Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(93)

He glanced around the group. “Good doing business with you, gentlemen.” His eyes found mine. “As always, Miss Abrams, a pleasure. Be well.”

“The pleasure was all yours,” I snapped.

Clark turned around and got into his car. We all stood and watched it pull out of the lot.

“That guy is off his f*ckin rocker insane.” Lucky broke the silence.

“Back to the clubhouse. Now,” Cade commanded. He looked at Brock. “Bring Amy. I’m getting Gwen and Belle. We’re on lockdown until I’m satisfied this crazy f*cker means what he says.”





“I have to say I’m growing to hate these lockdowns,” Rosie declared, sipping a margarita.

I sipped my own. “Me too. As much as I love a good margarita and the quality of the company, I’m not too fond of the not being able to leave part.”

“I know, and I had a date tonight.” Rosie frowned down at her phone.

I perked up, loving to hear about Rosie’s latest men. They rivaled the revolving door I had back in my heyday. I don’t know where she found them all, considering she had an entire clubhouse full of protective older brothers.

“This guy is a professional swimmer. You should see his arms.” Her face was dreamy.

I myself thought her serial dating was an effort to forget about a certain law enforcement officer who had a serious hatred for her brother. That had dimmed slightly, however, with his fondness for Gwen and baby Belle. I suspected he still wanted to put Cade behind bars, but his friendship with Gwen had made him slightly less eager to have Belle grow up without a father. He came into the store sometimes bearing coffee and giving us some eye candy. His banter with Rosie was easy, but I caught the way she looked at him.

“Dreamier than Luke?” I asked mischievously.

Rosie’s face snapped to me. “What are you talking about?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You know what I’m talking about. It’s time you gave me the lowdown.”

Before I could get the goss Gwen plonked down beside me, snatching my glass. “So getting Belle to sleep in an unfamiliar bedroom was not the funnest thing in the world, especially when she decided that today was the day she was going to give me my first experience of projectile poo,” she declared, draining my drink.

I screwed my nose up at this. Gross.

“Luckily I’ve got good reflexes. I would have had a minor breakdown if I got crap on this dress. It’s vintage.”

Gwen didn’t look like one of those stressed out, sleep-deprived mothers with unstyled hair and a slightly crazed gaze. Her chocolate brown hair was shiny and falling around her face. Her outfit was, like always, perfect. And she had pretty much lost all of her baby weight; the extra she was still carrying actually looked good on her. The bitch.

“That’s why I’m not having kids,” I informed them. “That and I’m quite fond of how my vagina looks.”

Gwen scowled at me. “My vagina looks great! Better than before, in fact,” she argued defensively.

I patted her hand. “I’m sure it does, sweetie. You’re just an exception to the rule. It’s like playing Russian roulette with your downstairs area.”

Gwen gave me a look. “It’s also the most amazing thing, having a little human who you love more than life itself.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess you’ve got a point.” My mind wandered to how much I already loved Belle and to the day when Brock held her so tenderly. Maybe I would risk my vagina for having that with Brock.

“So,” Gwen turned to me. “Cade had no explanation as to why this was happening. Since he was in badass mode all I got were sexy grunts and orders. Spill,” she demanded, changing the subject.

“Yeah, I didn’t get any of the lowdown—even Lucky seemed grim. Tell us,” Rosie chipped in. I wondered if it was more out of motivation to get the subject away from Luke.

I sighed and filled them in on the parking lot showdown. When I was done they both gazed at me with mouths agape.

“So this guy is just handing over his freaking son? That is beyond cold. That’s crazy!” Rosie exclaimed with a disgusted look on her face.

“Yep,” I agreed, unable to believe this was my life. We were in a biker clubhouse talking about the man who tortured me getting handed over to my boyfriend by his own father. My boyfriend, the sergeant in arms of said motorcycle club, was most likely going to kill said torturer. This way a far cry from sitting around a table in Manhattan drinking overpriced cocktails and talking about the latest it bag. Granted, I had been away from my island for over a year and this isn’t the first time I was involved in a club ‘lockdown’, but it was the first time I was smack dab in the middle of it. I frowned at the empty glass, feeling slightly miffed at Gwen for draining it. This, like so many problems in my life, was a job for alcohol. Glancing at Gwen I realized she might have needed it more than me.

“You okay, Gwennie?” I asked softly.

She jerked up, her eyes focusing on me. “Oh yeah, it’s all in the job description of being an old lady, right? Discussing a father setting up his own son’s murder. A murder my husband will most likely be involved in.”

“I still think I’d rather live this life than have to face nightly dinners with my mother,” I replied honestly and Rosie smirked.