Deadline to Damnation: Sons of Templar #7

by Malcom, Anne

His lips lingered for a long time.

  Then he let me go and walked out.

  Scarlett came in seconds after I decided I was going to crawl under the covers and never come out again.

  She was holding two beers.

  She was fully dressed, fully made up, in a battle uniform of her own.

  I took the beer.

  “You better get dressed,” she said, sitting down, obviously happy to watch this happen. “It’s going to be a long few hours.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, draining my beer.

  We both looked at each other, pretending we weren’t afraid.

  Pretending that it was only a few hours and then it would be over.

  Which I guess it would.

  * * *

  Once I showered, had another beer—which Scarlett handed me mid shower, because she stayed, obviously remembering my thing about strange showers, or just not having any boundaries—we both emerged to the common room.

  I don’t know why I expected it to be like a crypt or something, in preparation for the ghosts that today would inevitably create, but it was the opposite. There were people, and children, everywhere.

  Each of the ladies from last night were scattered around, and all of them gave me waves, hugs, arm squeezes or kisses on the cheek. And I didn’t mind any of the contact. In fact, it felt comforting right now.

  There was no sitting waiting, sitting on our hands or wringing those hands pretty much all morning. No. There were children to be wrangled. Food to be made. And in mine, Scarlett and Amy’s cases, wine to be drunk. Amy technically had a child to be wrangled, he was suspiciously well behaved. “I gave him baby cough syrup,” she said with a shrug. “His father is fighting a fucking war with an international criminal today, I don’t give two fucks what the good mothers of America have to say about me drugging my child, it needs to happen.”

  I did not disagree with her there. And I also thought her, and every single woman here, were amazing mothers. In their own way, but that’s what made it all the more better.

  There were prospects and patched members scattered around the highly secure clubhouse. Also members of the Greenstone Security company, famous in L.A. for being the only place celebrities went to. The owner, Keltan Brooke, was roaming around the place, dripping sexiness and talking in a hot as shit accent.

  The club was as safe as any place could be.

  There was also a huge basement that was not a torture chamber, but a ‘safe room’ that was fully carpeted, with sofas, bathrooms and a small kitchenette. These guys obviously didn’t fuck around.

  But when I looked around at the small children, at the women who loved each other like sisters, at the family here, I understood why the men didn’t fuck around. Why they didn’t hesitate in riding off without guarantee of coming home.

  I got it.

  I also met another woman, Lizzie, who had more adorable kids, was also beautiful, but older and had been around the club longer than even Gwen. Her and Evie were some of the longest serving Old Ladies. Both of them were calm, serene, faces not unlike those serving in battles I’d been a part of all over the world.

  Well, Evie’s version of serene was to yell at people for not cleaning up after themselves, but it worked.

  The meet was at noon. Liam had not told me this because I didn’t have the courage to ask. Me. I didn’t have the courage to ask the fricking question. Scarlett told me. Because hard as she may be, she sensed softness in others.

  Sometime after eleven, the doors opened, and Mia stopped trying to keep her little boys from shaving each other’s heads with the disposable razors they’d found. She was not happy at the beautiful woman walking through the door.

  I recognized her, despite the fact I shunned most popular culture. It wasn’t exactly great for a reporter to be ignorant of the happenings in contemporary society, but I was a conflict journalist, my career didn’t hinge on which Kardashian got a new husband this week.

  That was all soft news for people that needed to be comforted, who needed a mental binge on the emotional version of mac and cheese.

  Whereas I needed the hard stuff, to make sure I was never comfortable, always starving for comfort.

  Jesus, I was so fucked up.

  But in a biker compound, locked down with all the women I’d met in the past twenty-four hours, I’d say fucked up was a pretty relevant term.

  Apparently, in the middle of this biker compound was a rock star.

