Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC) (33 page)

So now it was just the killing to be done.

He glanced up, his eyes unseeing. “What?” he hissed.

Gage nodded to the door. “She’s here.”

Lucky immediately found his lucidity. His brothers hadn’t exactly been on board with him bringing Becky to this little party—he was sure the words ‘fucking insane’ had been used—but he’d persuaded them.

Gage had volunteered to get her.

Lucky’s jaw had stiffened slightly at that, but he let him. Namely because he had a dragon to feed and he begrudgingly knew the connection the two of them had. He didn’t have to like it, which he didn’t, but he understood it. He was a selfish fuck, wanting to share every connection possible with her. Fuck, he’d even shoot up just so he could have that, know what she was craving. But then that was a little crazy, even for him.

So he indulged in his drug of choice, blood and revenge.

He’d known Becky would need it, to see it being done. His brothers couldn’t understand it because their women were different. They were strong, fuckin’ strong. They’d danced with the darkness but they hadn’t become it, not like Becky.

So she needed this.

“Hold this.” He handed Gage his bloody knife, wiped his hands, and went to the door to the warehouse, rented for that purpose. Though it hadn’t gotten much use since they’d gone legit. It hadn’t been desolate—they were still fuckin’ Sons—but the stains on the floor weren’t as fresh as they used to be.

The bitter air swarmed him as he opened the door, as did the smell of smoke. He frowned at the light in the darkness and snatched the smoke from Becky’s mouth, stubbing it under his boot.

“Hey,” she protested.

He stood in front of her. “Those kill you, you know.”

She jutted her chin out. He could see her fire, even in the darkness. Fuck, it shone the brightest in the darkness. “So does breathing,” she countered.

He shook his head. “Well, I’m not too hot on anything that opens up the prospect of me losing you prematurely. I’m kind of fond of you,” he said, his face close to hers.

He heard her breathing quicken. “Ditto,” she whispered. Then she pulled her head back, squinting at the building. “You said you’re fond of me, but is that all just a ruse to get me here and murder me? I promise I won’t tell anyone about the Brony thing.”

He shoved his hand over her mouth, forgetting what was on it for a second. “Be quiet, would you?” he snapped.

As soon as he realized where his hand had been, he ripped it from her beautiful skin.

She rubbed her face. “Is that blood?” she asked evenly.

“Fuck,” he cursed, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a bandana to wipe her face. When he was done, he clasped her neck. “I’ve only got you here because I know your monsters are fuckin’ ferocious, babe. Because I know they can’t be fought with happy thoughts and rainbows. They need to be fought with monsters.” He paused. “I know you think they don’t exist, but I disagree. The one in there?” He nodded to the building. “He ain’t human and he ain’t going to die like one. You got a choice. You can go in there, step further into the black, and I’ll follow you without hesitation.” He tightened his grasp on her neck. “Or you can get on the back of my bike and we’ll leave it, monsters and all. Your call.”

There was no hesitation. She stepped out of his grasp and into the dark.

Blood had a smell. People who’d seen a lot of it would tell you. Their descriptions may differ, but it was unmistakable. As soon as I stepped into the warehouse, I was assaulted with the metallic, bitter twang.

I welcomed it.

It was the smell of justice. Probably not the kind sanctioned by the state, or even conventional society, but whatever.

Gabriel’s hand was firm in mine as we walked over to where the big men in cuts were standing.

They turned, all regarding me with expressionless faces. Apart from Gage, who grinned.

My attention didn’t stay on him for long, instead going to the bloodied, battered lump that was tied to a chair.

Dylan.

I thought I’d be a vengeful cold bitch when I saw him, but in those first few seconds, I struggled to breathe. He may have been touching death right then, but his mere presence had me hurtling back into that room.

Gabriel’s squeeze on my hand brought me back out.

“Becky?” he asked, his voice taut.

I met his eyes. “I’m fine.”

