by Anne Malcom
Anne Malcolm
Outside the Lines
The Sons of Templar MC #2.5
By Anne Malcolm
Copyright 2016 Anne Malcolm
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
WARNING: This MC novel contains crude language, sex scenes, and graphic violence. Is not suitable for readers under the age of 18. If any of the above offends you, please do not read any further. This is a complete work of fiction and is not a true representation of a motorcycle club. It is for entertainment purposes only. I hope you enjoy.
Book design by Swish Design & Editing
Cover design by L.J. Anderson at Mayhem Cover Creations
Cover image Copyright 2015
My life’s not easy. I’ll tell you that now. It’s not neat. I don’t fit into society the way most people expect me to and I don’t color studiously between the lines, outside the lines is where I reside. The fringes of society is where I found my place, with the Sons of Templar MC. The life they lived gave me everything I wanted, and everything I needed. Most importantly, it gave me something I’d been lacking for over a decade—family. A place to belong.
Club girl—that was my title. There were other words for what I was, but I preferred the less derogatory version. Sure, I’d love to be an Old Lady. It’s the dream. But, as someone who escaped into fantasy worlds when life got too much, I knew the difference between dreams and reality. I had resigned myself to the fact, I’d always belong to the club. It didn’t mean I didn’t crave one man in particular to claim me. To put me on the back of his bike and ride off into the sunset with the man who’d captured my heart the first day I saw him—Hansen. The dream where he’d finally see me and make me his, existed strictly in Macy’s world of wonder. Until now. Until somehow my fantasy world and reality world collided and he looks at me in the way I’d dreamt of for a year.
Fairy tales usually had neat and happy endings once the hero and heroine got together. This wasn’t a fairy tale. Hansen wasn’t your traditional hero and I was the furthest you could get from a heroine. I feared my past might dictate my future. That my world outside the lines would go from messy to complete disaster.
I just want to say a huge thank you for reading my book, it’s very surreal to call myself an author and share my characters with you. If you enjoyed Outside the Lines, please leave a review on Goodreads or Amazon. Your review will introduce other people to Macy and Hansen and all of the people connected to the Sons of Templar.
You can learn more about what I’m working on, or currently reading, check out my website.
www.annemalcomauthor.com
Blurb
Thanks To The Reader
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Connect With Me Online
About the Author – Anne Malcom
Club whore. Not my favorite title, but one that held so much more than the immediate connotations most people connected with it. It wasn’t something I aspired to be as a little girl dreaming of a bright future, but that future dimmed when life delivered me too many of the ugly truths of the universe in too few years.
I’m not going to sit and whine about a happy childhood that was shattered and turned into a nightmare after one horrible night, nor am I going to recount the year I spent dancing on a pole to put food on the table and a roof over my head. That ain’t me. I’m a survivor. I’ll take what life throws at me and figure out a way to catch it with a smile. I find solace in worlds of fantasy and magic, places where I can escape the darkness and evil of the real world. I laugh as much as I can, try not to take life too seriously. Otherwise, I’d never get out alive. No matter what, I’m not letting the bitterness of this world settle in and taint my soul. I did what I could to claw my way out of a life that threatened to ruin me, to find one that suited me, where I fit, where I had a family.
“Macy!” Jagger yelled at me.
I whirled around on my barstool. I’d been alone at the bar, enjoying an unusual moment of silence. I was never silent. And around here, I was hardly ever stationary.
“Yeah, hon?” I replied with a small grin.
“Get me a beer, and get your sweet ass over here,” he commanded from his spot at a table where he was flanked by Charley and Levi.
I rolled my eyes and bent over to snag a beer from the fridge.
“I got it, kiddo,” I reassured the Prospect, who had rushed to help me.
I gave him a wink. They got enough shit from the boys, I didn’t mind doing what I could to make their lives easier.
I sauntered up to the table, my eyes on Jagger. I stopped just out of his reach and dangled the beer from my hand.
“Anyone ever teach you a word that, in polite society, comes after a request? Rhymes with cheese?” I asked with a sickly sweet tone.
Jagger shook his head and Levi chuckled.
“Beautiful and intelligent, Macy. Won’t you please hand me that chilled beverage and sit that tight behind on my knee?” his gravelly voice requested.
He didn’t wait for me to move, just leaned out of his chair and tagged my waist, yanking me onto his lap. I let out a small squeal but laughed.
He nuzzled my neck affectionately and I leaned into his hold.
I liked Jagger. Had a soft spot for him. He wasn’t what most women would call handsome, given the fact he had a scar that marred half of his face, from his temple to the side of his nose, it was jagged, angry and puckered. His jaw was sharp and masculine, although it was covered by a long beard. His hair was unruly and inky black, but always shiny and clean. He wasn’t tall—he was taller than me, even in heels, but that wasn’t saying much—but he was stocky and packed with muscle. It was his eyes that captured me the most. They were the most vibrant green I’d ever encountered, like two emeralds shining from his head. He also had the most gifted tongue I’d ever experienced. Plus, he treated me with respect. Most of the boys did, but he treated me like a friend as well as a bed mate, and we’d spend hours talking after he’d used that gifted tongue along with other appendages.
