Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC) (8 page)

The moment he spoke for me, took away my choices and control for himself, was the second my back went up. “I am,” I snapped. Of course I wasn’t going back, but the very fact that he thought it was his decision to make made me want to do it just to make sure I was in control.

He tried to stare me down but that time my resolve was rock solid.

Lucky sighed and shook his head. “You wanna take your clothes off, show the world that sweet ass, you’ll be doing it at our club. Where I can keep a fuckin’ eye on that ass,” he declared. “And where no one puts a hand on you, trying to sell that ass,” he added roughly.

I scowled at him, searching for an argument where none existed. I could go back to the club where drugs were aplenty and the boss had me beaten up to try and get me into prostitution, or I could work for a club that had zero tolerance for drugs and were well known to pay the girls well and treat them with respect.

It was an opportunity to try and wrench myself out of the hole I was in. Only I wouldn’t be doing the wrenching. Someone else would be doing it for me. The chains would tighten and I’d be even less likely to release myself.

So I had the opportunity for redemption. The only price was my pride.

“It’s a good idea,” Lily said gently. She knew what this was for me, knew my past and how I had just been tossed about by fate, unable to grasp the reins.

She had my best interests at heart, yet I still couldn’t wipe the glare from my face.

All I wanted was escape. From all of this.

But that was the easy way out. I needed to learn that escape was not an option. Not anymore.

“You won’t be swinging your ass around any pole until you’re better. What’s wrong with you? Have you been to the doctor?” He mirrored his earlier concern, that time seeming more intent on getting an answer.

I would rather die than have this moment drenched even more in the shame that came with the truth.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

He scowled at me. “Bitches around here need to stop saying they’re fine when they’re obviously not. Every man worth his salt knows that if uttered by a woman, the word ‘fine’ could signify a fuckin’ apocalypse,” he muttered.

My blood reached the boiling point at his words, Rosie and Lily sending death glares his way as well.

He held his hands up in surrender.

“We haven’t seen the last of them,” Asher stated, ushering the conversation back to the more pressing matter before I could do something like scream in frustration. “Carlos knows you’re my old lady. For him to authorize this, for them to do that with my bike in the parking lot…?” He paused, his face grim. “They’re not fuckin’ around.”

“If what they said to me was anything to go by, they most certainly are not,” Lily muttered.

I went stock-still at her words.

“What exactly did they say?” Asher asked slowly.

“That we haven’t seen the last of them,” she lied. She was a totally crappy liar. I needed to give her lessons.

“Don’t get cute, flower. Now is not the time. What specifically did they say?” Asher commanded.

“Not something I’d care to repeat,” she said.

I swallowed my smile. Lily was holding her own with the alpha biker. If it weren’t in this particular context, I’d be high-fiving her. But this wasn’t a moment to exert her newfound stubbornness, not when she was in danger.

“They said when you got tired of our… snatch, they’d take it for themselves,” she finally relented under Asher’s stare.

I sucked in a breath. Then another. I tried to make it invisible, the fact that the oxygen didn’t seem to be entering my lungs.

“You’re going to the club,” Asher growled. “Both of you.”

“No, we’re not,” Lily argued. And I knew it was for me. Because she knew that I was walking a thin fucking line. One I was already teetering on the wrong side of.

Even if I fell, even if I relapsed and never got out of the hole I’d jumped into, I wouldn’t drag Lily down with me. I met her eyes. “We’ll go, Lil. That’s the second time you got hurt as a result of my shit,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. Trying not to show how much this was getting to me. “It’ll be the last,” I finished, staring at Asher.

“Damn straight it’ll be the last,” he repeated.

I sagged at the certainty of his tone.

“I’ve got school here. And work. I can’t exactly commute back to Amber at two in the morning. And I need that job,” Lily argued.

“Well, I can solve that particular problem,” Rosie chimed in from the corner before smoke could drift from Asher’s ears. “Gwen and Amy have been itching to get you back, but they were waiting for the right time to ask. For things to… settle down with you.” She paused, gazing around the room. “Things aren’t looking to settle down anytime soon, so I’m declaring this the perfect time,” she exclaimed with a smile.

This chick was awesome.

“Okay,” Lily gave in under the weight of four against one, though Lucky wasn’t saying anything, or smiling. He was just staring at me.

