Battles of the Broken (Sons of Templar MC 6)

Gage ignored them both.

He didn’t trust himself to engage in the conversation.

Especially since his version of engaging would’ve been slamming his fist through Lucky’s face to shut the fucker up. He didn’t want to do that. He liked him. Respected him. And his wife.

His wife would also likely get up in Gage’s shit for knocking her husband out. Bex may have been broken in a way she might never be whole again, but it was the most broken of people who were the strongest. To be feared the most. Especially in regards to another human who made their broken life that much more bearable.

Bex wouldn’t stand for anything threatening that. Even if it was Gage.

He knew she was strong enough to make it through anything. Once you’d been through Hell and walked, crawled, or were carried out, there wasn’t much more the Devil could throw at you to bring you to your knees again.

Apart from threatening the one thing that went through Hell with you. The one person who braved that Hell. The person who was damned too, for their own reasons or merely for their connection to you.

Hence Gage not speaking. Not addressing Lucky. Because if he did, he’d have to address why the fuck the car was in the compound at all. Why the fuck a woman—who even bloodied was still pure as the driven snow—had gotten under his skin so quickly. And by the look on her face when he’d pulled from the curb of the hospital, she was already damned. Because she’d felt it too. Whatever it was that had her scent imprinted on him, her warmth seeping into his icy bones.

He just hoped she was as sensible as her fucking statistics and lame-as-fuck car told him she was. Because that would mean she’d stay far away from him and the only person he’d be damning was himself.

And fuckers who deserved it.

A car entered the compound but Gage ignored that too. Probably some yuppie customer wanting to be treated like royalty. He trusted any of his brothers to rectify that quickly.

“What the fuck are the pigs doing here?” Lucky hissed. “Gage, hide the bodies. I’ll take care of this.”

At that, Gage looked up. Not because he was particularly worried about the cops; they’d never made anything stick, not for lack of trying. Even when Crawford was trying to take them down—fucker had been determined—they never found shit.

Now that they were basically legit, there was nothing to find. Because whatever laws they did break, they knew how to get away with breaking.

Gage wasn’t legit, but he wasn’t worried about the cops.

He knew they’d never trace him to any crime. Another thing he excelled at—covering his tracks. Not hiding his skeletons but destroying them.

The physical ones, at least.

No, he didn’t look up because he was worried about the cops.

He looked up because of the soft voice filtering through the air after the car had stopped and the doors had opened and closed. The voice that yanked the air from his lungs and hardened his cock immediately.

His eyes met hers.

Then he realized she wasn’t as sensible as her statistics and her car.

She might not know it yet, but there was no going back from this.

Not when he saw her in the daylight, not with the fire in her eyes when they found him.

She was damned too.

He’d make sure of it.

Because she was his.

And he should’ve cared that it meant she’d have to live in Hell instead of with a man who would try and give her Heaven, but he didn’t fuckin’ care.

Because the damned weren’t concerned with redemption.

Lauren

The short ride from the station to the Sons of Templar compound on the outside of town was tense, to say the least. Troy obviously wasn’t happy about bringing me somewhere he thought I couldn’t handle.

It was becoming increasingly evident that he thought I was the quiet, bookish, timid girl from high school with glasses who had a delicate sensibility that would bruise easily, especially when faced with the big scary bikers.

It was hard to fight considering I actually was bruised and battered and about to face those big scary bikers.

But Troy had no idea what I could handle.

My sensibilities might’ve been delicate once, before the world showed me what it did to delicate and naive souls.

It stomped on them.

Shredded them.

And you had two choices after that happened.

You stayed naïve and delicate and barely existed in the world.

Or you dealt.

It might not have looked like it, but I dealt.

Because I was still standing.

Because I was still living. Yeah, it was a careful and structured life, but it was one I controlled.

As much as anyone could control their lives, anyway.

And no way was I letting the guy from high school turned police officer try to take that control. No matter how cute he was. No matter the fact that I used to have a crush on him. Or that he kind of might’ve been flirting with me.