Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(86)
I blinked at him. “Okay, I have no clue what you’re talking about, but this quote isn’t from a zombie show. It’s from a book. Ever heard of them?”
He pretended to ponder. “They’re just like really long magazines, right? Without the pictures?”
I wanted to smile. I almost did. That stupid little line gave me hope that Gabriel was still there. That this stranger was temporary and I hadn’t damned him for eternity.
My hope was quashed when he stepped forward. When the stranger stepped forward and Gabriel disappeared. He made sure not to touch me.
“Why, babe?” He nodded down to the ink.
I swallowed. “I’m covered in scars that I didn’t get a choice in.” I glanced down at the one on my arm from where the handcuffs had scraped my wrist almost to the bone. “Most of them you can’t see. Which is good ’cause if you could, that’s all you’d ever see. The ribbons of scarred skin, the ruins of me. I wanted to put something permanent there that I designed, that I controlled. I’ve got a mostly blank canvas on the outside, so maybe if I cover it with beauty I can disguise the ugly, even from myself.”
He stood there for a long time after I said those words, digesting them. “I hate this,” he rasped, his voice rough with emotion. “That you can’t see that you are beautiful, with or without the ink. Though, I can admit, the prospect of you covered is f*ckin’ brilliant.” He gazed at me. “I hate that this darkness has settled over you, swallowed you so you’re blind to your magnificence.”
I stared at him. “I hate it too. But it’s life. And I’m here. And that’s it,” I whispered.
“I’m gonna get you out, baby. If that’s the last thing I do, I’ll tear you out of the shadow of this f*cking thing.”
I stared at him. “That’s the thing. I don’t need the light, and I don’t need saving. I’m learning to love this darkness because I’ve realized it’s always going to be me. There’s no changing what they did, only learning to accept what they made me. What I’ve turned into to survive. And I think the only place I can survive is the hell I’m in. I’ll make it homey, chuck in some throw pillows. I think I can survive here. Maybe even live, actually live. Not as the same person I was before, but as someone who kind of resembles her.” I glanced down at my arm. “Or maybe someone completely different, a whole new stranger I’ll get to know. Either way, I’ve got to find a way to embrace it all. The ugly, shitty, and uglier.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“If I can’t bring my Becky back into the light, then I’ll just have to make the dark comfortable as f*ck. Make it better than before. If you’re settling into hell, then I’ll make it our own version of heaven. Let the darkness come.”
This was a lot.
Too much.
“Why do we always have these conversations in f*cking parking lots?” I huffed.
He shrugged. “’Cause mostly our shit’s too big to be contained in one room. We need the open air to swallow it up, give us a chance to breathe. And we will. Breathe, that is.” He leaned in to take the keys from me. His tattooed hand just brushed mine, but it was enough to set my skin afire with ice. I stepped back, hitting the side of my car.
He pretended to ignore that and unlocked it for me, putting the keys in the ignition. “Go home, babe. Breathe,” he ordered softly. “’Cause I know this, us, even without the monsters in your head, is hard for you to fathom. So go have some time. Some. Not a lot. Then we’ll take it slow. Take the darkness. Make it ours.”
He moved forward, like he wanted to kiss me. I stiffened and he caught himself. Instead he gave me a stiff nod and walked away.
I watched the leather of his cut as he did so. Watched the darkness trail behind him like invisible smoke only I could see.
I sucked in a breath. Then another one.
Then I got in the car. And it wasn’t empty. It was full with my monsters. The ones I was yet to tame.
Lucky
He leaned forward on the table, clenching his fists. “She can’t deal with anyone touching her,” he bit out. He kept his head down but felt the atmosphere in the room change. “Even Lily. Her f*ckin’ best friend. Says she can’t even stand her touch. Makes her feel dirty,” he spat, his body shaking. He snapped his head up, meeting his president’s troubled gaze. “Why the f*ck don’t I have anyone to punish for that, Cade? Someone whose skin I can rip off their f*ckin’ face? It’s been weeks. And I don’t get that. It’s easy. Track down scumbags. Kill scumbags. Rinse, repeat.”
Weeks of false leads. Of sitting on his f*cking hands, going insane. That’s what it felt like. His sanity came back and forward.
He’d lost it the second he found out from Gage that she was going to be stripping. Jesus, he’d put his hands on her, in anger. He’d made her feel dirty. He’d put that look on her face, the one that would go along with the other images of her in that room, chipping away at his sanity.
He was surprised he’d lasted that long without going around the bend. Giving in completely and utterly to the darkness that had beckoned him since he’d kicked that door in.
She’d stopped him from welcoming it, knowing she’d need him. He f*ckin’ needed her, more than anything. Those snatched minutes he’d had on her doorstep weren’t enough—f*ck, he didn’t even know if havin’ her chained to his side would be enough—but they were something. They took the edge off. When he saw her strength, saw glimpses of his old Becky glistening through the cracks of the new, beautiful, broken one, he had hope. Found some strength of his own. He needed her more than breath. Even more than revenge. But he still wanted that. He needed it if he was going to avoid a padded room.