Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC) (11 page)

He nodded. “You sound surprised.”

I chewed my lip and looked from Lucky to the house. I pointed to him. “Badass biker wearing a cut, covered in tattoos.” I pointed to the house. “Cute beach bungalow that looks like it belongs to a person with dreads and a surfboard. Yeah, I’m surprised.”

Lucky stepped forward, right in my space. The salt air was replaced by his enticing scent, which wasn’t gross despite the fact we’d spent multiple hours in a car.

“I like that,” he murmured. “Surprising you. Showing there’s more to me than what you see. What everyone else sees. ’Cause there is, Becky. A fuck of a lot more. Just don’t show it to people. But you’re not
people.
Hope you get that.”

I swallowed, like I was downing a handful of the sand beside my feet.

“I need coffee,” I declared, stepping out of his orbit. I ran a hand through my hair. “And a shower.”
And a lobotomy.
I glanced at him. “Though, I didn’t have time to pack for this kidnapping, so I’m afraid my outfit choices consist of a bridesmaid’s dress. That is not okay with me. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a dress kind of girl.”

Lucky quirked a brow. “Oh, I’ve noticed,” he drawled. All residual intensity from his previous statement drained away.

I scowled at him and inwardly at myself for responding to the sex dripping in his tone. “Can you ever just speak normally?” I snapped. “Not like a fucking male phone sex operator or a caveman? There’s an in-between, you know. It’s called English.”

Lucky’s gaze darkened. “You think I sound like a phone sex operator?” he asked, his eyes dancing. “Does that mean I turn you on?”

I threw up my hands. “You’re impossible!” I stomped around him and to the door.

“Becky, think quick.”

I whirled just in time to catch the keys he’d launched at me.

“Good reflexes.” He sounded impressed.

I ignored that and continued my stomp to the door. I had a feeling I’d have to ignore a lot for the two days I’d already begun to regret agreeing to. I’d have to ignore it or I’d be running from one destruction to another.

* * *

A
fter I’d gotten
inside and caffeinated, Lucky declared he was going into ‘town,’ wherever that was, to ‘pick up some shit.’

“Write down what you need—clothes, shoes, food.” He paused. “Period-related things.” He didn’t even look like the standard awkward male broaching the subject.

There was a multitude of things wrong with that sentence, but the last thing caught me off guard. “Period-related things?” I repeated, scrunching up my nose in confusion.

“Well, I don’t know how long all those”—he nodded to the plastic bag—“will last. I know I got a lot, but maybe you need that much? How am I to know? They could last a day, a month, a year. It’s a mystery. So if you need more, or anything else that you require at this time of the month, tell me. I can get some Ryan Gosling shit if that’s how you need to roll.”

“Ryan Gosling type shit.” I’d totally forgotten he thought I was on my period thanks to my little stunt that didn’t go as planned at the gas station.

He nodded, crossing his arms and screwing up his face. “Fucked if I know why chicks are so obsessed with that shit. I personally think I could entertain you much better.” His eyes flared. “But whatever, I’m not suicidal enough to argue with a woman on the rag.”

“Do I look like a girl who watches Ryan Gosling movies?” I asked him, cocking a hip.

His gaze roved over me. “Well, you’ve got tits and a vagina. I thought that was all you needed.”

I rolled my eyes. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered.

“So, no Ryan Gosling.” He sounded utterly pleased.

I looked back at him. “No Ryan Gosling.”

He grinned mischievously. “The lady has made an excellent choice. Now write down what you need, sizes and shit.” He held out his phone.

I didn’t take it. “Why would I need to write that down?” I asked in an even voice.

“So I don’t offend you and make you hate me forever by getting you the wrong size pants. Too big and I think you’re fat. Too small and I’m trying to tell you to lose weight in order to fit into them, again making you think that I think you’re fat.” His gaze flickered over me again, his jaw hardening. “Which you’re not. Far from it. Which is why I’m picking up every junk food known to harden the arteries of the citizens of this great nation. Put some meat on those bones.”

