to Gage that I recognized. His muscled arms were decorated with various ribbons of scars, a hint at the reason for the dark that lay beyond those eyes.

“I could,” he answered, reading my mind. “But I won’t,” he added and, despite myself, I deflated slightly. “You need to go.”