Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(91)

“What the f*ck do you want?” I hissed angrily.

This was not okay. Could I not enjoy something as mundane as a trip to the grocery store without getting stalked by my ex-kidnapper?

He held his manicured hands up to placate me. “I’m not here to hurt you, Miss Abrams, nor do I intend to disrupt your life any more than I have to,” he stated calmly.

I snorted, gripping the pasta jar. “Yeah, right. I’m going to believe a sociopath who kidnapped and tortured me when he assures me I’m safe. Do I look like I’m on crack?” I asked sarcastically, ignoring the fear curling in my stomach.

Clark regarded me. “I do regret that course of action more than you know, considering I lost ten of my men.” He didn’t seem too broken up about it.

“Sorry, should I have sent you condolence flowers?” I spat, feeling momentarily stunned at how many guys the Sons had managed to off.

Clark sighed. “As much as I enjoy this banter, Miss Abrams, I’m pressed for time. I’d like for you to do something for me.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. Maybe this guy was on crack.

“Are you suffering from syphilis?” I asked seriously.

A chink in Clark’s emotionless fa?ade showed when he looked visibly confused. “I’m not sure I follow the reason for asking such a question.”

“Well, insanity is a common symptom of the disease. Just ask Henry the Eighth. I’m thinking that waltzing up to me while I’m doing my grocery shopping, treating me like a business acquaintance and asking me a favor after detaining and nearly killing me is nothing short of insanity,” I explained.

Clark’s jaw twitched. “I do enjoy you, Miss Abrams. Under other circumstances I feel I would have enjoyed you in many other ways.”

Ick.

“The situation the way it is, I feel that course of action has passed. What I would like you to do is call your boyfriend for me,” he requested calmly.

“Yeah I’ll get right on that, after I call the police and tell them a murderer and kidnapper is shooting the breeze with me in the parking lot of the supermarket,” I said, fumbling through my bag for my phone. If only I had something useful in there like a taser or a gun. The only thing I had that could do some damage was some questionable lipstick colors.

Clark stepped forward and I retreated, smacking my head on the trunk of my car. I ignored the lancing pain through my skull and focused on the fact I was not getting freakin’ kidnapped again.

“I would urge you the refrain from calling the authorities. We have existed without them thus far and I think that should be the way we continue, considering I could tie your boyfriend and his gang to ten murders,” he threatened softly.

“Club,” I blurted automatically. “They’re a motorcycle club.”

“Whatever they are, their efforts to sabotage my business and kill me are getting a little irritating. All I want is to talk to them and unfortunately I don’t have many channels to do so. You are my only option.”

“Yeah, so I’m just going to call them and tell them to come and have a little meeting with you and the twenty or so guys you have hidden somewhere to shoot them. Not gonna happen, no matter how much you get your little knife boy to try and persuade me otherwise.” I crossed my arms defiantly.

My gaze wandered around the parking lot. A couple of people were walking in and out with their groceries. But they looked like normal, everyday people. I couldn’t expect them to come to my rescue against a crime lord.

Clark’s gaze watched my scan of the parking lot. “I give you my word that I am here alone, apart from my driver. I have no intention of turning this street into a warzone. I’m not into that kind of attention.”

I chewed my lip, not trusting him for a second. I didn’t want to put the men in danger. But I had a feeling he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

I glared at him. “If you’re lying and one of those men gets hurt, I swear to you I’ll find a way to burn your tasteless mansion to the ground with you inside it,” I hissed.

Clark nodded.

I pulled out my phone.

“Babe,” Brock answered.

“I thought we talked about this. That’s not a way to answer the phone Brock. ‘Babe’ is not a substitute for greetings, answers to questions or explanations for actions,” I said automatically.

“Okay. Hello, my beautiful, vivacious Amy, how are you?” he murmured.

I eyed Clark. “I’m not the best since I’m currently sharing the same air of Clark Devon and he won’t let me leave, which means my ice cream is going to melt,” I informed him calmly.

I heard his sharp indrawn breath, then curse. “Jesus, Amy, why in the f*ck was that not the first thing you said?” he yelled and I flinched slightly. “Where are you?” His voice was laced with fury.

“In the parking lot of Trader Joes,” I said. “Clark seems to want to have a meeting with you and the boys and it seems I’m his unwilling secretary. He’s not my idea of a suitable employer—his health benefits suck,” I told him, glaring at the pompous psychopath in front of me.

I heard Brock barking orders in the background. “We’ll be there in five,” he paused. “Are you okay, baby?” his voice was soft.

“I’m fine. Pissed off, but fine.”