Firestorm (The Sons of Templar MC Book 2)

by Anne Malcom

  “Don’t know what?” I asked, dread building in the pit of my stomach.

  “We just got news...Ian was killed last night...a roadside bomb,” he told me, his voice breaking. The weight of the anguish and pain in his voice was hard to listen to.

  I didn’t hear anything else thanks to a dull roar in my ears. I might have said something else to Dave, I don’t know. Everything was a blur. I must have said my goodbyes because my phone wasn’t in my hand anymore. My hands started shaking on the wheel and my vision got blurry. I pulled over, on autopilot, then stumbled out of the car to be sick on the side of the road.

  I didn’t know what to do. I stayed on my knees for a second, not caring about the rough stones that were cutting my knees, not feeling anything but the heavy weight on my chest. The weight that threatened to suffocate me. I tried not to hyperventilate. If I continued sucking in air at the rate I was I would pass out.

  “Get it together, Amy,” I muttered to myself.

  Slowly I managed to get to my feet. I stumbled back into my car and my blood ran cold. Gwen. Shit. She would be a mess. The baby. Fuck.

  I broke every traffic law in the book speeding back to Amber, frantically dialing Gwen’s number as I wove through traffic. On getting her voicemail for the fourth time I was about to call Cade when Rosie rang me.

  “Rosie, are you with Gwen?” I asked her as soon as I picked up.

  “I take it you know,” she paused.

  “What?” I snapped, my stomach threatening to roll again at her tone.

  “Gwen’s in the hospital, Amy,” she whispered. “She didn’t take the news real well—we don’t know anything just yet,” she explained but I cut her off.

  “I’ll be there in ten,” I declared, putting my foot on the gas.

  Five minutes later after parking half on the curb of the hospital I burst through the doors. I had broken down for about a minute on the drive, letting the tears fall while I sped through the streets. I had made myself stop once I realized I would have to be strong for my best friend. For her kid. I stormed through the waiting room to be greeted by half of the club. My eyes rested on Brock, who stood upon seeing me but Rosie got to me first, throwing her arms around me.

  “I’m so sorry, Ames,” she whispered into my hair. I stood in her arms stiffly and waited until she let me go.

  “Where is she?” I demanded.

  Tears welled up in Rosie’s eyes. “They weren’t letting anyone see her but Cade just went through those doors.” She pointed to where two pissed off looked orderlies had emerged.

  “Right,” I said, pointing my heels in that direction. I ignored everyone around me until Brock stepped in my path.

  I glared up at him. “Get out of my way,” I said quietly.

  “Sparky,” he murmured softly, his eyes on mine.

  I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let the soft, sympathetic look in his eyes penetrate. If it did I would fall into his arms sobbing. I had to find my friend.

  “Get out of my way!” I screamed at him, my voice breaking at the end.

  I didn’t care that my voice caused the hushed chatter to cease and put all eyes on me. I only cared that Brock frowned at me a beat then stepped aside. I burst into the room where my best friend was and held onto her for dear life.

  The next day, after being assured Gwen was fit to fly, I sped around franticly organizing our trip to New Zealand. I called my father, and upon hearing the news he made sure we had everything we needed, including his jet and a doctor to fly with us. No matter what his emotional shortcomings were he was there with his money and connections when I needed him. They were a poor substitute for a father’s love but useful nonetheless. Because I had been so busy sorting everything out I had the luxury of a busy mind, which meant no free moment to let reality come in and tear me to pieces. I could feel it though. The cold, sharp grief puncturing the frail sense of sanity I was clinging to.

  I was determined to shelve my own grief and focus on getting my friend home safe and away from the traitorous dirty cheat of a biker that was hovering around her.

  After finding out Gwen had found him in bed with a club whore I had seriously debated the merits of stabbing him with a scalpel, but I deduced Gwen didn’t need the drama and I didn’t want bloodstains on my outfit. I was toying with the idea of accidently plowing into his motorcycle while he was on it.

  All of these plans would have to wait since I pulled up to the hospital, bags packed, flights booked, ready for Gwen and I to fly out of this freaking town.