“You looked mighty deep in thought over there darlin’,” he commented giving me a squeeze. “Anything me and my most knowledgeable advisors can help with?” He nodded to Charley and Levi, who did their best to look wise.
I gave them a look, then burst out laughing.
Charley was little more than a kid, he’d prospected straight out of high school and earned his patch before he could even legally drink. He was still only twenty and his boyish looks were yet to be corrupted and hardened by the life he’d chosen to lead. His close-cropped blond hair and classically handsome face made him easily mistaken for a college kid. Though, you only needed to get a look at his patch and the tattoos already serving as a patchwork over his muscled body to learn the truth. He even had SONS tattooed on his knuckles, in addition to the tattoo spanning his back.
The MC was his life. He’d leave it only in a coffin—or handcuffs.
Levi was one of the older members, he’d been with the New Mexico chapter of The Sons of Templar for as many years as I’d been alive. His shaggy graying hair brushed his shoulders and he was clinging to his Chopper style mustache, despite it leaving the right side of trendy decades prior. His tattoos were faded and his belly protruding from too much beer, but he was still someone you’d be pretty stupid to get on the wrong side of, especially since you never saw him without a big scary knife strapped to his belt.
“Nothing that I want to trouble you three with,” I said taking a pull of my beer. “I’ll leave you to solving things like world hunger and global warming,” I teased fondly.
Though they were hardened men, who I knew could be scary as shit did the occasion arise, they were also my family. Loyal to a fault, they would die for each other. I’d been with them for two years and felt like maybe they’d stick their necks out for me too. Or maybe that was my darned optimism shining through.
After laughing and shooting the shit with the men, more members arrived and the start of the weekly Friday night party began. Not that these men needed a designated night to get loose.
More club girls, namely Scarlett and Kimberly took it upon themselves to get up on the pole in the corner of the room and do a strip show for the boys at one point, not that they had much covering themselves to begin with. Here, there were two kinds of club girls. Scar and Kim, who were all about the shortest skirts, the highest heels, and the most skin. They weren’t fazed about having relations in public. Evidenced by the fact, Scar just let one of the guys yank her off the stage and drag her into a dimly lit, but still visible corner to do the nasty. Then there were girls like me. Sure I liked my heels, but my clothing erred on the hippy side. I was less than likely to be found sprawled across the hood of a car and photographed for a men’s magazine editorial. And, I was not into public sex. Luckily, the men respected this, and never tried to go past heavy petting at these things.
“How about we blow this joint?” Jagger murmured in my ear, his hand tickling the edge of my skirt.
I smiled and nodded slightly, my eyes catching on something across the room. More like someone. Hansen’s eyes burned into me and did not leave mine even as Jagger led me away by the hand. I struggled against the feeling I got in that moment, it was the same feeling I’d had whenever those blue eyes caught mine. I also struggled with the obvious fury dancing behind those eyes as he focused on Jagger’s hand in mine. Then the fury was gone, replaced by a blank stare, one that flickered away from me just before I rounded the corner.
“Sure you don’t wanna talk about whatever had you a million miles away?” Jagger asked, puffing on his smoke.
I moved my head to look at his profile. “Nothing to trouble your pretty little head about,” I teased softly.
Jagger moved his own head, regarding me.
We’d just finished round two of a very productive sexathon. I was exhausted and definitely sated. Like always, I felt happy to chill in his room and just hang.
“Your grandma?” he guessed, not letting it go.
I snorted. “I try not to waste too much cranial power on that old bat. I already commit an hour a week to being in her presence, that’s enough,” I told him honestly.
Apart from the club, my grandma was the only shred of family I had on this earth. She was mean as they came, and wasting away in an old folks’ home after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Not that she’d lost her marbles. She had a firm enough grip on those things to remember what a disappointment I was and made sure to remind me of that every time she saw me. Jagger was the only one who knew about her, about how deep her sharp tongue cut me.
“You know…” Jagger said slowly taking a drag of his smoke, his expression turning serious, “…you’re better than this.” He waved his hand around the room. “Not that I don’t love your company, inside and outside the bedroom…” he winked before his face turned serious again, “…but this life, you can do better. You deserve better. You’re smart, beautiful. World’s got more to offer you than this.”
I jerked slightly at such a speech coming from Jagger. He lived for the club. Breathed it. He’d been here way longer than my two years, considering he was in his early thirties and had patched in when he was younger than me. I went up on my elbow and rested my head in my hand.
“Yeah, right, I’ve got so much to offer the world,” I replied sarcastically. “Plus, you’d be lost without me. Admit it,” I teased.
