Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(31)

The anger I felt at that statement had me wanting to scream. Also, the fact he was right on the money had me terrified.

“Fuck you!” I yelled, opening my door. “Get out of my house this instant before I call the police and inform them some biker * is trying to rob me.”

Maybe I was being a touch dramatic, but the fact his words hit close to home was a stark reminder of the last time I opened myself up. I wasn’t getting hurt again. I had the feeling this one had the potential to hurt me a whole lot more than Ian.

“Calm the f*ck down, babe,” Brock responded to my hysterics with an even voice, his eyes on me. He seemed almost amused. “You don’t threaten to call the pigs on me ever. Do that again and I’ll put you over my knee.”

The erotic glint in his eyes had me wanting that. Bad. I shook my head. This guy was arrogant and infuriating.

“Ugh, I can’t believe I even considered letting a Neanderthal, cocky, criminal * into my bed. I won’t be making that mistake again. Now get. The. Fuck. Out.”

I was breathing heavily, expecting him to rush at me and spank me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it. But I was serious. I did need him to get out. This was an emotional overload I didn’t need.

Brock’s face hardened at my words. “I can’t believe I bothered sticking my dick in some uppity, snooty bitch. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t be coming near you again.” His voice was as cold as his expression as he stormed out of my room.

I started to go after him, to say what I didn’t know, but I stopped outside my door as his words sank in.

That had escalated way quickly. I still had hot fury running through me at his macho possessive actions and his assurance that I was ”his” after having sex a couple of times. I wasn’t ready for someone to claim me, to own me. I didn’t know when I’d ever be ready for that. I might know what dress I’d wear if the time ever came, but I didn’t know much else.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” a soft voice asked. I whipped my head around to see Gwen standing in her robe, looking at me with concern.

“Yes, I’m fine. Brock’s just an *,” I said quickly, trying to act breezy. I’m pretty sure I fell flat.

Gwen furrowed her brows. “You’ve been avoiding this subject around me for too long, Amy.” Her tone meant business as she directed me into our sitting room.

Due to my delicate emotional state it only took gentle prodding for me to spill the entire Ian situation to her. Well, not the entire situation. I may have told a white lie and said his name was Tom and that he was one of Tripp’s friends, but the premise was the same. I told her I met him, had the whole “love at first sight” thing and he broke my heart after ditching me for the war. I wasn’t ready to tell Gwen about her brother and me. I just didn’t know how to tell her since it had been so long. So I was a coward and lied again. It felt even worse when she blamed herself for not being there for me during the whole ordeal. My guilt weighed even heavier as she gave me advice and was just an all-around awesome best friend.

I did feel a little bit lighter having shared some of my secrets with Gwen, albeit not the full story. That didn’t last for long when she casually mentioned Ian’s arrival this week. Fate was cruel. Maybe it was karma for the time I drank all of my father’s thirty-seven year old whisky and replaced it with colored water. Or when I was fifteen and scratched my mom’s Mercedes and then let the valet take the heat. Whatever it was had me feeling sick all week. I couldn’t sleep knowing I had to face him. Especially now when I was so confused with what was happening with Brock.





CHAPTER FIVE


Present Day


“Senora?” A timid voice penetrated my thoughts.

I blinked and sat up in my chair, bracing myself for something, anything. I had been so deep in my thoughts I hadn’t even noticed that someone had entered the room. Not the best when being held captive. Note to self. Be more aware of surroundings.

My alarm was quelled slightly when I met the kind eyes of the Mexican woman who had served me at breakfast. She was now smiling nervously at me.

“Lunch. You must eat, Senora.”

She put a tray down on the table beside me, my mouth watering at the smell of the food. Without conscious effort my hand snatched the cup of coffee off the tray. Well, I guess my hunger strike wasn’t going to last. I’d probably go through withdrawals if deprived of coffee much longer.

I glanced up at the woman, who was standing in front of me as if to make sure I was going to consume the food she had presented me. “What’s your name?” I asked her, picking up my fork.

“Lucy,” she responded nervously, watching my hand as I speared a piece of chicken off the plate.

“I’m Amy,” I told her, putting the food in my mouth. I felt rude, but I was starving and it was either that or start gnawing on my own arm.

“Yes, Miss Abrams, I know.” Her face had relaxed a bit after seeing me take my first bite.

“Did you make this?” I asked, pointing with my fork. She nodded nervously.

“It’s delicious, thank you.” I told her genuinely. The poor woman’s shoulders sagged at this, as if her fate depended on her chicken salad.

“Are you—” I started to ask her if she was a captive as well, but I didn’t quite know how to word it without spooking her. “Do you work here?”