  I stopped the car and took a deep breath. Brock was following Cade, who was pushing Gwen in a wheelchair. I did not need that.

  I glared at Cade hotly as I rounded the car, wishing looks could kill. I softened my gaze to smile weakly at Gwen. “I’ve got everything we need for our trip, Gwennie. Daddy’s jet is waiting for us at a small airstrip outside of town and it’ll take us to LAX where we’ve got the next plane to Auckland. Daddy also insisted we take his doctor with us on the flight. Just in case.”

  I glanced down at her stomach and tried not to let my worry for the little being in there show. I tried to help her out of the chair, doing my best to ignore the heavy stare of two angry bikers. I couldn’t ignore the hand that fastened on my wrist unfortunately.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Amy? You can’t just take the mother of my child halfway across the world. Wherever she goes I go,” he declared roughly.

  Oh no, he didn’t. He could not play the concerned father and boyfriend bit after fucking some slut. I was wishing I had sharp objects in the immediate vicinity, couture be damned. I settled for a piercing glare.

  “You can take your hand off me right now.” My voice was pure ice.

  Luckily for him he complied. He was muscly and tall and all that, but with the cocktail of fury and grief running through my system I figured I could take him.

  I helped Gwen up and then my gaze shot back to him.

  “I can and I will take Gwen back to her family and her home, to the people that love her. In case you’ve forgotten she’s going to attend the fucking funeral of her only brother,” I hissed at him, ignoring the sharp stab I felt as I uttered the words. “It just happens to be convenient that her home is as far away from you as humanly possible, and a silver lining in this fucking nightmare is the fact that you are a criminal with a record which means you aren’t going anywhere,” I finished on a slight snarl.

  I flicked my attention away from him. Now that I said my piece he did not exist.

  “Jesus, Gwen, wait,” I heard him plead. I was totally ready to drop the motherfucker if he tried to stop me but Gwen put her hand on my arm.

  “It’s okay, Amy.”

  I managed not to flinch at the flat, dead tone of her voice and complied in letting her turn back to Cade. When this happened Brock advanced on me, yanking me away and pulling me flush to his body. “Sparky, wait a fucking second before you fly halfway across the world,” he hissed in my ear.

  I gazed at him flatly, trying to disguise my yearning for him. I was disgusted with myself. All I wanted to do was jump into his arms, to grieve the loss of another man.

  His hand went to my hips, and his face softened to a look so tender I had never seen it on his rough face. “Baby, let me sort some shit out. I’ll come with you. Be there for you,” he said softly.

  I yanked out of his arms, his suggestion like a bucket of ice water. “Yeah, how do you think that will go down? Me bringing the guy I’ve been sleeping with to Gwen’s brother’s funeral. That’s poor fucking taste,” I hissed at him and his eyes hardened.

  “I’m more than that and you know it,” he replied roughly.

  “This isn’t the time to discuss semantics of our past relationship. I’ve got a flight to catch,” I snapped.

  I turned my back on him, but not before I saw his face turn to stone. I swallowed my feelings and got Gwen into the car, using all of my willpower not to look back. Not to fucking turn around and beg Brock to come with me.
I did it. Barely.

  It was two weeks after that scene at the hospital. Two weeks of being at Gwen and Ian’s home in the beautiful countryside of New Zealand. We had to wait to get Ian’s body shipped back before we could have the funeral. These two weeks I had been in a weird state of limbo. Without a funeral, without a goodbye I could almost pretend none of this was real. That Ian was alive and well in some unknown location. I prayed for it. Prayed for Dave to get a call informing them the army had made some kind of mistake and Ian had just been misplaced on the battlefield. No call came. Only a coffin. Containing the man I once loved. The man I still loved. The man who had declared his intention to love me until the day I died. The man whose heart I had been planning on breaking.

  “Need some company, sweetheart?” a voice asked me quietly.

  I glanced up to see Dave staring at me with a soft expression on his face. “I’d love some,” I told him sincerely, needing a respite from the thoughts in my brain.

