Firestorm (The Sons of Templar MC Book 2)

by Anne Malcom

  “My place now,” he growled.

  I nodded and was about to suggest transportation options when he threw me over his shoulder. I squealed and he smacked my ass, hard.

  “What are you—” I started to ask, but I got another firm smack in response.

  “No talking. We always fuck shit up when there’s talking. I need to get inside you and neither of us are going to say a word to fuck it up,” he growled, striding through the sand.

  I pursed my lips, listening to him for once. My thighs had instantly quivered at his tone. I hadn’t realized how close his and Cade’s houses were until we walked up the passageway from the beach to his house.

  He opened the French doors to his bedroom, which opened out with a view of the ocean and threw me on the bed. “How fond are you of this dress?” he asked gruffly, standing over me.

  “Um—” was all I managed before his hands went to my bodice, ripping the thin fabric off me.

  “Omigod!” I whisper yelled, “That was Elie Saab!” I exclaimed, my sadness for such brutal treatment of couture momentarily jerking me out of my sex haze. Thoughts of the sad departed dress went away when Brock’s mouth went to my breast. He wasn’t gentle or sweet; he was rough and urgent, desperate. I moaned at his touch, his body on mine and his fingers which touched my sweet spot.

  I writhed underneath him as he brought me to climax with his hands between my legs and mouth at my breast. He wasn’t tender, he was brutal. It was perfect.

  “Brock,” I muttered, needing him inside me.

  “No fuckin’ talking,” he ordered, knifing up to take off his clothes.

  I complied and for the rest of the night we made silent, frantic, intense mind-blowing love.

  I fell asleep in the early hours, drunk on his touch, happy to be with him. I let my guard down. I let my façade fall and let myself be bewitched by the wedding joojoo.

  “I love you,” I whispered to his sleeping body as I drifted off to sleep.

  I was too far gone to recognize his body stiffening and his arms tightening around me as I dozed into dreams.

  I was driving my car. I didn’t know exactly where to but I knew the direction and I knew I had to get there fast. I knew if I didn’t something terrible would happen. My foot flattened on the accelerator as the landscape whizzed by. I was going to make it. Suddenly ringing sounded on my phone and a voice sounded through the car. “He’s dead, Amy. He’s dead,” Dave’s voice informed me flatly.

  “No, no, no” I chanted my world falling apart around me.

  I awoke with a jerk. I registered the strong, tattooed arms that encircled mine, the comforting smell of tobacco and the ocean. I felt relief; relief that it was just a dream and that Brock wasn’t dead, it was Ian. I then felt the prickle of guilt over my skin. How could I think that? What was wrong with me?

  I had to get out of here. Through some great act of fate I was able to slip out of Brock’s bed and pick up his shirt. The tattered remains of my dress left that as my only option.

  “Where you going, Sparky?” a rough voice asked.

  I jumped and turned to see Brock, sitting up, his impressive boy on display and looking all sexy and rough from sleep. “I’ve got to go,” I answered quietly.

  His face hardened. “You’re fuckin’ kidding me?” he growled.

  I shook my head. “I’ve got to.”

  “Fucking save it,” he snapped, getting out of bed and storming toward me. “You aren’t running off after last night, after we finally put all the shit aside and I got you back again. You’re mine. I’m not letting you shut me out anymore,” he declared, snatching the hand that I had been using to button his shirt.

  I knew him well enough to know he was serious. To know I couldn’t run anymore. So I had to do it. I had to lie. I couldn’t let him convince me to do what I wanted to and stay here with him. Because with all of the fucked up shit going on in my head I would fuck us up eventually. I didn’t want him to have to deal with the guilt I was feeling. He didn’t deserve that.

  “I’m not yours,” I declared coldly. “We both know that.”

  He jerked at my words but didn’t step away. “That’s a fucking lie, Amy,” he snapped. “You’re mine. Every inch of you. You’re not perfect. You can be annoying as fuck, irritating beyond belief and as stubborn as a mule. But you’re perfect for me. You’re meant for me, Amy. Don’t spout shit to me to the contrary.”

