Firestorm (The Sons of Templar MC Book 2)

by Anne Malcom

Cause at the end of the day, that’s what love is…loving someone enough to let them go.

  So babe, if you are reading this, let me go. Don’t let shit get in the way. Be happy.

  Know I loved you until the moment I took my last breath.

  Always and forever, babe.

  I don’t know how many times I read it. I read it until it was too dark to see the letters on the page. Until my tears had made all the ink run.

  Fuck! Fuck him! Fuck him for speaking to me from the goddamn grave. Fuck him ripping open every wound that was healing. Just fuck.

  He knew. He knew I loved Brock. He knew there was a chance that he wouldn’t be coming home to me, and he wrote that anyway. My hands were shaking and I felt like throwing up. Where did I go from here? I couldn’t run into one man’s arms after reading another man’s words telling me he loved me until his last breath, no matter what his fucking letter said.

  A bright light distracted me. I realized it was my phone. I picked it up to see I had a zillion missed calls.

  Gwen’s name came up.

  “Hey,” I answered shakily, my voice husky.

  “Amy! Thank the fucking lord,” she yelled. “Yep, I’ve got her guys. Call off the search party,” I heard her say.

  I laughed without humor. “Very funny, Gwennie.”

  “I’m not kidding, babe, Brock was seriously about to put out an Amber alert for you. I’ve never seen his face get so red,” she murmured.

  My stomach plummeted, then I got irritated. “He saw me walk out the door. It’s not like I was bundled into a van,” I said sharply.

  Gwen sighed. “Yeah, you know how these guys can be. I’m surprised he didn’t insert an implant into your arm or something. I’m pretty sure Cade’s done that to me. Either that or he’s psychic. The bastard always turns up when I need him most,” she joked.

  “Yeah, well, he probably imprinted on you or some shit,” I told her seriously. “The way he looks at you is inhuman sometimes.”

  ,Gwen giggled. “You okay babe?” she asked, her turning voice serious.

  I hiccupped. “Yeah. You?”

  She paused. “Not really, but at the same time I am.”

  I nodded. Then I realized she couldn’t see my nod.

  “Where are you?” she carried on as if she heard my nod.

  “Lookout above town,” I answered quietly, looking at the lights of my home.

  “Want some company?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I’ll be there in ten,” she said.

  Ten minutes later headlights pulled up beside me. I leapt out of my car the same moment Gwen did. She yanked me into her arms and we both stayed like that for a moment. I didn’t cry; I think I’d drained my tear ducts dry. I just let my best friend get some strength from me and I took some of hers.

  We pulled back in silence and her hand grasped mine tightly. We both stood there for awhile, saying everything and nothing while staring at the lights below.

  “Want to go and get shitfaced?” she asked.

  “Do I ever,” I replied shakily.

  “Good,” she declared. “Believe it or not, Keltan makes a kick ass margarita. He’s totally down for getting blotto.”

  “Aren’t you not supposed to drink on account it making your boob milk curdle or some shit?” I asked her.

  I was pretty sure she rolled her eyes but I couldn’t see in the dark.

  I followed Gwen back to the house, dreading the reception I would get. I hated that Brock had made such a big deal over my leaving. I just needed a minute. Could I not get a minute to friggin’ process? Apparently not, considering he was leaning against his bike with his arms crossed as I pulled up.

  “Fuck,” I muttered as I got out of the car.

  “I’ll just, ah, chill our glasses,” Gwen said, pointing into the house and darting away.

  I slowly walked over to Brock, who watched my approach but didn’t move. “Hey,” I greeted.

  He was silent for a moment. “Hey?” he repeated in a low voice. “That’s what you start with after taking off for three fucking hours? Hey?” he exploded, pushing off his bike.

  “Well, how was I to know you’d get all dramatic and act like I took off for good?” I snapped at him.

  “How was I to know you didn’t?” he yelled, pushing his hands through his hair. “Last time you took off you did it for a fucking month, at the end of which I rescued you from a mass murderer. Then you almost bled to death right in front of me!” he bellowed.