  He sat and I marveled at the strength of this man. He had stayed strong among the countless amount of female tears around him. He had remained standing while his only son was lowered into the ground. He comforted his wife and daughter as they broke down when the dirt started covering the coffin. He even opened his arms to me when I finally let the tears fall. This man was my hero.

  Right now though, sitting next to me in the dark corner of some pub where the wake was being held, his mask slipped a bit. The pain and despair in his eyes was harrowing to watch and his whole frame seemed to sag under the weight of his loss.

  He unearthed a flask from his coat pocket and offered it to me. I took it with a grin, taking a long swig and handed it back to him.

  He grinned through his grief. “A woman who can take a decent drink. I see why he liked you,” he said lightly.

  I froze at Dave’s words.

  His large hand settled over mine. “He talked about you. Called me up two years ago and told me he met the girl he wanted to marry.” His eyes twinkled as he seemed to recall the conversation. “Wasn’t till a few months ago he told me it was you,” he informed me.

  “He told you about us?” I asked weakly.

  Dave nodded, smiling slightly. “Yeah, sweetie. He told me a couple of years ago about this amazing girl, but how he wasn’t ready to leave the army, didn’t want that life for her. I told him if she was the one she would happily wait for him.” He shook his head. “Damn boy didn’t listen. He thought he was doing the right thing. I had to support his decision.”

  He took another swig of the flask and offered it to me again. I was thankful; I needed the alcohol to anesthetize the agony that this conversation was causing.

  “We never spoke of her again, this mystery girl. Then six months ago out of the blue he talks to me about it. Tells me it was you.” His eyes focused on me.

  I swallowed.

  “When I found out I told him to get his ass out of the army and to the USA so he could marry you before some other bastard snapped you up. Couldn’t believe he was going to let someone as special as you slip through his fingers.” His grip tightened on my hand.

  “You were perfect for him. You’re strong, loyal, frigging beautiful, best Yank I’ve ever met,” he joked slightly. “Couldn’t have asked for a better friend for my girl and I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter-in-law,” he told me softly.

  I choked up at this, at this man’s heartbreakingly kind and beautiful words. I felt guilty and disgusted with myself, unable to verbalize the fact that I’d had no intention of becoming his daughter-in law. That I instead had planned to break his son’s heart.

  “Just want you to know, sweetheart, even before Ian told me I already considered you a daughter and I always will.”

  I couldn’t speak; I only nodded with tears in my eyes. Dave sat there with his hand on mine, letting silence descend and we remained there, drinking from his flask and trying to shoulder the weight of our grief.

  For the two months Gwen and I had stayed in New Zealand he had been true to his word. He treated me like a second daughter, and although the walls of their home were soaked in grief I never felt more at home. More part of a family. I wasn’t in some fancy loft on the Upper East Side. I was in an impressive farmhouse at the edge of the world in an unfamiliar country. Home wasn’t a place. It was a feeling. And I had that, something to salve the burn of loss.

  There was something missing. Something that I needed to make me feel at home, complete. Or someone.

  After that I had vowed I would never let Gwen or a member of her family know that things were not as they seemed with Ian and me. I would rather them think he died with the vision of a future. He died happy, if anyone could die happy.

  I was never going to tell Gwen he wasn’t my true love. And that meant nothing could ever happen with Brock. I couldn’t stand Gwen secretly resenting me for disrespecting her brother’s memory. She would never say a thing, but she would always remember.

  So I didn’t speak to Brock, even when he called repeatedly. I ignored him when I got back home, acted emotionless towards him. I ignored the physical pain it put me in to see the cold looks he directed back. I struggled with staying upright when I saw him with the club women, which was thankfully only a couple of times. I put on my mask. I should’ve won a fucking Oscar for my performance.

  Everything changed on the night of Gwen’s wedding seven months after we arrived back from New Zealand. Gwen and Cade had patched things up after the disastrous confrontation at the hospital. Cade had flown to New Zealand to bring her home to Amber and to set her straight on what really happened with Ginger. Or what didn’t happen. She set the whole thing up. The little twat. I had to seriously resist the urge to run her over with my car.

