Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC) (29 page)

I swallowed. “I care too much about you to let you be captured by all of that shit. You deserve freedom.”

My words floated into the air and hung there as his eyes never left mine, his gaze heavy on my face. That gaze said more than the mouthful I’d just uttered. It captured me in a way that I’d give away my freedom in a second to stay in it forever. Then he was in front of me, yanking me out of my chair so every inch of his body imprinted onto mine and his mouth covered mine, working against it with a ferocity I had no choice but to surrender to.

Just before my knees buckled, he let my mouth go, and I restrained a groan of protest. His forehead rested against mine.

“I care far too fuckin’ much about you to let you live in captivity alone. I’d gladly take a cage with you than an open world without you. Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose, and baby, I’ve got a fuck of a lot to lose.”

I blinked rapidly at his words, my heart thundering in my chest. Then my brows knitted and I squinted up at him. “Did you just quote Janis Joplin?”

A shadow of a grin tickled the edge of the intensity on his face. “The woman’s a wordsmith. I may have borrowed a line to get my point across,” he murmured, cupping my chin. “You want to chain me up to you, baby? It’s already been done. I’m yours. Only chains I’ll ever want are the ones connecting me to you. So just fuckin’ agree to move in with me.”

* * *

I
moved in
.

I was weak. It was either move in or run.

I wanted to run. I really did. For both our sakes. Because I was certain that this spelled disaster.

But I couldn’t.

So I moved in. Not into the spare room that he’d offered. I moved in.

“If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do this,” I’d told him the day before.

He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Fuck, babe, you sure?”

I raised a brow at him. “You’re objecting?”

He stepped forward, lightly clasping my hips. “Fuck no. I’d be jumpin’ for joy if I weren’t so fuckin’ conflicted.” He rubbed his hand on my bare hip. It was nice. Not completely, the residual dirt still lingering, but it was nice enough. “We haven’t gotten to that yet. I don’t want to push you into any shit you’re not ready for.”

“I’m not ready,” I admitted. “Not for that.” The mind-blowing, soul-destroying kiss we’d shared in my office was the first and only one we’d had. We were like two teenagers, the lust and desire hanging between us, but something heavier obstructing it. But he’d stayed over. A lot. He kept to his side and let me make the moves, which I hadn’t done much of. I curled up to him in my sleep and that was it. My unconscious mind craved his touch while my waking mind couldn’t handle it. But he’d respected the fact that just having him there, present in the dark with me, was all I could handle. “But I want to try and do this. I don’t do shit half-assed. If you don’t want me in your room if I’m not—”

He clutched my neck roughly, the first time he’d made such a sudden movement since… then. “I fuckin’ want you,” he growled. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think that. I want you any way I can have you. Always will,” he promised.

I’d nodded. “Okay” was all I’d been able to choke out.

Rosie was equal parts happy and sad about this turn of events. We’d spent the previous night having a ceremonial good-bye to being roommates. It was bittersweet. In fact, I’d had a tiny freak-out while watching a documentary about inmates on death row.

“I can’t do this,” I said suddenly.

“What? Watch this? This is like crème de la crème of our documentaries,” she replied, her eyes on the screen.

I turned to face her. “No, I can’t do this. Go and play house with a fucking biker who wants to save me. Who I want but can’t have because I can’t find a moment of fucking quiet in my head, and if I can’t find that he can’t give it to me. No one can. I’m just bringing him into my freak show. I can’t do that. I have to leave. To run. Do you ‘have a guy’ who does passports?” I asked seriously, beginning to panic.

“Of course I do,” she said. “But I’m not calling him. You don’t need to run. I won’t let you, and Lucky sure as shit won’t.”

“But I can’t. I can’t take what he’s offering.”

“It’s not him who’s offering anything,” she said. “Quiet is a gift. So is peace. And love. And salvation.” She eyed me, the glitter-rimmed lashes not hiding the wisdom behind those baby blues. “They’re all gifts you’ve gotta give yourself before anyone else can.”

“How can I find quiet when my demons scream at night? How can I find peace when chaos is all I know? How can I love myself when I can barely stand the feeling of my own skin?” I paused, sucking in a strangled breath. “How can I find salvation when I’m already damned?” I wiped away a tear angrily. Angry that I let it escape, at the vulnerability in my voice, the fact I’d just let myself be so weak. “Jesus,” I muttered. “I sound like a fucking Britney Spears song.”

She reached across the sofa to squeeze my hand. “Sweetheart, salvation only comes to the damned.” She grinned. “Hey, sometimes the best wisdom is hidden in catchy pop songs.”

So she convinced me to not flee the country.

Barely.

And I tried to give myself peace.

I got it when I moved into Gabriel’s small but warm house by the sea. It mirrored the little cabin that felt like it existed in a dream but it lacked the boho vibe of the other one. This was all rock and roll and all Gabriel.

All my fears melted away the second we got inside.

“Welcome home, baby,” he murmured quietly from behind me.

“Yeah,” I replied, looking at the ocean through his living room window. “Home.”

Then I moved my gaze to him, or more precisely, his denim-encased ass. And I got it. A flutter. A twinge that made me want to do something about it. Then came the dirt, chasing away whatever good feeling had been there.

He bent down behind the breakfast bar so he was out of sight but started talking. “I thought we’d start this off right,” he called.

Then he lifted two heavy coolers onto the bar, grinning from ear to ear.