  Lexie Decesare was the lead singer of Unquiet Mind, one of the only popular bands I actually liked. Because they had real talent. They weren’t auto-tuned within an inch of their lives and they looked like real, down to earth people. Apart from Sam Kennedy. He was pretty much your quintessential asshole rock star. But even the way he did it was charming. Honest. And I recognized honesty more than anyone else. Their music meant something.

  I didn’t listen to it for that exact reason.

  Because it called up emotions. It was heartbreak in a melody. In a song that tugged at all those things I thought I’d tied up tight.

  But I followed their career with interest.

  And now, here was the lead singer, walking into the clubhouse, a baby perched on her hip and a hot guy to end all hot guys trailing her holding another baby.

  I recognized him too. It was her husband, Killian. And the head of her security detail.

  Another hot as shit guy who looked at his woman as if he were terrified she might fall off the face of the earth.

  “Lexie!” Mia demanded, her voice shrill as she rushed toward her daughter. “What in the flipping heck are you doing here?” she demanded, glaring at the woman who was only more beautiful than she seemed online. Which was an anomaly. Everyone ‘famous’ never looked better in person.

  But she did.

  Though looking at her mother, it wasn’t a surprise.

  “I’m here because this is where I belong,” Lexie said calmly, putting an absolutely adorable little girl down who immediately ran into the rest of the gaggle of beautiful children playing in the common room, oblivious to everything around them.

  I watched the children with the same empty womb feeling I’d had when I first met Macy’s boy. Every single one of them was adorable. And not every kid was adorable. It was just the truth. But it seems the Sons of Templar and their women bred well. Which wasn’t exactly a surprise.

  I was overcome with pure and naked worry for these beautiful children. What ugliness would befall them today? Who would they lose?

  I thought of my beautiful little nephew miles away, in a warm and lovely and most importantly, uncomplicated and safe home. Neither my sister nor my brother in law were going to get involved in an international war with a human trafficker.

  But that didn’t guarantee him insulation from pain. My mom was a fricking school teacher and my dad ran a furniture business. Our home was happy. Safe.

  And I still ended up here.

  “You belong in a fortress in L.A. filled with security personnel and far away from here,” Mia snapped, putting her hand on her hip.

  Her daughter mirrored the look. Though their styles were completely opposite, they mirrored each other in a way they looked like sisters, not mother and daughter. “I am not hiding in L.A. while my family is in danger.”

  “That’s precisely the point,” Mia all but screeched. “You’ll be in L.A. the only dangerous thing you’ll experience is kale juice and I’ll be able to breathe a little easier. Now—”

  Mia’s rant got cut off as Lexie’s eyes focused on me. “You’re Caroline Hargrave,” she breathed.

  I’d been around famous and powerful people before. All of them failed to affect me. People were just people, after all.

  But something about Lexie, about the fact that she was exactly like she portrayed herself, and that she fricking recognized me, had me a little star struck.

  “Yes! She’s a journalist,” Mia cut in. “So now your publicist is gonna have to deal with the story of why the heck Lexie Decesare came
into the middle of a war in Amber.”

  Lexie rolled her eyes. “I think her angle will be more about the war and less about me.”

  “Stop being so humble,” Mia commanded. “You know you’re more famous than any war. Even one with as many hot guys in it as ours.”

  She was bordering on hysterical and clinging to humor to get her through this, but Mia was right. Lexie was more newsworthy than even a motorcycle gang going to war with a human trafficking cartel in a small seaside town in California.

  So was the world.

  Cade

  They arrived at the warehouse and they knew something was wrong immediately.

  The something wrong being that it was fucking empty.

  Not a soul, or whatever Fernandez was, anywhere.

  The sense of foreboding he’d been carrying around grew larger as men cursed around him.

  He looked to Steg for guidance, as he had many times throughout his life. But for once, the weathered man looked just as lost as he fucking felt.

  “What the fuck is this?” Jagger demanded.

  Cade understood the wildness in Jagger’s eyes, the fact he was being robbed of the retribution he so sorely needed.

