Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(78)

“There’s nothing I can do to stop it. To fix it. That’ll haunt me to my dying breath. There’s nothing I can do but love you. And kill every last person on this planet who had a hand in hurting you. I’ll do it, babe. Every single person is going to die by my hand, I promise you that. But you gotta make me a promise. They’ll die by my hand, but I gotta live by yours. I’ve got no right to ask anything of you, but I’m doin’ it. Humans are hardwired to do whatever it takes to survive.” His gaze burned into me. “So here I stand, doing the only thing I can to survive. Touching the only f*ckin’ thing in the world that’ll keep me breathing, other than the thirst for blood. I can’t exist on that thirst alone, or I’ll fall back into that hole I clawed my way out of fifteen years ago. I know this time, if I go anywhere near that thing, I ain’t comin’ out. So I’m here. Survivin’.”

His words were bullets, shattering me into smaller pieces. I couldn’t do this, be reminded of his demons, try to conquer them while struggling with my own. It was one or the other. And for someone who spent her whole life with the singular goal to take care of herself, to survive, I was finding myself wanting to do the opposite. To save him. To give him what he wanted, even if it destroyed me.

“I’m going,” he said, searching my eyes.

My body sagged. Staving off destruction for another day.

“But for today. Not forever. I’ll be back here every f*ckin’ day for the rest of forever if that’s what it takes. To remind you that everything may have changed, turned ugly, broken. Everything but what I feel for you.”

His newly foreign eyes burned into me for a second more, and then he was gone.

I stayed standing until the door closed behind him.

Then I crumbled to the floor.





One week later


“See you next week,” Gage said as I unbuckled my seatbelt.

“Yeah, can’t wait,” I muttered.

We had just gone to another meeting, and despite my flippant attitude, it helped. Not with the dirt, the feeling of filth—nothing would help that. But with the cravings I was ashamed of. The cravings I sometimes questioned whether I was strong enough to fight. Whether it was worth fighting.

I glanced up at him. “They don’t… suck,” I said, my voice contradicting the sarcasm of earlier.

Gage only nodded.

I swallowed, my eyes going to the ribbons of scars on his arms. “Is that from junk?” I asked, nodding to them.

He glanced down, his face turning hard. “Everything’s because of junk, isn’t it? When it all boils down to it. The good, the bad, the ugly. Everything after that first taste is a result of that choice.”

I was taken aback by his answer. Or lack of it. Maybe he hadn’t explained his scars, but he had explained something exponentially more profound.

“Yeah, it is,” I whispered. “A biker and a philosopher,” I mused.

Gage stared at me. “What happened to you, that wasn’t your fault,” he said, his voice impossibly soft.

I gave him a long look. I didn’t do this. I didn’t talk about those three weeks. Not with anyone. Not Rosie. Not Lily. Not the f*cking therapist Lily kept insisting I should see. Not Sarah who treated me, no matter how understanding she may seem.

People may seem understanding, like they want to help. Talk. But once I unveiled the truth, the ugly, vile truth, there wouldn’t be any understanding. There wouldn’t be anyone there to help.

“Whatever you say, big guy,” I muttered, hiding behind sarcasm.

I went to get out of the truck, but a hand on my shoulder stopped me.

“I don’t want to put this on you. Understand you’ve got your reasons why you’re doing this, but he’s my brother,” he started, and my body stiffened. “He’s f*cked-up, babe. It’s tearing him apart, not being able to see you. Help you.”

I laughed, a bitter, ugly sound. “That’s where he’s wrong. He can’t help me. The best thing he can do for both of us is forget me. The best thing I can do for him is to make him forget me,” I told him coldly. I jerked my shoulder out of his grasp, jumping out the door before he could tear any more of my wounds wide open.

Because I had so hastily gotten out and slammed the door, I didn’t hear what he muttered while he watched me storm into Lily’s house.

“Problem is he’ll never forget you.”



“Bex,” Lily yelled from the kitchen. “Do you want another piece of pie?”

“Do you even know me at all?” I yelled back, cradling my hot chocolate and staring at the waves.

Yes, hot chocolate. I was sipping it with a million marshmallows like I was a five-year-old. I would have loved a nice eight-dollar bottle of Pinot, but I didn’t think that was a good idea.

I heard someone enter the room, assuming it was Lily, I didn’t move my gaze from the perusal of the waves. “God, I hope one day I’ll have enough of a hold on this addiction beast that I’ll be able to indulge in cheap crappy wine,” I exclaimed. “If not, just shoot me now.”

“I think my wife and best friend may object to that course of action,” a deep voice answered.

I moved my sheepish glance to Asher, who was leaning on the doorframe of the conservatory of his and Lily’s home. The place I’d come to consider my home. The only one I’d ever had. Where Faith lived in the walls, her paintings, her energy still holding her life force, despite the fact she was gone.