  “I wouldn’t do that again,” I told him quietly.

  “Yeah, babe, really? How about if it wasn’t your choice? How about Devon decides to take advantage of your little drive and put a bullet in your skull? What the fuck do you think I’d do then?”

  “He didn’t!” I yelled at him.

  “But he fuckin’ could have!” he roared back.

  There was silence for a moment.

  “I just needed a minute,” I said softly.

  He sighed and put his forehead to mine. I sank into his touch, needing it, craving it.

  “You need a minute. You got it. Maybe I need a minute too,” he muttered.

  My stomach sank.

  “I’ll give you some time, babe. Let you get your head straight,” he said.

  He gave me a firm close-mouthed kiss and then his body was gone. I blinked and stared at him as he got on his bike and rode off.

  “Thanks for letting me stay, Amy,” Keltan said, enveloping me in his arms.

  “The way you make margaritas you’re welcome anytime,” I told him once he had disengaged.

  He smiled at me. “I get why he loved you so much. You’re perfect for him,” he said quietly.

  I swallowed, unsure of what to say. Luckily he didn’t seem to expect me to say anything, because he moved to Gwen to say his goodbyes.

  It had been two days since he had arrived and I hadn’t seen Brock. Gwen said that Cade had told her he was off on a “run”. I wasn’t exactly sure what a run was but I knew it took him out of town. I missed him like crazy and all I had wanted to do was call him. But I didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t called me either.

  I was terrified that it meant he was done with me for good. Done with the royally fucked up girl who had her parents and her dead first love to thank for her reluctance to jump into anything that threatened her heart.

  Luckily Keltan was a distraction. He was a hilarious guy who was light-hearted and easy to be around. He was like a New Zealand version of Lucky. He got along with the guys easily, coming to a club party the previous night. I hadn’t missed the way his eyes had followed Lucy the entire night, and the fact I had seen them in a dark corner together. I was so needing the goss on that.

  Gwen and Cade did end up staying at the house with him, not so I could escape the wrath of Brock for having a man in my house, but because Gwen genuinely wanted to spend as much time with her friend as possible. I could tell she loved him like a brother and had missed him like crazy.

  So I hadn’t spent all of my time thinking of Brock. Only about ninety-eight percent of it.

  After we had waved Keltan off Gwen and Cade had left me to it, off to have crazy animal sex, no doubt.

  I was cleaning the kitchen when the rumble of a Harley made me freeze. I didn’t move as the front door opened and closed and the thump of motorcycle boots on the floor came towards me.

  Brock appeared in the doorway. I raked my eyes over him. He was wearing jeans and a white tee, his cut over top. His hair was piled on top of his head in a messy bun and he had two days’ worth of stubble on his face. He gaze burned into me.

  “You’re back,” I said quietly.

  “Yep,” he answered.

  All I wanted to do was run across the room and jump into his arms but I couldn’t. The atmosphere was strange. I was terrified he came here to dump me.

  “Why did you go?” I asked him, hating how pathetic my voice sounded.

  He stayed leaning against the door. “You said you needed a m
inute,” he told me flatly.

  Thankfully pathetic, lovesick Amy was quickly replaced by pissed off, irritated Amy. “Yeah, a minute! Not two fucking days,” I shot out, my voice rising. “I needed a second to breathe, to process all the shit that had been dumped on me.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I needed two fucking days to process,” Brock bit out.

  “Two days to fuck me out of your system?” I hissed.

  Brock’s eyebrow rose and his face darkened. “You really think that’s what I was doing? Fucking whores?” he snarled.

  I threw my hands up. “How am I supposed to know? You took off!”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly know where I fit in with your dead ex’s best friend and his sister,” he shot at me.

  I flinched. “That isn’t fair.”

  Brock ran his hand through his hair, snatching it out of its band. “Yeah, I know it’s not fucking fair. I feel like a bastard for being jealous of him, of a fuckin’ letter. But I can’t do this. I can’t spend the rest of my fuckin’ life competing with a dead man!” he roared.

  I lost it.