  “It’s not shit!” I shouted, yanking myself away from him. “I’m not yours. It was never you,” I finished cruelly and I watched him jerk as if I struck him.

  I swallowed my tears as his expression turned blank.

  “Whatever,” he bit out finally. “You wanna fuck up your life by pining over a dead man, be my fuckin’ guest.”

  I paused a second and then walked out the door, my heart shattering.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Present Day

  The door opened quietly and Rafe slipped in. The look of anticipation and arousal on his face was enough to make my skin crawl. I ignored it; I had to if I was getting out of this place. I stood up, restraining a wince at the pain.

  “I haven’t been able to sleep all night thinking about you.” I smiled at him seductively as he crossed the room.

  “Fuck. I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you, Red. You’re a feisty little bitch. You need me to tame you, don’t you?” he growled, grabbing my head roughly.

  I nodded and he dragged me in for a kiss. It was sloppy and disgusting and I really wanted to bite his tongue off, but I had a mission. He was wearing his gun on a belt holster but I needed to render him immobile for this to work.

  “Lie down on the bed. Let me take care of you,” I purred, gazing at him through hooded lashes.

  He grasped my chin roughly. “You don’t order me around. Got it? For that I’ll punish you...later. First you’re going to take care of me.”

  He dragged me toward the bed, pulling me on top of him. I struggled to ignore the pain in my thighs as I straddled him. I kissed his throat, undoing his shirt at the same time. I raked my hands across his chest and heard him groan; my hand moved lower toward his belt. I took a deep breath. It was now or never. I quickly moved my hand to his gun holster, yanking it out.

  “What the...” Rafe started to yell, taking him a second to fathom what was going on. It was the second I needed. With all of my strength I smacked him in the temple with the butt of the gun. I prayed it would work like it did in the movies, rendering him unconscious. Luck was on my side; he was out cold.

  I had to move quickly. I didn’t know how long people stayed knocked out for since I didn’t have much experience in that department. My hands reached under the pillows for the ripped up sheets I had stashed there. As quick as I could I fastened Rafe’s hands to the headboard. I hoped they held for long enough. Just to be safe I wadded up some sheet and stuffed it in his mouth. I deduced he could just spit it out. My eyes moved to his belt and I had an idea. I quickly whipped it off, fastening it around his head so it kept the fabric in place. Even if he did wake up he couldn’t yell for help. I mentally patted myself on the back. Just call me MacGyver.

  I jumped off the bed. I felt something warm trickling down my leg and glanced down to see blood seeping out of my bandage. The pain in my thighs was excruciating, I gritted my teeth and willed myself not to black out. This was it, my only chance. I would crawl out of here if I had to.

  Holding the gun to my side I crept out the door, poking my head out. I half expected to see armed men storming toward me but all I saw was an empty hallway. I took a deep breath and tiptoed out. My bare feet were another hitch in the plan, but Clark had only provided me with heels. Although I didn’t doubt my abilities to carry out any task while wearing heels, I didn’t think they would couple too well with stealth and marble floors. I hurried down the hallway as fast as I could with my injured legs, ignoring the blood trickling down in a steady stream. I paused just before rounding the corner to the staircase.

&
nbsp; “Shit,” I whispered, hearing soft footfalls. I clamped my hand over my mouth realizing being silent was an integral part of a stealth escape.

  Trying to ignore the dread pooling in the bottom of my stomach I raised my gun with a steady hand. Was I ready to shoot someone? Hell no. But I wasn’t ready to give up on freedom either.

  A figure rounded the corner and I took a deep breath, hand on the trigger.

  “Amy?” Brock whispered in disbelief as he rounded the corner, lowering the gun he had pointed at me.

  Holy shit. Relief flooded through me, but I was in shock so I didn’t think about lowering my gun. I was blinking furiously, praying this wasn’t a hallucination.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked him, looking him up and down. He looked as good as ever. In hindsight this may have not been the time for me to check him out.

  “I’m here for a tea party...what the fuck do you think? I’m here to rescue you. What are you doing? Lower the gun, Sparky, I’m not fond of getting shot,” he said dryly, but I could see the tension in his features.