I ignored that.

Or tried to.

“But we’re not going to the club,” Lily added, giving me something to focus on. “I can’t study, can’t live… there,” she said, her voice weak. I knew what hid behind her words, the memory of that day three years ago when she and Asher started this whole thing. When, the very next day, she’d found out Faith was dying. “But there’s a place in Amber, somewhere no one knows about. Somewhere they, whoever they are, won’t find us.”

I blanched. I knew where she meant. Knew what a huge fucking sacrifice she’d be making if we went there.

I didn’t think I could hate myself any more, but life was full of surprises.

“Lils,” I whispered in protest.

“Where would that be?” Asher asked in a hard voice, interrupting me.

“My mom’s,” she said, her voice stronger and clearer than my previous broken whisper.

There was a long silence as everything sunk in around the room. As my disgrace in myself settled deeper. Took roots.

I figured I’d just have to learn to accept it.

Without any substance.

How fucking great.

“
W
e are all broken
, that’s how the light gets in
.”

-Hemingway

“
D
on’t
you have a home to go to?” I asked, irritated.

Hazel eyes locked onto mine. “No. I’m homeless and if you kick me out, you’re subjecting a young, vulnerable man to a night on the streets. Someone would make me their bitch. Have you seen these thighs?” He pointed to denim-encased thighs that could crack steel. I tried to ignore the vagina flutter that those thighs caused. Lucky gazed at me with doe eyes, which looked comical on his hardened, chiseled face. “How could you sleep at night if you did such a thing?”

I cocked my brow. “I’m sure I’ll find a way,” I responded sarcastically. “You’re not staying here,” I added.

My voice was firm, but every cell in my body screamed against it. When Lucky was around I had something to distract me from the hunger. From the unbearable craving to shoot up. Because when he was around I craved something different.

Him.

I still yearned for the euphoric nothingness that the needle offered, but I also craved the complex and confusing
something
that Lucky offered. Each was at opposite ends of the spectrum, yet I could have neither.

We were moved into Faith’s place, although I guessed it was Lily’s place now. Since her mom was gone, she’d inherited a house full of ghosts. Asher was firmly back at his place at her side and I dug that, but I was also feeling like a fucking major third wheel. She was recovering, healing from the loss of her mom, from the shit I put her through; she didn’t need my darkness hanging around, obscuring her light.

But unless I wanted to sleep on the streets, I was there, a shadow on her light for as long as it took me to save enough for my own place.

Now that I was gainfully employed by the Sons of Templar MC, or was going to be, and not shooting my paychecks into my arm, hopefully I’d be able to stand on my own two feet. And maybe even buy some kick-ass boots to stand in. And to kick ass. Because I was getting mighty sick of the bikers needing to come to the rescue. I was getting even sicker of my reaction. Of fucking wanting to be saved.

I didn’t need the man who took up most of the real estate in my brain to save me.

I
needed to save me.

Hence my getting very flipping annoyed at him for hanging around like a bad smell since that night, two days ago. I was annoyed at him for making it feel good. Too fucking good.

“No, you won’t find a way,” he argued. “You’ll lie awake at night, haunted with the knowledge that I’m cold and vulnerable on the mean streets.”

I rolled my eyes and the corner of my mouth turned up. “The mean streets? Of Amber?” I clarified. “Yeah, some bored housewife might hustle you into her minivan and take advantage of you, being so vulnerable and all.”

He widened his eyes at me, the teasing glint alight. “Yes, and what a horrible thing to have on your conscience. I’m much safer here,” he decided.

No, you’re not
, a voice whispered.
And neither am I, not with you here.

Because I was already kicking one addiction, I couldn’t kick the other. I focused on the TV. “I have utter and complete dominion over the remote, and you do not say anything about whatever ‘game’ muscle heads are playing at this point in time,” I relented.

He grinned, sinking back into the sofa and putting his hands behind his neck. “I’ll agree to that.”

I pointed at him with the remote. “And no touching.”