  “You don’t have to!” I yelled back, leaning into him. “You don’t have to compete because there is no competition!”

  My hands were balled at the sides of my body and I actively had to stop myself from pounding them against his chest. “It’s you! It’s always been you. The moment you pissed me off, the moment you weren’t afraid to call me a bitch and not put me up on a pedestal was the moment you won. He loved me and I loved him. But comparing him to you is comparing a raindrop to a downpour. You consume me. And I don’t know how to deal with that. Everyone has been expecting me to be ruined for life because the love of my life is dead and buried,” I paused. “But I’ve been miserable because the love of my life has been right in front of me this entire time, breathing and alive.” My voice turned quiet. “And I feel guilty. I’m sick with it. Because I know I was it for him. But he wasn’t it for me. I was going to tell him that. The day I found out he was dead I was going to tell him.” I met Brock’s eyes, tears in mine. “I was going to tell him that I couldn’t love him enough, that I didn’t love him enough. Not like I love you.”

  There was silence. I was breathing heavily and a single tear trailed down my cheek.

  Brock’s face was impassive. I didn’t know what to do, what to say. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wiped his hands of me. I’d been fucking him around for the better part of two years. I deserved it.

  Suddenly he moved. He pushed himself off the doorjamb to plaster his mouth on mine. His hands were in my hair, rough and desperate. His kiss was brutal, taking no prisoners as he whirled me around, slamming me up against the wall. His hand moved to cup my breast.

  “Brock,” I half moaned.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he growled, pinching my nipple.

  I cried out in pleasure, feeling wetness pool between my legs. “Never again are you going to let some fucked up shit in your head keep me away from what’s mine,” he snarled, hand plunging into my panties.

  I restrained a scream as his finger pushed into me, flooding my body with pleasure. He bit my neck viciously.

  “You know how many times I’ve jacked off thinking about you, fuckin’ furious at you but desperate for your cunt at the same time?” he muttered, his mouth still at my neck. His finger inside me stopped and his eyes met mine. “Do you know how mad I am that I haven’t been able to claim you for all this time cause of that shit?” he barked.

  I stared back at him, unable to process my own emotions. His words were brutal but the hand at my pussy was soft, rubbing me in circles.

  His face moved closer to mine. “Do you also know it makes me love you even more that you’re so goddamn loyal to your best friend you’d sacrifice your own happiness for hers?” He paused. “Even if the reason was bullshit.”

  He shook his head before kissing me again, soft and tender this time. His hands started moving in between my legs again. “So tight, like velvet, baby. Even when you get prickly and sassy on the outside I know my girl’s always soft in here,” he murmured in my ear, kissing my earlobe.

  I could feel my orgasm building, threatening to overwhelm me. “I’m going to spend every night for the rest of my life in this pussy, in my pussy. You hear that, babe?” he growled in my ear as he finger fucked me.

  “Yeah,” I murmured, barely able to get one syllable out.

  His finger stopped and my eyes snapped open. His blue eyes blazed into mine. This time they seared my fucking soul.

  “Say it, Amy,” he demanded.

  “Say what?”

  “Say this pussy is mine, you’re mine. That you’re my fuckin’ old lady,” he ordered hoarsely.

  “My pussy is yours, I’m yours,” I breathed out as his fingers moved slowly.

  “My what?”

  “Your old lady,” I continued as he rubbed my clit.

  “Too fuckin right.”

  His hands moved again, bringing me close to the edge before they stopped. Before I could complain he ripped my panties off me and unbuckled his belt, plunging into me, filling me. I cried out in ecstasy.

  “Fuckin’ love you, Amy,” he grunted as he pounded into me, his large hand spanning my collarbone, the other biting into my ass.

  “Love you,” I moaned back just before my orgasm rippled through me.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The next morning had me feeling uncharacteristically domestic, which may or may not have been due to the fact I was thoroughly fucked both last night and in the early hours of this morning. After getting all of dirty secrets regarding Ian aired I felt one hundred pounds lighter, which may be the reason I found myself blowing hair out of my face and frowning at the burnt mess that was my first pancake. I glanced at the pan, then at the picture on my Ipad.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  I had left Brock sleeping upstairs and for once he didn’t wake up. I wondered if he would keep sleeping long enough for me to run to a café to get breakfast and feign I made it.