  “I’m rescuing myself—I couldn’t wait around for you. I’m not fond of how they treat their guests here,” I replied, lowering the gun to my side.

  Brock’s gaze moved down my body and he stilled when he focused on my legs.

  “Jesus Christ. You’re bleeding.” I glanced down, seeing a red line staining my bare thighs.

  “I’m aware,” I replied, feeling lightheaded. “My stitches ripped when I was tying Rafe to the bed.”

  Brock’s face turned to stone. His eyes were haunted. “Stitches?” he finally bit out. “Where the fuck is this Rafe?” he added, looking ready to kill someone.

  “Can we maybe have this conversation when we are away from a big mansion full of gun toting psychopaths?” I asked mildly.

  Brock looked like he was about to answer when we both heard movement from the direction he came from. He moved quickly, pushing me behind him and raising his gun. I noticed it had a long attachment on it and realized it was a silencer. Nifty.

  To my amazement Lucky appeared in front of us, his own gun raised. Both men quickly lowered their weapons.

  “Jesus Christ, Lucky, I almost shot you.”

  Lucky grinned. “Ditto, brother, we need a fucking bird call or something.”

  He lost his grin when he locked eyes with mine. “Can’t tell you how glad I am to see your beautiful face, darlin’. Things have been mighty boring without you around.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m glad I could put some excitement back into your life, Luck, but for now can we blow this joint?” I asked, swaying slightly. I was feeling a little lightheaded. I chalked it up to the fact I hadn’t eaten in twenty four hours.

  “I think we’ve outstayed our welcome anyway,” Lucky stated as I heard the faint sound of gunshots. “Boys are downstairs with the wheels. Let’s go.”

  Brock turned to me, his eyes hard and determined. A concerned glance flicked to my legs. “You going to be able to walk?”

  I puffed up my chest, trying to garner some strength. I had to ignore the pain, let Brock focus on not getting shot. “I’ll be fine, lead the way.”

  “Stay behind me, Abrams. If anyone starts shooting get down,” he ordered. His eyes moved to the gun in my hand. “And don’t point that at me again.”

  Despite the circumstances irritation bloomed in me. “I can’t make any promises,” I snapped.

  “I hate it when Mom and Dad fight,” Lucky whined. “Can we save the domestic squabble for when the probability of us getting shot is considerably lower?” he called over his shoulder.

  Brock stared at me for a second, then he grasped my head, pulling my mouth to his. It was a quick kiss, closed mouthed and urgent. His forehead dropped to mine for a moment and he turned. “Stay behind me,” he repeated over his shoulder as he started walking.

  I felt dizzy and disoriented, and not just from the kiss. Although it was safe to say my feelings for him had not dulled a bit I had a sinking feeling my light head was due to the throbbing in my legs. I stayed silent; we would get out of here first, then I’d address the blood loss situation.

  As we were descending the stairs both men glanced around, guns raised. The sounds of gunfire had subsided and now there was only a disturbing silence. Weirdly, I didn’t feel afraid. That might be because Brock had grasped my hand and used it to pull me close to his back, and he hadn’t let go. We made it to the bottom of the stairs without incident and I let out a breath.

  Lucky turned. “We should have the wheels right outside. Everyone think happy thoughts and let’s hope we aren’t greeted with bullets when we open the door.” He waited for Brock’s stiff nod before he thrust open the door.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting him to flinch or get peppered with bullets. “’Bout fucking time. What were you doing? Admiring the decor?” A grim voice met us.

  I squeezed open my eyes, happy to hear the familiar voice.

  “Where’s Amy? She okay?” Cade demanded with concern.

  I waved weakly at him and his shoulders sagged in relief. “I wouldn’t recommend this place for a weekend getaway,” I said dryly, fighting the nausea that had just appeared.

  Cade’s gaze settled on my legs and alarm registered in his eyes. “Holy shit, Brock, you let her walk with her fucking legs like that?” He moved forward glaring at Brock, who had his back to me.

  Brock turned and his gaze followed Cade’s. I noticed something I had never seen before in his expression. Fear. That was the last thing I saw before blackness claimed me.

