Deadline to Damnation (Sons of Templar MC 7)

Liam’s jaw hardened. “You’re fuckin’ eating,” he clipped.

“You’re going to force it down my throat?” I challenged.

His eyes seemed black. “If need be. I won’t have you fucking with your health over this.”

“Your concern is touching.”

He flinched again.

There wasn’t victory in that one either.

“Just eat the fucking food, Caroline.”

I jutted my chin up and didn’t reply.

He ran his eyes over me, they softened at the edges, and I was reminded of that reverent way he’d gazed at me the day he’d taken my virginity, and every day after that. And every day before that, for that matter.

It hurt more than anything I’d experienced, that soft gaze from a dead man.

Then it was gone.

He turned around, began to walk away from me, leaving me in the ruins he’d created.

“I need something,” I said to his back.

He stopped. Paused. Sighed. And then he turned. “You’re not really in a position to make requests.”

I folded my arms and narrowed my eyes at him.

He met my gaze long enough for it to get uncomfortable, for the past to fill the room up until we were up to our necks, about to drown in it.

He sighed again.

“What do you want?”

“Red lipstick,” I replied, licking my lips. I pretended I didn’t notice the way his eyes followed the motion and the way his jaw tightened. “Any one at a pinch, but if you’ve got…a woman who knows her way around beauty counters at a department store, then Chanel, shade Pirate.”

I didn’t think this new Liam—no, Jagger—had an emotional range past fury, frustration, and indifference, but I managed to add shock to the list with my request.

He blinked rapidly. “Lipstick?” he repeated.

I nodded once.

His face shut down and his eyes went glacial. “You think you’re gonna be able to fuck your way outta here, you’re wrong.”

My spine straightened. “I’m not planning on fucking my way out.” I spat the ugly word at him wishing it was a bullet.

All soft and fond thoughts I had for him, for Liam were gone. This wasn’t a soft and kind boy. This was a hard and crude man.

“That’s how you were plannin’ on getting in,” he countered, venom in his voice. “And unfortunately for you, sweetheart, the only person you’re gonna be seeing from now on is me, and I can tell you for sure you’re not fucking your way anywhere.”

Then he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Jagger

He was contemplating his empty whisky glass when Macy came in.

He’d sent a prospect to his room with food, coffee, how she liked it, black with four sugars. Four fucking sugars.

He kissed her and she tasted of coffee and Caroline. “Don’t get how you drink that shit.” He nodded to her pitch-black mug that was sweeter than sin. “Plus, you don’t need anything to make you sweeter than you already are.” He kissed her again, slipping his tongue inside. She responded instantly, melting against him. His dick hardened. “Fuck,” he murmured against her mouth, meeting her lazy and hungry eyes. “Maybe I can get down with the taste of coffee that sweet. Only if I’m tasting it on you at the same time.”

Coffee.

He hadn’t been able to drink fucking coffee for almost fifteen years because it reminded him of her.

Whisky worked better anyway.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Caroline Hargrave was in the clubhouse?” Macy demanded, hands on her small hips.

It was still amazing to him that she’d had her second baby almost two months ago. Bitches didn’t tend to bounce back that quickly. Not that he expected them to. Nine months growing a child was a fucking lot for a body to go through. Women were tougher than men for that alone.

Macy was tougher than she looked, five foot nothing, a buck twenty soaking wet.

She’d been spending a lot of time at home with their newborn, and toddler, not around the club as much. He thought it might’ve been because the club was one big crypt and Macy couldn’t face the death there. It was hard for him to sit in a fucking room where most of his family had been murdered. He didn’t blame Macy one bit for staying at their warm home full of memories that weren’t stained with blood, with children that gave her hope. Jagger knew Hansen wanted to be right there with her, but this was not a time to play happy families.

It was time to make sure those families had a chance to be happy in the future.

That meant war.

Blood.

He should have expected this.

Macy wasn’t one to stay out of the loop.

It would’ve made him happy in any other circumstance, her waltzing in here in some hippy getup, hand on her hip, some of the old light back in her eyes.

But because happiness was a memory that was never going to be a reality, it didn’t.

“I didn’t tell you, ‘cause no one was meant to know,” he said, hoping that would be the end of it.