  Arms around my middle made me jump.

  “Morning, baby.” Stubble brushed against my check and I shivered delightfully, relaxing into Brock’s chest.

  “You’re not supposed to be awake. I’m meant to be making you breakfast,” I replied, hoping he wouldn’t notice the mess in front of him.

  “Well, when I woke to the smell of smoke I thought I’d better come down and investigate. Need a fire extinguisher?” he asked dryly.

  “The first pancake is always a disaster,” I protested, trying to reach for the jug amongst my mess.

  “I think this is more than a disaster and I fear for your safety if you have to attempt that again. Plus I fear for my stomach if I have to consume that,” he said seriously.

  I turned around to face him, frowning. “I just wanted to do something nice for you and now you’re being an asshole. I’m tempted to force feed you,” I snapped, trying to maintain a scowl while his attractive face grinned down at me.

  He kissed me on the head tenderly. “I appreciate the effort babe. But how about I take you out for breakfast and we can save both the house and our stomachs?”

  I chewed my lip for a moment, contemplating what a disaster it would be if I attempted to salvage the ruined breakfast.

  “Okay,” I conceded. “As long as you promise not to spread around what a horrible cook I am.”

  Brock gathered me into his arms for a tight hug.

  “Your secret’s safe with me, Sparky—although how is it you’ve been able to sustain yourself all these months?”

  “Well, I mostly eat salads and healthy crap that doesn’t require many open flames, and I go out to eat when I can,” I confessed, hoping he wouldn’t be my turned off by lack of domesticity. Wait. Where did that come from? Since when did I care whether or not a man approved of my inability to perform household duties?

  Brock interrupted my freak out, and he did seem angry but not for the reason I thought. “We’re going to fix that shit,” he
growled.

  “What? Are you going to give me cooking lessons, Jamie Oliver?” I asked sarcastically.

  Brock’s eyes narrowed. “No, I don’t give a shit that you can’t boil an egg. I don’t mind cooking, and I don’t mind taking my lady out and showing her off. What I do care about is the whacked up shit you’ve got about all that rabbit food.”

  I widened my eyes, leaning back in his arms slightly so I could meet his. “What are you talking about?”

  “You and depriving yourself because you think you need to stay at a size zero. That’s stopping now. You’re beautiful, but you’re too fuckin’ skinny. You’ve got amazing tits, but the rest of you needs some meat on your bones.”

  I opened my mouth to voice the myriad of problems I had with that statement.

  “Now don’t go spouting crap at me just yet. I’d take you any way you are, ten pounds lighter or a hundred pounds heavier, as long as you were happy. You can’t tell me you’re happy living off fuck all in order to satisfy some fucked up goal.”

  I pursed my lips; my perpetual dieting had been a part of me as long as I could remember. I wouldn’t say I had an eating disorder but when you had a weight obsessed mother whose skeptical eye noticed a mere pound weight gain plus a love of fashion, you stayed thin. It had become second nature to me to deprive myself, although every now and then I would glare enviously at people gobbling down candy bars or French toast. But I didn’t want this change to be perpetuated to please a man.

  “You can’t just tell me what to eat,” I snapped at him.

  Brock regarded me. “I’m not telling you what to eat. Eat whatever the fuck you want. That’s the point. Enjoy life a little, baby.”

  I didn’t want to get into an argument so soon after a reconciliation so I just rolled my eyes. “Whatever. I’ll go and get dressed for breakfast.” I tried to move out of his hold but his arms tightened.

  “What? You want me to go in this?” I gestured down to the skimpy nighty I was wearing.

  Brock’s hungry gaze travelled down my scantily clad body. “Fuck no, I would like to show my appreciation for that piece of nightwear though.” Hands traveled down my sides to pull me flush against him, his firm hands squeezing my ass. “I’d also like to kiss my lady good morning,” he said softly, eyes moving over my face.