  “It’s a trap,” Gage cut in, pale as he’d ever seen him. As afraid as he’d ever seen him. “Just not one we expected.”

  “Fuck,” Brock hissed.

  Every brother had a piece out. And nowhere to point it. No blood to spill.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket.

  Cold dread intensified.

  “What the fuck is this?” he demanded.

  “I’m not an outlaw, I’m a king. I don’t play by your rules,” Fernandez said. “I hope you said goodbye to your wife and children.”

  The line was dead before Cade could say anything.

  He looked at the men. “We need to get the fuck out of here and back to the club. Now.”

  For the first time ever, his voice almost shook. His terror over how fatal his lapse in judgment might be had him paralyzed.

  For a split second.

  Then the vision of his wife and children had him moving.

  And the rest of the men.

  So that meant some of them got out in time when the remote activated bomb went off.

  Others were not so lucky.

  Caroline

  After Mia had told Lexie she was now doing a tell-all TMZ interview airing all her embarrassing habits as punishment for her turning up here, things calmed again.

  As it neared midday, the children were ushered down to the basement, and they all seemed to sense the need not to fight it. Even Mia’s boys, who I was sure were going to do something like steal two motorcycles and ride off into the sunset, went willingly. It was obvious that the women didn’t want to sit in some underground bunker without a bar, so we all planned on taking shifts, with Lauren, Lily and two prospects going first.

  Everyone tried to distract themselves with stories of the current pranks Amy was pulling on her mother, the fact that Belle had convinced Cade to let her paint his toenails, Mia tying her sons to the bed so she could have sex with her husband in the garage, the time Lucky tried on a pair of Bex’s panties to see what they felt like. Nothing worked.

  And then, five minutes till midday, Killian jumped into action.

  “Stay here,” he demanded, eyeing Lexie.

  Naturally, we all followed him.

  We got outside to see a black SUV pulling in. Killian turned and glared at Lexie, she shrugged.

  I was relaxed because I recognized the license plate number of the car. I guessed that’s why Killian’s weapon was holstered, and they hadn’t open fire yet.

  Rosie hopped out of the driver’s seat.

  Swiss, of all people, limped out of the passenger’s.

  “You’re throwing a party without me,” she greeted, scowling at us all. “Now that’s just rude.”

  Gwen ran up and hugged her. “What are you doing here? Cade is going to kill you.”

  Rosie shrugged. “Someone’s always trying to kill me. My brother will be a welcome change of pace.” She winked at me. “I’m sorry I’m way past fashionably late, this guy here is actually almost a match for me.” She pointed to a wincing Swiss. “But I got here just in time, I see. Cade was working on the belief that Fernandez wouldn’t turn a small American town into a war zone. Which is a sane belief. I’m not as sane as my brother. So I hedged my bets on a different outcome. He’s so not gonna laugh when I say I told you so.” Something moved in her face. Something that didn’t match up with the lightness of her tone. Like she wasn’t even sure if she’d have a brother to say that to. Or if she’d be able to say it herself.

  “So, we’ve got some good news bad news here,” she continued.

  “And your version of good news is so not gonna be the same as mine,” Amy muttered, eyes tight and worried like the rest of the women. But they were not hysterical. Crying. They all held strong. It was obvious why these men were so attached to these women. I was already forming an unhealthy attachment to them. Though that could be because I might possibly be dying with them soon.

  Rosie grinned at Amy. “Well, no. There is not a Barney’s opening anywhere in the vicinity. But there is an international warlord on his way here with like a carload of goons ready to kill us.”

  Everyone paled slightly. “And I’m guessing that’s your version of good news?” Bex asked dryly.

  “No, of course not. The good news is, you have me, and I have these.” She opened the trunk of the SUV that just so happened to be bursting with guns.

  “Just once, I want you to open a trunk and have it full of Chanel’s entire Boy Bag collection,” Gwen whined.