I gritted my teeth and folded my arms. It pissed me off, the concern. Mostly because I liked it. Liked the fact that someone was worried about my skeletal frame, wanted to do something as stupid as shovel candy in my face to change that. That’s what pissed me off. Then I was pissed off at him for making me feel like that in the midst this entire ordeal.

And I was embarrassed. Paralyzingly so. Because he was seeing me like this. Seeing how the junk had defeated me, broken me down and turned me into a… junkie.

So my emotions were not what most people would call stable, hence my reaction. “I’m unsure why I would need to write it down considering I’m going to be the one buying my own ‘shit.’ Period or otherwise. It’s not your job to dress and feed me like I’m your junkie Barbie,” I snapped.

His eyes blazed. “That’s not what this is, Becky.”

I glared at him. “Then what is this?” I gestured around the room, which I would have totally dug had I not been in that state of mind. The decorating was boho chic mixed with rock enthusiast. Alas, I was not in the mood to marvel at the décor. “You whisking me off to your little cabin by the sea the second you hear I’m ‘drowning’ in the sea of heroin and addiction. You think you can rescue me from it all and I’ll cling to your motorcycle boot in gratitude? So you can get your masculine alpha card by saving the helpless female? That ain’t gonna happen,” I informed him. Well, maybe not informed. More like screamed.

He watched me for a long moment. The longest. My chest moved up and down with my rapid breaths, brought on by fury. Fury that was a little misdirected. But it was easier to shout at someone than look at myself.

“I offered to get your shit because you’re dead on your feet. You dropped off like a fuckin’ stone the moment you relaxed enough to let sleep claim you. Never seen anything like it,” he said quietly. “Guessing that entire delicious package, that sharp mind included, is on its last legs. Been holding yourself together for so fuckin’ long it’s inevitable. You need to sleep, Becky. Pure and simple. That’s the reason why I was gonna go in alone. That and I guessed you needed some time here, alone. To fight sleep like a gladiator and to snoop around this place. Then have a moment to let the shit you’ve been running from catch up to you. Process it without anyone else around.” He glanced around. “There’s nothing here.” He paused, his eyes cutting to me. “Nothing to tempt you. And I know you well enough to know you’re stubborn as fuck. Once you make a decision, it’d take a lot to make you stray. So I’ll guess you won’t go runnin’ for a fix if I leave you alone for a couple hours. That’s what that was. But you want to fight off oblivion and the rest for a couple hours to walk around a shitty department store to get no-doubt shitty clothes, be my guest.”

He then opened the door, gesturing me to go through it.

I blinked at him half a dozen times, looking for the words.

Sorry. That’s the word you’re looking for.

I pursed my lips together and made my combat boot move. It felt like it was laden with cement, that’s how tired I was. Now that he’d mentioned it, it was hard to ignore. As was the constant itch, but it was better with him ’cause I was either pissed off, amused, or turned on when I had him around. Not craving. But I didn’t say that, nor that five-letter word. I just walked through the door to buy shitty clothes I couldn’t afford.

But Lucky didn’t hold a grudge. He whistled in the truck on the way to the town—smaller than Amber, little more than a strip mall and a handful of shops—tapping his tattooed fingers on the steering wheel as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As if he hadn’t inexplicably taken on a recovering junkie and her boatload of baggage. Like such an endeavor was a hobby, like stamp collecting.

Me, I silently seethed beside him. See, I could hold a grudge. I was an expert at it. I still hadn’t forgiven the girl who stole my sticker collection in my third foster home. Hannah, that total bitch. I was directing my anger at him and his irritating cheerfulness when, even at the height of my fury, I knew it was at myself. For being such a colossal bitch and him being nothing but nice. Weird, off-the-charts cuckoo and also fucking hot as balls, but nice. And alpha. It was a very strange mix, one I didn’t think I’d ever seen in my life. And I’d seen men. A lot.

