Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(74)

I scowled at him. “You have no f*cking idea what I need,” I hissed, anger starting to bubble past everything else in my mind, which was good.

“Got some idea,” he replied mildly.

I stepped forward. “What? Those eyes have some kind of magical mind-reading power?”

“Nope.” He moved his hand to his pocket and threw me the small item.

I caught it on reflex. I stared at him a beat, then moved my attention to the small plastic object in my hand.

“Four years sober,” he said quietly.

My head snapped up at his words.

“No one’s demons are the same. Helps to know that people other than you are fighting their own, though.”

I continued to stare at him in disbelief. Then I moved my gaze back down to the chip in my hands, contemplating it. I couldn’t fathom it. Since Lily had hooked up with Asher—and, by extension, the Sons of Templar MC—I had met almost all of the men in the club. Got to know them. One rather intimately. They were all strong, solid. Dauntless. And most could be romance cover models. That was neither here nor there. I never considered any one of them having the weakness that I was ashamed to possess.

And if I could have picked one, Gage would have been my last. Granted, his icy eyes were unsettling, and sometimes almost devoid of anything human, but he seemed stoic, unflappable.

“Shoes,” he repeated.

I wanted to argue, throw sass. Stamp my feet. Anything but actually agree to go. But something in his gaze, in his admission, had me throwing the chip back to him and soundlessly padding to my room to put on shoes.



“Does anyone else know? About you?” I asked after we’d been driving in silence for a good ten minutes.

Gage had silently waited for me to put on my wedged sneakers—not for everyone, but I thought they were kick-ass—and quickly change my top.

I wanted to swamp myself in another huge baggy hoodie like the one I had been wearing before Gage made me spill soda all over it. I wanted to cover every inch of my body in something shapeless that I could hide behind.

I didn’t.

I wouldn’t.

I wouldn’t give those men power over me. What they did to me irrevocably scarred my soul, my insides. There was no changing that. But I would not let them stop me from at least outwardly being who I used to be. Even if the tight black jeans and cropped racer-back tee were an illusion of strength, a way of denying the depth of those scars, so be it.

I hadn’t been able to look in the mirror. I couldn’t be confronted with myself again. I felt dirty looking at my scantily clad body. The shower was the worst, naked and exposed to it all. I fixed that by putting the water to scalding and scrubbing myself until I was raw. I had three showers a day. It was an improvement on a week before when I damn near lived in the thing. Rosie and Lily hadn’t said a word about it.

“No,” Gage replied roughly, his voice jerking me back to the present.

I glanced at his profile in the cab of his truck. “It’s a secret?”

Gage kept his eyes on the road. “No secret. My shit’s my shit. I keep it tight,” he replied.

“Are you going to tell me that if I tell anyone, you’ll have to kill me?” I asked, only half joking. I had an inkling that Gage wouldn’t hesitate in killing someone. Maybe not people he cared about, but something about him was chilling. At the same moment, I felt weirdly at ease around him. Maybe because I, like him, was f*cked-up. In a way there was no going back from.

Gage looked at me sideways. “Tell people. Don’t tell people. I don’t give a f*ck. Though, I doubt you’re around anyone to be runnin’ your mouth. You’ve shut yourself off from everyone. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I get it.” He paused. “It’s just harder being alone with your problems. Took me a f*ck of a long time to realize that.”

I chewed over his words. “Why are you taking me? Why are you here?” I asked finally, deciding not to talk about the being alone part. That I’d be going it alone as soon as I could muster the courage to get back on stage again. Earn again.

He met my eyes. “Been through a lot of shit, babe. Shit that would give most normal people nightmares rest of their life.” He moved his gaze to the windshield, seeing something other than the road in front of us. “That day. A month ago. It was some shit. The worst kind. I admire the hell outta you. You’ve managed to somehow get back on your feet after that. But I’ve been worried ’bout how long you’re gonna stay upright without someone steppin’ in,” he paused again. “Not talkin’ ’bout your girls, know they’ve got your back. I’m talkin’ ’bout someone who knows what it’s like to crave the needle. The fix. Crave it more than your next breath. Don’t know what the other hell you’re going through is like.” He visibly flinched. “Can’t imagine it in my own nightmares. I can’t see how dealing with those demons, plus the hunger for the fix, is taking you anyplace good. So I’m here,” he explained.

I stared at him for a long moment, a prickly sensation under my skin at the fact he’d taken it upon himself to help me. To be there for me. It was foreign. Unwelcome. And at the same time, it filled me with warmth.

“Thank you,” I whispered finally, looking out the window. “I’m not closing my eyes or chanting, and if anyone tries to hug me I’ll throat-punch them,” I added defiantly as we pulled into the parking lot of a church.