He held his hands up. “Hey, I can control myself. I’m not an animal. It’s you I’m worried about. I’ve seen the way you look at this.” He gestured to his body, currently clad in a tight tee and faded jeans. I almost broke a rib swallowing my laugh when I’d read his tee:
‘Let’s fight some ballerinas.’
It was so ridiculous and so utterly him. At odds with every other aspect of his biker persona, so much so it seemed to compliment it. Made him more attractive. He’d kicked off his boots and his cut was resting on the arm of the sofa. It was weirdly erotic to see him comfortable, to see him relaxing, and watch the way his limbs moved.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re delusional.”

His smile sent flutters up my spine, chasing away the itch I was battling not to scratch, even now. “Admit it, you find me attractive.”

I met his gaze. “What makes you think I find you attractive?”

He raised his brows. “Um, because you’re not blind.”

I stared at him, and then I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing. Like proper, holding-my-side laughing. There was only the slightest edge of hysteria to it.

I finished and the way Lucky was staring at me had me shift uncomfortably. His eyes were still bright, but his gaze was deeper, more intense. “It’s okay, firefly. I find you immensely attractive too,” he murmured, his voice thick.

The tone, his gaze, they had me stuttering over a response for a second before I found my façade and laughed. Although that time it was forced. “Yeah, because I could totally grace the cover for
Vogue
right now,” I retorted. “I’m not a huge fucking mess or anything.”

I was. Sleep was a stranger to me. Especially being here, where the walls fucking seeped Faith. Her paintings, her spirit was everywhere in the colorful bohemian cottage by the sea.

It was a paradise. Tranquility. Or was supposed to be. If you weren’t dragging chaos around with you. I couldn’t be comforted by the ghost of her presence because I didn’t want her to be a fucking ghost. A memory. She didn’t deserve to have her dignity and spirit sucked away by a disgusting disease. Lily didn’t deserve to lose her mom.

They were good people. And shitty things happened to them.

What hope was there for a fuckup like me?

So yeah, no sleep, which meant black smudges under my bloodshot eyes. I had managed to wash my hair, but it was still a messy mop atop my head. Food was hit or miss, which meant my cheeks were sunken in. And despite Lucky’s constant presence, I didn’t have the energy to hide behind my mask of makeup, to wear clothes that gave me an identity other than what I was.

Instead I was wearing leggings and a stained hoodie. I looked like a homeless person and he looked like a fucking
GQ
model.

The teasing left his eyes at my words and his jaw went hard. “You won’t say that shit, not around me,” he growled.

I frowned at the sudden change in his demeanor. I was getting more used to it, now that he was spending more time around me, despite my protests. Most of the time he was easygoing, almost annoying in his fucking optimism and cheer. Almost. Would have been certainly if I didn’t harbor this huge schoolgirl crush on him. If I weren’t addicted to everything about him.

His dumb attractive smile, the way his face darkened and his jaw hardened when the topic of Carlos came up, or when I stumbled from getting up too quickly. And when I refused to give him the details on my ‘sickness.’ That really pissed him off.

So much so that he’d declared he was camping out here until I ‘got better’ and until he was sure Carlos’s goons would leave me alone. The latter wouldn’t take long, I guessed. The former, well, he’d be here until the day he died waiting for me to ‘get better.’

“What shit?” I asked.

He leaned forward, the motion so quick I couldn’t scuttle away from his touch. My reaction times were shot to shit. He grasped my chin in his hands. “You bringing yourself down. Saying shit that pisses me the fuck off because it’s not true, and because you’re so fuckin’ certain of it. So we’ll get this straight. You’re beautiful. Gorgeous, in fact. When you’re strutting your stuff on stage, showin’ too many fuckin’ people your amazing tits and ass. When you’re strutting your stuff down the goddamn street. When you smile when you don’t think anyone’s watching. When you laugh for me.” His thumb brushed my lower lip. “When you’ve taken all your armor off and are just you. Even when you’re spattered with bruises that make me want to kill and maim every person who had a hand in it. Even when you’re battlin’ some fuckin’ sickness that you won’t tell me about, you’re stunning. So don’t say anything to the contrary. Don’t fuckin’
think
it. I’ll know.” He tapped his temple. “I can read minds. There’s no end to my powers.”

His eyes flared slightly with their telltale humor, but mostly there was something that wasn’t common. That I tricked myself into thinking was unique to the way he looked at me.

His mouth was inches away from mine. The fix was within reach. I actually leaned forward slightly to get just one hit, but he pulled back and it stung.

