Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(95)

His eyes never left mine as he continued. “I thought that’s what you wanted. Then when he died it f*cked with my head. I hated that you were hurting, feeling pain. A sick, f*cked-up part of me was almost glad he was out of the picture, then I realized I would always be second best. That curdled in my stomach for awhile. So I let you push me away. Tried to get over you. I couldn’t. That night at Cade and Gwen’s wedding you looked so beautiful, so f*cking perfect. I knew I wouldn’t give a shit if I was your second choice. I wouldn’t care if I was your tenth choice as long as I had you.” He grasped my neck. “This isn’t all you, babe. But let’s leave all that shit behind us and focus on the now, okay?”

I nodded, feeling lighter and happy. “’Kay.”





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


The next day I was sitting on the couch at the clubhouse bored as shit. Gwen was napping with Belle, Rosie was nowhere to be found and the main room was uncharacteristically empty. The menfolk had gone off to do god knows what. Probably to prepare a torture room for Rafe or sharpen their knives. I was of two minds about the fact my boyfriend was preparing to commit murder. Obviously Rafe was f*cked in the head and a serial killer; he deserved to see justice for his crimes. But this was murder. Brock and the men had appointed themselves judge, jury and executioner. It was a weird lifestyle to get my head around. The law and courts weren’t who decided justice for them. They were.

Something that I was loath to admit was a part of me wanted this to happen to Rafe. I wanted him to suffer. To pay for his crimes in ways a lifetime stay in prison just couldn’t do.

I was also terrified that this would be some kind of trap and my man and my family would be in danger. I had pointed out to Brock this morning that they had no way of actually recognizing Rafe since they had never seen him. My suggestion that I be there went over like a lead balloon.

“No f*ckin’ way in hell are you getting within ten miles of that sick f*ck,” he growled.

“Well, I’m the only one who actually knows what he looks like,” I’d argued.

“Draw us a f*ckin’ picture.” His voice was final.

“Well, how else are you going to make sure he’s not handing over some poor innocent gardener?” I folded my arms in triumph.

Brock cursed under his breath, whipping out his phone. He scowled at me and stormed off. He had come back ten minutes later and thrust the screen in my face.

“This the motherf*cker?” he bit out.

I squinted at the blue eyes staring at me through the screen. I nodded.

“Jesus, I feel like I’m gonna have to handcuff you to the goddamn bed so I can leave without spending the whole day worrying you’ve done something stupid like go shopping,” he muttered under his breath.

I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “You handcuff me to the bed with anything other than sex in mind and I’ll shave off your eyebrows while you sleep,” I threatened.

Brock’s eyes darkened and he stepped forward, grasping my hips and pulling my body flush to his. “You into that sort of shit, Sparky?” he asked, voice hoarse.

I nodded slowly.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “How am I supposed to leave you here knowing that shit?”

“That’s easy,” I purred. “Don’t leave.”

Brock stared at me for a moment and I swear his face looked pained. “You’re going to be the death of me woman,” he growled, yanking my mouth to his.

Unfortunately he had left after laying a hot and heavy one on me, declaring he had “shit to do”. Hence me sitting on the couch, bored out of my skull. This was a biker clubhouse for f*ck’s sake. Where was the drama? The skank fights, the orgies, or at least a small explosion?

I glanced at my phone—three p.m. A little too early to break out the cocktails.

“’Sup, Abrams?” Lucky sauntered into the room.

I could’ve hugged him. “Lucky! Thank Christ you’re here,” I exclaimed, standing.

Lucky grinned. “I knew Brock would drop the ball eventually and you’d want a real man.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t handle me,” I deadpanned.

He chuckled. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Having you as an old lady is a full time job,” he replied.

I smacked his shoulder. “You’re an *. I can’t wait until some woman comes in and turns your life upside down.”

Lucky grinned. “That’s never gonna happen, babe, I plan on being an eternal bachelor. It would be cruel not to share all of this with as many bitches as possible,” he declared, gesturing down to his decidedly impressive body.

I laughed.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be off doing whatever badass things you boys do that the delicate females can’t possibly be subjected to?”

Lucky’s grin dimmed slightly. “I’m here to make sure you haven’t tunneled your way out of here with an eyelash curler, Brock seemed adamant you’d found a way to take down the prospects,” he told me.

I placed my hand on my chest. “Why, little old me? I’d never defy the orders of my old man,” I said sarcastically.

Lucky laughed. “Yeah, right. What you up to anyway?”

“I was about to set something on fire so my eyeballs didn’t start bleeding from boredom,” I informed him seriously.