  Amy laughed.

  Bex leaned in and picked one up, not hesitating.

  “You’re saying we’re meant to be fighting them off?” Mia said, looking to her daughter.

  “No, we’re just last point of contact,” Rosie said. “Ideally, we’re just gonna hold them, look cool, maybe take some snaps for the Gram. But worst case, yes we might have to get trigger happy.”

  Killian’s jaw was hard, as was Keltan’s along with the rest of the crew who had rolled their eyes at Rosie’s arrival. I’m pretty sure I saw a guy called Heath exchange money with another man named Duke. Obviously they had a bet going on Rosie evading Swiss.

  “Freckles, I want you inside, fucking now,” Killian hissed at his wife.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, folding her arms.

  “Listen to your flipping husband!” Mia screamed. “This is the one and only time I’ll say this, because this is hopefully the one and only time Rosie presents us with a trunk full of guns.

  Rosie shrugged.

  Lexie stood her ground.

  Mia glared at Killian. “Drag her in there. You have my permission to manhandle her.”

  Killian looked like a man torn. As did the rest of the men out here, witnessing this. As they all looked like pretty intense alpha males, I was sure their first instinct was to get the women somewhere they could be safe.

  Protected.

  But these were not women to play it safe.

  Rosie began handing out guns, ignoring the alpha male crisis.

  Not a single one of the women, the wives, the mothers, the fucking rock stars seemed to blink at this. None of them run back into the clubhouse, hysterical, asking to be saved.

  Everyone just leaned in and picked one up, with the confidence that showed me they each knew how to use them. Amy and Bex didn’t surprise me.

  I did question whether Mia should be allowed one, considering the fact she declared it “went with her outfit.”

  I took one from Scarlett, who was grinning. “Guess this wasn’t what you expected when you lied your way into the clubhouse looking for a story, huh?”

  I laughed, feeling the weight of the gun in my hands. “I don’t expect anything covering a story,” I replied. “But even not expecting anything, I didn’t expect this.”

  Rosie looked down at h
er phone. “Get ready.”

  “I don’t like the way she said that,” Gwen said to Amy.

  “Me either. The last time she said that, she’d spiked my drink and I woke up in Mexico, with bad hair,” Amy replied.

  A large boom echoed through the air, coupled with a rumble that vibrated the ground enough to almost topple most of the women over.

  I’d been close when a large bomb had been detonated before. So I stayed upright.

  Rosie grinned. “See you’ve got your sea legs!” she yelled over the low beep in the air as our eardrums reacted to the after effects.

  Men ran around the parking lot. Keltan was talking into a headset. Killian had one hand on his gun, the other on his wife.

  “Did you just set off a bomb in the middle of Amber in broad daylight?” Gwen demanded, rubbing at her ears.

  “They did it first!” Rosie yelled back. “And it wasn’t in the middle of Amber. It was exactly one block away from here, I’d already cleared the area.”

  “That’s meant to be them, right?” Amy clarified. “Blown to high heaven or lowest hell?” She shook the gun and her hand. “And these can stay as accessories?”

  “Yeah, it’s meant to. But when you make plans, God laughs, so you know, get ready for that sadistic sense of humor,” Rosie replied, eyes on the gates, where the prospects and men staying had recovered from the blast.

  We all watched the gates, waiting in that horrible loaded silence that comes both after and before death.

  Then the gunshots started.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Can loving the wrong man really determine the course of your life?

  I didn’t think so.

  I think loving the right one could.

  Because love warped the right man into something wrong.

  Love warped the right woman into something wrong.

  And losing that love, that intense, fucked up and life forming love, well that ruined a person.

  Experiencing it once was bad enough.

  Having to witness it was just as bad.

  I stood at the cemetery, tucked into Liam’s side, a place I’d been ever since he arrived at the clubhouse and literally sprinted toward me until I was in his arms.