Battles of the Broken (Sons of Templar MC 6)

His words held something more, but I didn’t have the energy to inspect that. My anger was still simmering. And he wasn’t done, his own anger meeting mine.

“And you’re an idiot to be mad about me getting your fuckin’ hunk of shit off the side of the road and takin’ it to a garage where it can be fixed,” he continued. “A fuckin’ thank-you would be appreciated. Not bringing the pigs to our property.” He stepped even closer, his fury and danger enveloping me like a cape. “You’ll be sorry for that, Will. Really fuckin’ sorry.”

People were talking around us. I was sure of it. From what I’d heard about Lucky, he didn’t shut up. And I was sure Troy didn’t appreciate me fighting my own battles, so he was likely having a lot to say about it.

But I didn’t hear anything following the words that came out of his mouth.

The threat.

The threat that didn’t insinuate bodily harm. The threat that was so saturated in pure sex that my panties dampened immediately, my breath coming in short pants.

I would’ve jumped him right there and then had I not let my anger grasp onto his words.

“You expect me to thank you?” I hissed, leaning back so I wasn’t choked by his pure presence. “Yeah, fat fricking chance of that, buddy. And in regards to the police officer who brought me here”—I pointed in Troy’s general direction, not breaking eye contact with the icy irises—“he was doing his duty, you know, as a protector of the law, to help me. And I’m not a damsel, let me tell you that. I’m capable as all heck to take care of my own affairs—” I wasn’t intending on finishing there, but the man in front of me did not seem happy that I wasn’t cowering from his fury and his stare as he cut me off.

“That’s why you were stumbling down the road in the middle of the night. Why you can’t even say the word ‘fuck,’” he rasped, drawing out the last word, his meaning behind it very clear. The meaning that would have him taking me wildly. Brutally.

I swallowed and his eyes flared as if he sensed exactly what was going on between my legs.

But he kept speaking so I had almost definitely imagined the way his eyes flared.

“The woman who crashed a car that’s basically un-crashable, and considering your stance on the speed limit, I’d say you weren’t even going fifty,” he guessed correctly. “Yet you crashed. A fucking Hyundai. And you need the boys in blue to come here with you, keep you safe from the likes of me? No, you’re not a damsel.”

It was a challenge. Plain as day. One he expected me to back down from. Because everyone probably backed down from him. Even those scary bikers who were currently watching us.

Because there was no threat in his words. In his eyes. Only promises. Somehow I knew he was a man with nothing to lose.

Because somehow I knew he’d already lost himself.

Maybe I recognized it because I’d lost myself too.

So I had nothing to lose either.

“For your information, asshole, I’m not afraid of curse words,” I snapped, even though it wasn’t entirely true, the word ‘asshole’ foreign and harsh on my tongue. “I just consider them to be a crutch for people who aren’t intelligent enough to make their point with more effective words.”

I made every word heavy. Even. It took everything in me not to rasp them, not let them shake like my knees did. But I managed.

“And I crashed my car because I was trying to save a life.” I looked him up and down and was proud of myself for keeping my tongue in my mouth, not drooling while making it look like I wasn’t impressed with the savage beauty before me. “I’m sure that’s not something you’re familiar with, but I didn’t want to hurt an innocent. So I crashed. I’ll heal. The dog wouldn’t have.”

He laughed. It was cold and somehow attractive at the same time. It didn’t fill me with warmth like Troy’s throaty chuckle. But it did fill me.

Every part of me.

He leaned forward, his body pressing into the air of mine. “Yeah, babe, you’ve got me pegged. I don’t worry about protectin’ innocence. I only ruin it.”

Again, not a threat in the words. Only promise. Dripping with sex. The kind of sex that didn’t exist in romance books or movies. The kind no one talked about. The kind I didn’t let myself think about.

The kind I craved.

The kind that would ruin me for anything else.

But I had a strange feeling that I was already ruined for anything else.

“Ruin away, asshole,” I invited, my voice slightly husky. “Because I’m no innocent, and I’m not scared of you because you growl like a dog, swear like a sailor, and dress like an outlaw. It takes a lot more than that to scare me.” I glanced at my car, and the blond man beyond it who, of course, was muscled and attractive, covered in tattoos. Brock, I thought it was. And he was gaping at me. Gaping.