Jagger’s face failed to lighten at my words. “Serious, babe. There’s some people who suit the life, who deserve to live in the gray. You deserve more, more than a bunch of bikers can give you,” he told me.
I let his words sink in. “You’re wrong,” I whispered. “I’ve seen what the world’s like outside this… without a family… without anyone. It’s not pretty. And it sure as shit doesn’t have anything to offer me,” I replied decisively. Again, my voice didn’t hold self-pity, only confidence. Confidence that this was the best life for me. For now anyway. I wasn’t too crash hot on making future plans. I was a live in the now type of girl.
He gave me a searching look, then a smile came back to his face. He stubbed out his smoke and tagged my hips, dragging me on top of him.
“Well, I sure as shit have something to offer you,” he murmured. His hard-on pressing into my stomach serving as evidence.
I let the little tingle of desire warm up my entire body, and for the next half an hour, let that be the only thing I thought of.
I closed the door to Jagger’s room quietly. It was the early hours of the morning, the only time the clubhouse was as silent as a tomb. It was my favorite time. When I could trail my fingers along the mismatched frames in the hallway, looking at the history of the brotherhood, of the loyalty keeping this family together. Yes, the underbelly of such a family may be gritty and slide right into the black side of black and white, but and least they didn’t lie about who they were. Most families buried their secrets and wrongdoings in closets, behind the family photos and kid’s toys. They were slaves to a society that told you the right way to live, the right way to act, and chained you to that life. The life that I’d rather die than commit myself to. I knew, if I were a man, I would have patched into the Sons. But I wasn’t. My vagina gave me two options, if I wanted to be part of the life that seemed to fit me perfectly, it was club girl or Old Lady.
Going into the club, I didn’t know anything about it. I was just a girl who didn’t know who she was, looking for somewhere to fit in. I discovered the way the Sons lived, found out I liked it, and just kind of slipped into the role of being someone who didn’t belong to anyone in particular—just the club in general. I wanted to be an Old Lady. Not in the way Kim and Scar desperately wanted to sink their claws into someone, for power, money, or the thrill of being hooked to an ‘outlaw.’ No. I wanted the unconditional, unfathomable dedication and love that that title represented. A man who was devoted to me, brothers who treated me with the respect that old ladies got. I wanted a permanent place in the family. It hadn’t worked out that way, I didn’t know if it ever would. I knew that ‘club whore’ had a time limit. A ticking clock if you will.
I had made it to the common room, where various club members were passed out. Some had half-naked women draped over them, others were clutching half full bottles of spirits. I shook my head at Levi, who was snoring on the pool table with two girls tucked under each arm.
Walking to the kitchen, my aim was to get a glass of water and a snack before I headed home to score approximately four hours of shut eye. Then I would chain myself to my computer and go to work on my design projects. That plan was changed when I saw the kitchen was in a state of disarray, to put it mildly. Someone had obviously decided to have a drunken cook up then forgotten to commence the drunken clean up. I sighed and shook my head.
“Worse than teenagers,” I muttered to myself.
Setting my bag on the
counter, I unearthed my phone and headphones. Music was one of the many things I indulged in that helped me escape. Helped me remind myself to live and be happy, regardless of my past. So, a half hour later, that’s what I was doing, dancing and singing along to my favorite song while cleaning up the mess. I didn’t mind really. It was expected that I do shit like this. It may have been on the wrong side of sexist, and sometimes it did grate me, but most of the time I did it with no complaints. They were family. What they gave me in return was worth washing a few dirty dishes. I was swirling around, lost in the music readying myself to do a final wipe down then leave.
Then my eyes met something I didn’t expect.
A figure stood in the doorway. I covered my mouth to muffle the scream that came with my fright. My heart didn’t stop beating when I realized it was familiar eyes that burned into mine.
My face burned red with embarrassment. Hansen, the man who pretty much consumed my mind, the man who I fantasized about but never paid any attention to me stood right in the door. Right now, though, his eyes didn’t hold the look of a man who barely gave me a second glance for the past year. No. They held hunger. Heat.
I’d been so busy inspecting this hunger, shocked by the desire in his gaze, my music was still playing in my ears. I yanked one of my earphones out, preparing myself to say—I had no idea what. Hansen pushed off the doorway and closed the distance between us. His hands clutched the sides of my neck and his mouth dipped onto mine, silencing whatever no doubt stupid thing I was going to say.
I was so shocked I didn’t respond at first. Then his tongue probed mine, kissing me with ferocity, an intensity that I’d never even known existed. My whole body sank into his and I gave into the kiss, making a little sound at the back of my throat as his touch sent pinpricks of arousal up and down my spine. His hands moved to my ass and he lifted me, setting me down on the counter, so his crotch pressed into mine. I wrapped my legs around him, needing him closer. It felt like I’d never had sex before, I was that desperate. It was like I hadn’t been thoroughly satisfied a few hours ago. Well, I thought I’d been satisfied. This kiss, the promise behind it, showed me I didn’t know what satisfaction was.