  “Are you sure you know what the hell you’re doing, Hansen?” An angry voice seeped into my ears as I struggled to regain consciousness.

  I felt foggy. And cold. Really freaking cold.

  I felt sharp pain at my leg but I couldn’t move to flinch, my body immobile. I tried not to panic; the familiarity of the angry voice helped.

  “Do you want me to bring up a list of references for you to check while she bleeds out or do you want me to save your old lady’s life?” A calm voice responded.

  “I’m not his old lady,” I croaked, finding the ability to speak.

  A couple of manly chuckles erupted around me. I slowly opened my eyes to see myself surrounded by my biker family. Cade, Bull, Lucky, and Asher were all looking at me with strained grins. Worry lurked behind their attractive eyes. I moved my gaze to the unfamiliar man bent over my legs, his hands embarrassingly close to my lady bits.

  “Gee, you haven’t even bought me dinner first,” I muttered weakly to a bald head. An attractive stubbled face glanced up at me, his face tight with concentration but amusement danced in his eyes.

  “How about I take a raincheck on the dinner and stick to saving your life first?” he replied dryly.

  “It’s a date,” I replied, ignoring the frustrated sound which erupted from behind the bald guy. My eyes met Brock’s glittering blue ones. His face was tight with concern and he frowned at my legs.

  I moved my attention to the fact I was lying in a makeshift bed in the back of a van with a strange man working between my legs. Unfortunately I couldn’t say this was the weirdest place I’d woken up. It was safe to say drinking copious amounts of Ouzo in Greece was not my finest hour. Especially when I woke up in Albania.

  “What happened?” I asked weakly.

  Cade moved closer to my head, stroking my hair tenderly. For such a rough and scary biker man he could be tender when he wanted. Not to mention the fact he was mind numbingly sexy. Gwen was a lucky woman.

  “You were kidnapped. We came to get you,” he said softly, something moving in his eyes.

  “I gathered that part, thanks, Captain Obvious,” I retorted and Cade smirked, despite himself. “Why am I currently getting what is getting dangerously close to an exam only my gynecologist should perform?” I asked jokingly, but all of the men in the cab stilled and the air turned dangerous.

  There was a beat of silence and Hansen broke it. “Your stitches have torn. Normally that w
ouldn’t be that much of a big deal, but you had contusions dangerously close to your femoral artery. Whatever happened to make you rip the stitches also made you rip the skin. Since the cuts were so deep and hadn’t properly healed, it punctured your artery and you began to bleed out. Couple of minutes longer you would have been dead.” Hansen looked up and removed rubber gloves I hadn’t noticed him wearing.

  “Holy shit!” I proclaimed, sitting up quickly. I wanted to get a look at the cuts that nearly got me dead. “That bastard. Not only was that experience high on my list on the most terrible experiences of my life, it totally replaces the time my mother subjected me to that guy who was obsessed with feet. But he has totally messed with my ability to wear hot pants. Not that I would ever wear hot pants, but he took away the option. Now I almost die because he’s one weird motherfucker with some seriously whacked sexual preferences. I should have done more than tie him to the freaking bed.” I finished my rant breathing heavily and feeling a little lightheaded.

  It seemed all the oxygen in the van had been sucked up when I had mentioned Rafe’s sexual preferences. I forgot how protective these macho men could be.

  Hansen’s hand settled on my shoulder, gently putting pressure on it.

  “Whoa there, you’ve suffered a significant amount of blood loss. I need you to stay lying down for awhile,” he frowned. “Ideally you need a hospital and possibly a blood transfusion but for now I’d settle for you being horizontal.”

  I tried to push against his palm but I felt weak and my body felt like jelly. My mind started to fog but my tongue still seemed to be working fine.

  “I don’t need a hospital. I need to cut Rafe’s...” I started, but I didn’t get to finish as the fogginess overtook me.

  My eyes snapped open and I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. My legs throbbed and my mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool. I thought I suffered badly with hangovers, but vodka infused sickness had nothing on serious blood loss. It took me a second to realize I wasn’t in a moving vehicle and I wasn’t lying on an uncomfortable surface.