Deadline to Damnation (Sons of Templar MC 7)

That was him. Regimented. Controlled.

And I knew this was screwing with him. The grief that he pretended not to feel for the entire club. The fear he only showed me while making love to me. I let him feel it. Deal with it in his own way.

Because I knew he had to. I just had to be there. Show him I would be here. That with everything that was changing, that was going to change. I wasn’t. We weren’t.

I hated that this was part of the club life. I despised it. But this was the life I’d chosen. The only life I wanted to live. So I dealt.

I grieved the family that I’d lost. I felt the pain.

Then I squeezed my sons. Then I curled up to my husband at night. And I reminded myself that this too, shall pass.

We were in one of the houses that Evie had arranged. Xander was asleep in the small room beside ours, I’d held his hand as he fell asleep. I had just put the baby down in the crib that was on the other side of the room. He was a good baby. Quiet, staunch, like his dad. But once I put him down, I couldn’t move from my position looking at him, my hand on his chest, moving ever so slightly with his tiny inhales and exhales.

I wanted to keep my sons safe from this. I wanted to protect them. The cold and rancid fear that he would be taken from me in this only grew larger, to the point where it was almost unbearable. But I had to bear it. And I trusted that the club would work this out. That Hansen would come home to us. I couldn’t even entertain any other possibilities.

I didn’t hear him come in.

His lips at my neck were the indicator of his presence. One of his hands slipped up my nightgown, caressing my thigh, the other stroked the hand that was resting on our son’s chest.

“We made some beautiful kids,” he murmured.

I sighed against his touch, my entire body melted and simmered with his nearness.

“We did,” I agreed.

“Xander’s gonna make a great president one day.”

There was no question in his voice as to whether our sons would join the violent and dangerous life in which he was being brought up.

And it didn’t bother me. I wanted them in this life, because it was a beautiful one.

Even when it was ugly.

“He is,” I agreed. “But not for many, many more years. And his little brother will likely be right beside him. You’re going to lead the club through this.”

He didn’t answer for a long time. “I miss them,” he whispered against my neck. “I fuckin’ go to call Grim, ask him to sign off on something, ask him for advice. I keep expectin’ Levi to be at his place at the bar. I keep thinking I see their faces at the table.”

My heart bled as his words did. I moved my hand to thread with his. “I miss them too,” I replied. “We’re not going to be missing any more people,” I lied.

He kissed my hair. “No, we’re not,” he lied back.

Scarlett

I tilted my head one way, staring at the wall. Then the other.

Frustration and fury built up inside of me to the point I wanted to go and get my gun and empty the clip into the photo frame that I was currently trying to get centered on the wall.

And yes, I was aware that the fury and urge to shoot up the walls of mine and Cain’s new home did not originate from not being able to hang a photo. It originated on Christmas day, and every day since then.

It was hard, mingling fury with the happiness I continued to feel. The fury was more familiar. More comfortable.

“Babe, what in the fuck are you doing?” a low voice grumbled as arms yanked me into a strong and naked torso.

Okay, there was one thing more comfortable than fury, it was being nestled into Cain’s body, my skin touching his. I responded. Immediately, despite the fact we’d just had sex. Twice. Which meant four orgasms for me. Cain was teaching me a lot of things, and though I’d considered myself an expert in the bedroom, he was showing himself to be somewhat of the orgasm whisperer.

Or maybe that was because I was in love with him.

“I’m trying to hang this photo,” I answered, sinking back into his arms, letting him take my weight.

It was something I was getting used to, more metaphorically than anything. Leaning on Cain, letting him in. Trusting him.

“Babe,” he murmured in my ear. “It’s fucking one in the morning, you get outta my arms to hang a fucking picture?”

“It’s our wedding picture,” I said.

“Yeah, I know, I was there,” he growled.

We’d eloped in Vegas.