Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(97)

He clutched my neck roughly, the first time he’d made such a sudden movement since… then. “I f*ckin’ want you,” he growled. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think that. I want you any way I can have you. Always will,” he promised.

I’d nodded. “Okay” was all I’d been able to choke out.

Rosie was equal parts happy and sad about this turn of events. We’d spent the previous night having a ceremonial good-bye to being roommates. It was bittersweet. In fact, I’d had a tiny freak-out while watching a documentary about inmates on death row.

“I can’t do this,” I said suddenly.

“What? Watch this? This is like crème de la crème of our documentaries,” she replied, her eyes on the screen.

I turned to face her. “No, I can’t do this. Go and play house with a f*cking biker who wants to save me. Who I want but can’t have because I can’t find a moment of f*cking quiet in my head, and if I can’t find that he can’t give it to me. No one can. I’m just bringing him into my freak show. I can’t do that. I have to leave. To run. Do you ‘have a guy’ who does passports?” I asked seriously, beginning to panic.

“Of course I do,” she said. “But I’m not calling him. You don’t need to run. I won’t let you, and Lucky sure as shit won’t.”

“But I can’t. I can’t take what he’s offering.”

“It’s not him who’s offering anything,” she said. “Quiet is a gift. So is peace. And love. And salvation.” She eyed me, the glitter-rimmed lashes not hiding the wisdom behind those baby blues. “They’re all gifts you’ve gotta give yourself before anyone else can.”

“How can I find quiet when my demons scream at night? How can I find peace when chaos is all I know? How can I love myself when I can barely stand the feeling of my own skin?” I paused, sucking in a strangled breath. “How can I find salvation when I’m already damned?” I wiped away a tear angrily. Angry that I let it escape, at the vulnerability in my voice, the fact I’d just let myself be so weak. “Jesus,” I muttered. “I sound like a f*cking Britney Spears song.”

She reached across the sofa to squeeze my hand. “Sweetheart, salvation only comes to the damned.” She grinned. “Hey, sometimes the best wisdom is hidden in catchy pop songs.”

So she convinced me to not flee the country.

Barely.

And I tried to give myself peace.

I got it when I moved into Gabriel’s small but warm house by the sea. It mirrored the little cabin that felt like it existed in a dream but it lacked the boho vibe of the other one. This was all rock and roll and all Gabriel.

All my fears melted away the second we got inside.

“Welcome home, baby,” he murmured quietly from behind me.

“Yeah,” I replied, looking at the ocean through his living room window. “Home.”

Then I moved my gaze to him, or more precisely, his denim-encased ass. And I got it. A flutter. A twinge that made me want to do something about it. Then came the dirt, chasing away whatever good feeling had been there.

He bent down behind the breakfast bar so he was out of sight but started talking. “I thought we’d start this off right,” he called.

Then he lifted two heavy coolers onto the bar, grinning from ear to ear.

“Please don’t tell me there’s body parts in there.” I nodded to the white containers.

His grin widened. “Of course not,” he said. “Red is for body parts, white is for food.” He tapped the side.

I shook my head and wandered to the breakfast bar to get a better look.

“I present to you our dinner, breakfast, and lunch for the next seventeen months,” he said, eyes on me.

The he took the lid off both bins. Inside, amongst the ice, were cartons of Chunky Monkey. A crap ton.

I gaped at them. Then at him.

“You were serious?” I asked.

He nodded. “I’m always serious about two things, frozen goods and my firefly.” He paused. “And Golden Girls,” he added.

I smiled at him. Actually smiled at the warmth he was spreading just by being him.

“There she is,” he murmured, his eyes dancing with demons.

Before the moment could get too much, he shut the lids.

“Right,” he declared. “I’ll take these out to the big freezer, move some body parts around, and be back.” He gave me a look. “I’ll give you some quiet just to, you know, settle.” His arms pulsed lifting the coolers and I tried not to drool as he walked into the door leading to his attached garage.

Rosie was right. Quiet was only something you got if you let it in.

And I let it in.

It was nice.

For about five minutes.

Then the noise came back.

It was when I was unpacking my things in Gabriel’s walk-in closet. Yes, he had a walk-in closet. I’d called him on it, not five minutes before.

“It came with the house,” he protested.

I’d grinned and shook my head and he went to get us beers. Or him a beer and me a soda. I was still swearing off any mind-altering substance. Well, not any, considering I’d just moved in with the most dangerous substance of them all.

Whatever.