It was in the Target snatching up some clothes—all black, of course—that I finally released my anger.

I had deliberately wandered away from Lucky when he had his back turned, inspecting the various sugary snacks while muttering something about how it was better to be prepared in the event of PMS. That should have been offensive for not only me, but for womankind in general. But the way he said it wasn’t derogatory and dripping in patriarchy. It was like childhood naivety wrapped up in a male deliciousness with a low, raspy voice.

Hence the reason I escaped, so I didn’t pounce on him in the candy aisle in front of a family with a child on a leash.

That child was already going to have enough problems by the look of the way it was struggling against that leash. I didn’t need to add to them.

I was mentally calculating how much was in my bank account—I was pretty sure it was nowhere near triple digits—and how many pairs of underwear I could get away with getting. And ignoring the fact I was getting the most expensive shitty lace black ones instead of sensible cotton that came in ten packs. Like I was playing with fire, expecting to get someone to see that.

I’d already played with fire and gotten burned; what was another scar? At least this one would be enjoyable to get.

I absently scratched my arm. Lucky was no longer in smelling distance, which meant my craving was amped up about a thousand percent.

I glanced around, half expecting him to be standing somewhere, watching me with his arms crossed, grinning. I didn’t think it was possible to sneak away from alpha bikers. Didn’t they have like twelve senses or something? By the way Lily talked about Asher I would have thought so.

“We have a lost child in the store,” a voice sounded from the speaker phone. “Would a Rebecca Flannery please come to checkout five. Your”—there was a clearing of a throat—“
father
is here waiting for you.” There was no mistaking the slight dreaminess to the woman’s tone. She was most likely wagging her tongue at the sexy, grinning, idiotic biker standing in front of her.

There was a muffled sound on the speaker. “Firefly, come back to me. I have snacks,” Lucky’s husky voice sounded through the entire store, no doubt causing womb flutters everywhere. Even the middle-aged woman wearing a muumuu and inspecting the cotton underwear ten-pack snapped her head up the moment he started speaking.

“Also, cleanup on aisle three.” There was a pause. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Despite myself, and the insects crawling up my arms, I smiled.

I made it to the counter where Lucky was leaned over, his amazing denim-clad ass and the grim reaper on his cut all I could see as he talked to the near-drooling checkout chick.

As if he had Bex radar, he straightened and turned, eyes finding me in a second. His face lit up and his grin intensified. “I found you.”

I made it to him, holding back my smile. “I wasn’t exactly lost.”

His eyes twinkled. “Yes, you were, firefly.” His face was bright, but the multitude of meanings weighed me down.

The checkout chick, who indulged in too much bleach and was wearing a uniform two sizes too small, gaped at me, then Lucky. “That’s your daughter?” she asked in disbelief.

I started to speak but Lucky slung his arm around my neck.

“Yep, isn’t she adorable? She looks old for her age, and I look great for mine, obviously. I had her young. Even at twelve, my swimmers were world-class.” He winked at the checkout chick, who was still gaping.

I snorted. I couldn’t help it. The look on her face was fucking priceless.

“Okay, it’s getting past this one’s bedtime, so let’s get our shit and go,” Lucky said, snatching everything out of my hands to dump it on the counter.

Both the checkout girl and I were dazed by the man in front of us, albeit for different reasons.

Surprisingly, she recovered quicker than me. Which meant by the time I came to, Lucky was handing over a wad of cash.

“Hey!” I protested, stepping forward. “You’re not paying for me.”

He glanced at me. “Funny, ’cause I just did.”

I scowled at him. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need you buying my shit.”

Arguably, I couldn’t take care of myself—my mess of a life and bank account was a testament to that—but still. My life was my own to fuck up. And my bank account was mine to empty.

He ruffled my hair. “We need to get you home and wash your mouth out with salt, young lady. You know better than to fucking curse.” He took the bags and walked us towards the double doors.