Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(93)

He stood, striding over to me. His hands settled at my hips, stilling me. “I’m not takin’ it away from you, Becky,” he murmured.

I bit my lip. “That’s what it feels like.”

He reached up to stroke my face. “Yeah, well, it’s not that. It’s me havin’ a piece of you where I can see it. Remind myself that you’re here. That you’re fighting. That you made it through. I’ve got all that tattooed on the inside, but it’s gnarly and ugly.” His hand skimmed past the tattoo to hold my wrist. “I need somethin’ different on the outside. Just like you do.”

My anger fizzled away quickly as his words touched me. And his hands touched me. And it didn’t feel dirty or wrong.

It was right.

Maybe slightly f*cked-up, but it was right.



The next day, Gabriel got the tattoo.

The f*cking next day. And he got it on the only blank space he had—above his heart, where the scar of the bullet wound marred his smooth skin. He’d insisted I be there, to hold his hand.

But really, I needed him there to hold mine as I watched Lex cover the evidence of the past. Of both of our little deaths.

We’d gone back to my place, me on the back of his bike. I could do that now, ride on the back. Have my whole body pressed against his without drowning in the filth of the contact. It was still there, but I could paddle in it.

His fingers twined in mine as we opened the door to Rosie’s place. Once he knew I could handle that contact, he made sure to keep us connected almost every second we were together.

Which was a lot these days. He came over every night and watched movies, or watched me watch movies. His gaze was electric and weary, like he was waiting for something. For me to break, maybe. Or for someone to try and break me again. I didn’t miss the way his eyes scouted all public spaces we went to together, how he insist he do a ‘walk-through’ of Rosie’s before I went in. Which was what he released my hands to do now.

I knew they were on the revenge train. It was kind of hard to miss the previous week’s news that the entire Tucker family had died in a ‘tragic fire’ at their family compound.

I hadn’t mentioned it to Gabriel. Not yet. Because they were very intent on getting revenge for me. I was even more intent on getting it for myself. I just didn’t know how to do that. Luckily, Rosie ‘knew people’ and had ‘put out feelers.’

I had a feeling that chick had a lot more to her than ever-changing outfits and a revolving dating door.

A lot.

So I was playing the part. The one of the woman who needed the men in cuts to fight her battles for her. One in particular. I knew he needed it to somehow find comfort in the darkness, just like me. Because he was healing too, and I wanted to give him that. But I wanted to take it for myself.

“No monsters hiding in my closet?” I asked, folding my arms as he walked back to the front door.

He grinned wickedly. “Oh, there’s plenty. But they’re friendly.”

I wish.

“So,” he started, stepping forward, “do you want help packing, or will it break some kind of chick rule for me to handle your unmentionables?” His gaze went hooded. “Though if it doesn’t, I’m requesting that exact job.”

I scowled at him. “I’m not moving in with you,” I told him firmly.

“Yes, you are,” he argued.

I restrained my urge to fight, to swear my way out of this situation. Namely because I didn’t want to fight with Gabriel. We were both fighting enough battles; we didn’t need to fight each other. So I took a breath, glancing down at our boots, inches away from each other. “I have to figure myself out before I can give you anything. I have to find out who I am without the drugs, without the stripping, without the filth. That new person is just being made, coming to life after I died those months ago.” I found my strength and glanced into his glittering eyes. “Because that’s what happened. I died. A part of me. A big f*cking part. The part I held most precious because it was the part I thought had survived everything. Would survive everything.” I paused, sucking in a breath. “I need to find a way to come back to life before I can make anything with you. I need time,” I whispered.

His eyes still glittered, twinkled with emotion that I couldn’t place, and his usually expressive face was blank, the small twitch in his jaw the only thing distinguishing him from a statue. That and the way my blood sang for him, yearned for him.

He stepped forward, so close his body brushed mine and I was engulfed in his musky scent. He didn’t touch me, though, at least not physically. Though he held me just the same, every inch of me, whoever ‘me’ was.

“You didn’t die,” he rasped, his voice like sandpaper. He lifted his hand and trailed it lightly down my cheek, his eyes watching its progress. “You, my little firefly, turned into a chrysalis, a cocoon that protected that soft, beautiful part of you that somehow survived what would destroy most people.” His hand moved down to my collarbone. “It took a while for the outer parts of you to heal, but now you’re comin’ out of that cocoon, becoming what you’ve always been. Evolving into something more beautiful than before.” He took a breath. “You need time to get to know this new beautiful thing you’ve turned into, you got it. You want to learn to love the woman you see in the mirror every day, fine with me.” His hand circled my neck and pulled me gently so our foreheads were touching and his eyes burned into mine. “You can have all of that, but I’m not going anywhere. You see, I’ve always known that beautiful thing you’ve turned into, always seen it. And I don’t need to learn to love the woman you see in the mirror.” His nose rubbed against mine and I struggled to breathe. “’Cause I already do. Have since the moment you talked about nuts covered in piss.”