“Now pick a fuckin’ show,” he ordered.

I blinked a couple times, letting my breathing get back to normal. Then I scowled, more to hide my emotion from the rejection. I flipped through channels till I found the perfect one, grinning wickedly.

He didn’t say a thing, just leaned back, eyes on the screen.

* * *

“
O
h my fucking God
. That bitch,” Lucky snarled.

I was no longer watching the screen. Watching him was
so
much more entertaining. I just needed a glass of wine. But I couldn’t, you know, because I couldn’t replace heroin addiction with alcoholism, as much as I wanted to.

He glared at me. “Can you believe that they did that? Right behind her back. Oh, that’s not cool. She better put them on the blacklist for every charity event from now to forever for that shit.” He paused. “Or cut the brakes on whatsherface’s new Mercedes.”

Suffice to say my plan backfired. I’d thought the alpha male, tattoo-covered biker would hate watching reality television.

I was so very wrong.

“And now they’re turning up to her party like they didn’t potentially fuck up her marriage. That’s just….” He trailed off, shaking his head.

I suppressed a giggle. “Okay, I think we need to watch something else,” I declared flipping the channel.

Lucky gaped at me. “No. I need to see what happens,” he snapped.

I grinned. “Some people can handle these shows. Some, like the burly biker in front of me, get too emotionally invested. I’m saving you now by cutting you off, or else you’ll be here till six a.m. binge-watching and wondering why life could be so cruel to botch Michelle’s nose job, trust me.”

He stared at me. “Michelle gets a nose job? Why?”

I laughed and shook my head. “So can’t handle it.” My gaze flickered to the TV. “Much safer,” I said, nodding to the explosions and car chases of some action flick.

He pouted for a while, and it was hilarious. I realized, after five minutes of being amused by his sulk, that I hadn’t thought about a fix. In five whole minutes. Of course, as soon as I thought of it, that was all I could think about. I scratched my arm absently.

Lucky’s bald head turned to me. “Can I ask you a question, firefly?”

“As long as it’s not pertaining to Michelle and her plastic surgeries,” I deadpanned.

His eyes twinkled but his face was serious. “Why?”

I tilted my head. “Why what?”

“Why the stripping? I know you’re good at it—fuck, are you good at it—but you’re better than that.”

His words were sobering and I realized the little fantasyland I’d been in, watching TV with him, like normalcy was something I could clutch. I stiffened. “You don’t know me well enough to know what I’m better than.”

He regarded me. “I think I do,” he protested softly. “I’m not judgin’. We do whatever we need to just to stay breathin’, to make it through this fucked-up thing called life.”

For a split second, I swore I saw something behind his eyes. Something dark, blacker than midnight. Something that rivaled my dark. But then it was gone, leaving me wondering if it was a trick of the light.

I retracted my claws. “I did it because it was the logical choice,” I said, sighing. “I had a shitty childhood. I’m sure people had it worse, somewhere, but I didn’t think so at the time. So I promised myself that I’d be better than what I’d been forced to be.”

I swallowed the ash in my throat and the memories threatening the corner of my mind. I looked into his hazel eyes; they anchored me to the moment, prevented me from getting swept away in those memories. “I’m smart.” I shrugged. “Nothing special, but I read a lot and it sticks, what I read. I went to shitty high schools but got good grades. And good schools like to even out their stats by sponsoring some hood rat to come and lift them from obscurity. It makes for good publicity and helps them push away the belief that fancy colleges are for the elite, white, upper-middle class.” I sucked in a breath. “I had hope at first. I did well, made friends, met Lily. Almost forgot where I came from.” I paused. “And then I remembered. Figured out what I was meant to be. Where I belonged. And it wasn’t on a college campus, and it certainly wasn’t in fucking medical school. No big, sad, tragic story. Just the truth. Just reality.”

Lucky stared at me, never looking away for a second. “You’re wrong,” he said finally. “That is sad. Fuckin’ tragic. That that’s what you think. Jesus, Shakespeare could’ve written a play about that shit.” He moved forward to cup my cheeks gently. “That the world could not only give you a shit hand, but think you, someone like you, deserves it?” He shook his head. “Fuckin’ tragedy.”