“Please don’t tell me there’s body parts in there.” I nodded to the white containers.

His grin widened. “Of course not,” he said. “Red is for body parts, white is for food.” He tapped the side.

I shook my head and wandered to the breakfast bar to get a better look.

“I present to you our dinner, breakfast, and lunch for the next seventeen months,” he said, eyes on me.

The he took the lid off both bins. Inside, amongst the ice, were cartons of Chunky Monkey. A crap ton.

I gaped at them. Then at him.

“You were serious?” I asked.

He nodded. “I’m always serious about two things, frozen goods and my firefly.” He paused. “And
Golden Girls
,” he added.

I smiled at him. Actually smiled at the warmth he was spreading just by being him.

“There she is,” he murmured, his eyes dancing with demons.

Before the moment could get too much, he shut the lids.

“Right,” he declared. “I’ll take these out to the big freezer, move some body parts around, and be back.” He gave me a look. “I’ll give you some quiet just to, you know, settle.” His arms pulsed lifting the coolers and I tried not to drool as he walked into the door leading to his attached garage.

Rosie was right. Quiet was only something you got if you let it in.

And I let it in.

It was nice.

For about five minutes.

Then the noise came back.

It was when I was unpacking my things in Gabriel’s walk-in closet. Yes, he had a walk-in closet. I’d called him on it, not five minutes before.

“It came with the house,” he protested.

I’d grinned and shook my head and he went to get us beers. Or him a beer and me a soda. I was still swearing off any mind-altering substance. Well, not any, considering I’d just moved in with the most dangerous substance of them all.

Whatever.

While depositing my underwear in a drawer, the glint of metal sparkled in the light and caught my eye. Once I focused on the object I froze. Not just my body, but every molecule of my being.

I was no longer in the cluttered yet comforting, warm room. I was caged in by concrete walls, cold, the bitter air sucking every inch of life from my naked body. The steel rubbed against my wrists and I could barely stand it, the pain. No, the pain I could stand; it was the filth I couldn’t. I couldn’t escape it. Those cuffs held me in place, kept me from trying to escape the dirt. Try to get clean.

I started to shake. I couldn’t stop and it racked my entire body. I was paralyzed but inwardly I writhed, trying to get free of that prison inside my mind. I was trapped, and the thought had me wanting to sink to my feet. To run. To find it. Nothingness.

“Becky?”

The voice made me jump but I didn’t turn. Didn’t speak. I was too busy fighting.

He came closer, his heat at my back. “Babe?” he asked, voice thick with concern.

It was his hand on my hips that did it. The gentle pressure of him pulling me back into his hard body. His clean body.

I ripped out of his grip, finding my motor skills then.

“Don’t touch me,” I half shrieked. My feet moved, my body working on pure survival instinct. I ran towards the bathroom, one destination in mind.

One goal in mind.

To get clean.

I didn’t even realize he’d followed me, too busy on my mission. I reached to turn the shower on and started to strip down.

“Baby. What’s going on? Fuckin’ talk to me,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.

I could feel his presence but he didn’t touch me. Thankfully.

“I can’t talk. I’ve got to….” I trailed off, yanking my shirt off my head. “I’ve got to get clean,” I muttered, more to myself than him. On autopilot, I divested myself of all my clothes, everything in the room going soft around the edges. It blurred so I was half in the dirty room, chained to the bed, and half in the bathroom filling up with steam.

Then I was in the shower.

I wasn’t sure how I got there, considering I didn’t exactly remember turning on the shower or stepping in.

I met hazel eyes.

Gabriel. He was in the shower with me, fully clothed and holding me up. “You’re clean, baby,” he murmured.

It was then I realized that something soft and rough was moving over my body. Not his hands but a pink loofah, trailing suds everywhere.

I watched his hands move it up and down.

“You have a pink loofah,” I observed.

His eyes stayed on mine. “I do,” he agreed.

“Don’t they sell matte black ones? I feel like that’d be more suitable for you.” I paused. “For me.”

His eyes were hard. “No. This is perfect. For you. For me.”

He let the words and the weight of them hang between us as he cleaned me. The best he could.

* * *

W
e were lying
in bed afterwards, me wrapped in his arms. That was a feat in itself. To be curled against his chest, him stroking my back, without wanting to crawl out of my own skin?

A miracle.

Catching a glimpse of the cuffs in his closet had been horrific. An instant ticket back to that room.

It had also been something else.

Him seeing it. Me. I was an ‘it’ now. Stripped down raw to the nerve. He saw it and yet there I was, in his arms.

We hadn’t spoken as he climbed out of the shower, cradled me in a fluffy towel like a child, and put a clean-smelling shirt over my head. He’d changed from his soaking clothes and there we were.

“The fuckers who did that to you, they’re monsters.” He broke the silence, his voice sandpaper.

My head lifted from his chest and I met his eyes, shaking my head. “No, there’s no such thing as monsters.
People
did that, which I think is worse. Monsters were conjured up as a way to excuse the treachery that man is capable of. Because there are some acts that we want to put on an inhuman creature rather than admit that our fellow man is able to do such a thing.” I stared at him. “Monsters, real ones, the ones made of nightmares, they don’t exist here.” I held my arm out into the open air. “They exist here.” I moved the same arm to point to my temple, swallowing hard. “Sometimes there’s so many of them I don’t know if I can fight them anymore. Then I look in your eyes and I see the same monsters. They haven’t killed you. You’re still here.”