I was reluctant to do it, but I stepped out of his grasp. He tightened his hand in mine once more before he let me go. I held my hand out to Gage.

He didn’t even hesitate in handing me the stained blade. Brock raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

I silently walked over to the lump in the chair, my boots echoing on the concrete. I didn’t even pause as I brought the knife down right between his legs, leaving it there for a second then yanking it back out.

I barely acknowledged the animal scream before I turned my back on him.

All of the men were gaping at me. Well, apart from Gage, who was still grinning. Gabriel’s eyes were shimmering with a lot of things. Things not to inspect in the blood-filled warehouse.

I walked past them, handing the blade back to Gage. “As you were, boys.”

I clutched Gabriel’s red-stained hand. “Take me home,” I whispered.

He didn’t say a word, just squeezed my hand and nodded.

And then I left it behind.

What I could, at least.

* * *

W
e didn’t speak
until we got home. That’s what this was—my home. Not the four walls, though they were comforting. No, it was him. The biker in the middle of the room, staring at me with concern and pride and most likely struggling to fight his own monsters now that I’d quieted mine.

Not that he said anything—that guy was a fucking fortress—but I could sense it.

I stepped close to him, my body brushing his. “I almost died today,” I whispered.

He held himself rigid. “Don’t fuckin’ remind me.” His hand was featherlight on my forehead, which barely even throbbed. Mostly because my heart was pounding and drowning everything else out.

“I’m addicted to you,” I whispered. “And it’s worse than any drug I’ve craved because that was a choice. Not the addiction and everything that came with it, but I knew what it meant and what the consequences could be. And I still chose.” I paused. “With you, it wasn’t even a choice. It was addiction before I even knew you were another substance I could abuse. And I’m scared. I’m fucking terrified because it hurts worse than any chemical and the high is so much higher. I’m scared of the overdose, the crash back down to earth. But mostly I’m scared of the withdrawal if I ever lose you. Because I survived heroin, but I couldn’t survive a life without you.” My admission had me arguably more terrified than I had been in a long time. Maybe not more terrified than I had been
then
, but it was a different kind of fear.

Gabriel’s eyes were glittering with depth I could drown in. “Fuck, Becky,” he murmured, holding my body close. “You’re never going to lose me. Fuckin’ never,” he promised.

I moved my hand to trail his jaw. “I don’t want to think about it. Any of it. Death, monsters. I want to forget and just
live
.”

His eyes flared with hunger and unease as he immediately understood my words, the suggestion in my tone. “Fuck, babe. You sure?”

I tried to swallow the glass of his words. “If you don’t want to….” I started to bring my hand down, shame filling me.

He captured my wrist. “I fuckin’ want to,” he growled, his voice rough with desire. He brought my hand to his mouth. “I wake up wanting you, Becky. I go to sleep wanting you and everything in between. I want you.” He paused. “But I want
you
. Not for your body or for what you can do with it. Just you. And when you’re ready, I’ll take your body.”

“I’m ready,” I whispered through the roar of my pounding heart. “Maybe not for everything we did before.” My mind panicked at the image of cuffs, at being helpless as someone owned my body, even him, the one I’d given my soul to willingly. I couldn’t do that. Not yet. “I just need to be in control.”

He searched my face. “Yeah, you do,” he agreed. He laid his mouth against my hand once more before dropping it. “Stay there,” he ordered.

I did as he asked, mainly because I couldn’t move. A rabbit stuck in the headlights. Frozen with the prospect of what I was about to do. With fear—there was a lot of that. And excitement, arousal, something I didn’t think I’d ever feel again.

It was like I was a teenager on the brink of her first time. Or how they were supposed to feel on their first time.

He came back and every ounce of excitement left as I saw what was in Gabriel’s hands, the ones still stained with the faded pinkness of blood. Ice rushed over my body.

His jaw was hard as he immediately gauged my reaction. “Easy,” he murmured, cupping my face. “Look at me,” he ordered.

Through labored breaths, I did.