  I may have been a little biased but it was the most beautiful wedding I had ever seen. Gwen had always been insistent she would get married at the Plaza in New York wearing custom Vera Wang. Well, it wasn’t the Plaza; it was Cade’s backyard. Granted, his backyard was the ocean. She did wear Vera Wang though. I threw myself into planning it and it had been perfect.

  Wooden chairs sat in the sand and at the end of each row was an antique steel lantern with a candle inside. Huge bouquets of flowers dotted the aisle in soft ivory and whites. At the end of the aisle was a rustic arch made of driftwood that had white roses threaded through it and white fabric that billowed in the wind.

  Cade had stood at the end of it wearing all back, including his cut. A small white flower poked out beside the President patch. He was cradling a tiny baby Belle in his arms. He was flanked by Brock, Bull, and a grinning Lucky.

  I had walked up the aisle and my eyes had been locked on Brock. I don’t know if it was the salt air or wedding fever, but every reason I had to stay away from him disappeared and I wanted to jump on him then and there. Unfortunately, that would have been slightly inappropriate so I restrained myself. He didn’t help matters with his hungry gaze falling over my strapless lavender figure-hugging gown.

  I had dragged my gaze away from him when Gwen started walking down the aisle. I didn’t look at her though, like everyone else was. I already knew she looked beautiful. Her gown was form fitting to her waist; delicate lace covered the ivory dress. It draped down her body, flowing like a waterfall to her feet. The back dipped low, exposing her back and a train trailed behind her.

  I was looking at Cade who froze the moment he laid eyes on her. The look he gave her was impossible to describe. It was like she was the only thing holding him to this earth; that she was his oxygen, his lifeblood. She grinned at him as she wandered down the aisle, unbridled happiness on her face. He remained staring at her as if his life depended on her reaching him; he looked like he wanted to run to her but he was frozen in place. When she made it to him he gently handed Belle to a surprised Dave and yanked Gwen into his arms, kissing her soundly. Dave had laughed, shaking his head, sitting carefully beside a crying Lacey with Belle in his arms. The crowd whooped and even Bull cracked a smile. Brock and I had been sile
ntly staring at each other. This continued throughout the entire ceremony and into the photos that Gwen insisted we do. No one dared argue with her. She may have been five foot nothing wearing an intricate white dress but she was a force to be reckoned with.

  After she was satisfied with the amount of photos we moved to an area where long tables had been set up in the sand under billowing tents. Fairy lights lit up the canopies and countless lanterns were dotted in the sand. When it was time for my speech I took a deep breath, ignoring Brock’s gaze on me.

  “I heard once that true love is recognizing the soul’s counterpart in another,” I started, omitting I heard that in the movie Wedding Crashers. “Anyone who knows me realizes I’m not huge about soulmates or true love or anything along those lines.” I smiled at Gwen. “I didn’t believe in ‘other halves’ until I met Gwen. She is my other half. She knows me better than I know myself—she probably has more memory of some of the things tequila has made me forget.” There were a few chuckles at this. “Saying Gwen is my best friend doesn’t seem adequate. She’s my sister, my wingman—she’s the best person I’ve ever met. The strongest person I’ve ever known.” My voice broke slightly. “She’s my hero.” I swallowed. “So naturally all I want in this world is for my best friend to be happy, loved. When I saw her and Cade together I knew it. Maybe even before she did—definitely before she admitted it. Gwen’s soul had found its counterpart,” I moved my gaze to Cade. “I want to thank you for making my friend happy. For cherishing her. For giving her a life she deserved and a love she is worthy of,” I finished to applause and kisses from a tearful Gwen.

  I only half responded, the weight of Brock’s gaze burning into me. When we had farewelled the couple and their baby Brock had seized me, dragging me into the darkness.

  No words were spoken as he plastered his mouth to mine, kissing me with a ferocity I barely survived. I was ready to lie on the sand and beg him to fuck me, despite what a logistical nightmare sex on the beach was when he released my mouth.