“You’re safe with me. Always,” he promised.

I let the warmth in those hazel eyes chase the cold away.

“You need to have control? I’m giving you that. Complete control over this, over me. Though you don’t need these for that.” He pressed the cuffs into my shaking hands. “It’s to show you I’m at your mercy, baby, though I’ve been there since the moment you took the stage.” His mouth brushed against mine as he spoke.

Then he kissed me. Long and slow and gentle. Nothing like before. He let me lead. Let me get my feet back.

And before I knew it, I was so hot I could barely remember the ice anymore.

Through my haze, a thought came to me. I reluctantly pulled back from his lips and I saw he felt the same about the loss as I did. But he didn’t move. He held himself tight, the veins in his neck pulsing.

“I’ve got an idea,” I murmured.

“Please don’t say Scrabble,” he rasped.

I choked out a laugh, then nodded to his dining room chair. “Sit,” I ordered.

Without hesitation, he did so, though his gaze stayed locked on me. It ate me up. Consumed me. And it was so full of heat and hunger it didn’t tarnish me. It gave me power.

I wanted more. More of that foreign yet familiar feeling of power. What I’d been searching for when I tried to take the stage again.

I moved to his stereo system and plugged my phone in. Scrolling through, I found the perfect tune. Led Zeppelin’s “I Can’t Quit You Baby” started to play through the speakers.

Dangling the cuffs in my hands, I sauntered over to him, leisurely and unhurried, finding it. My strength.

“I think I had the right idea,” I purred, leaning over to clasp Gabriel’s muscled arms behind the chair. He sucked in a breath as I rubbed my chest against his face, my nipples standing to attention the second they made contact. “Trying to find my control by doing what I used to do.” There was a metallic click as I fastened his hands and stepped back from him.

He groaned in frustration, his expression cloaked in desire.

I started to move, unbuttoning the top of my shirt. “The stripping, I mean,” I continued. “Reclaiming ownership of what was mine in front of an audience.” I kept unbuttoning until I reached the bottom, letting the shirt fall to the floor so I was in the lacey bra and my jeans and combat boots.

Gabriel’s hiss penetrated the air.

I grinned slyly. “But I think I had the wrong audience. The wrong stage.” Instead of taking off any more, I stopped moving and slid my boots off, kicking them to the corner of the room.

The bass thumped and I moved with it, finding rhythm with my body once more, finding the tune when it had been so out of sync.

“The only audience I need, the only person I need to show the ownership of this?” I trailed my finger down my chest, between my boobs and down to the button of my jeans, undoing them. I glanced up, playing with the waistband of my jeans. “He’s sitting in that chair.” I stepped forward and touched my finger to his shoulder, trailing my hand over the letters on his cut as I circled the chair. I stopped behind him, circling my hands down his arms, tracing the ink and touching where the cold steel met his blazing skin. I bent down, past the skull on his neck so my mouth brushed his ear. “You know who owns this body?” I whispered, pressing my breasts to his back. “Me,” I answered, biting his earlobe.

He let out an incomprehensible grunt as I pushed away and circled back to his front.

I stood in front of him, my hands going to my waistband. His eyes were brands, glued to my body. Slowly, I pulled the jeans down my legs until they were gone and I was standing in front of him in my bra and panties.

I lost it there, a little of my bravado.

Okay, a lot of my bravado. This was the most I’d shown to anyone since
then
. The skin that was now becoming foreign thanks to the ink I was covering it with was still the same underneath, and I felt a terrible sense of panic at exposing it once more.

Gabriel didn’t look at my body, his eyes on mine. “You’re beautiful,” he grunted out.

With those two words, so simple, yet containing so much, I found it again. I leaned forward, my face going to his, and he hissed through pursed lips, his restraint. “This is mine. And it’s yours.” I pressed my lips to his, tasting the nirvana of our kiss. “Whatever there is left to give, to own, you have,” I murmured as I pulled back.