Battles of the Broken (Sons of Templar MC 6)

“I lost a half of myself when he died,” I whispered, shifting my eyes from Gage to the slab of rock that held a handful of words supposed to immortalize my brother. “What is a twin without the other half of them? What is a person with only half of their soul?”

He surged forward, gripping my hips, eyes on mine. “I know what it is, because I don’t have anything left of mine, Will.” His hand moved to cup my cheek. “Or I didn’t think I did. Till you. You’ve got enough soul for both of us. That makes you not just half a person. That makes you fuckin’ everything.” His hand tightened almost to the point of pain. “Everything.”

I was nervous as Gage unclipped my helmet and laid it on the seat of the bike. We were in the parking lot of the Sons of Templar compound. The last time I was there I’d been shouting about having Gage arrested. I’d been doing that in front of Gage’s brothers.

I knew they didn’t hold it against me, because Brock and Amy had been around to my place for dinner.

I didn’t ask, of course. Amy just informed me.

“I don’t cook, but I’ll bring great wine.” There was a pause. “Shit, you don’t drink wine. I’ll bring something else great. If you don’t want to cook, or can’t, like me, I’ll order takeout.”

“I can cook,” I told her, not at all insulted at her inviting herself and her handsome husband over to the loft I’d pretty much barred from the world. No, I was excited.

“Great, I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.”

And then she hung up.

It was the best night ever. Conversation was easy. Natural. Laughter filled the loft that had been silent. Warmth that couldn’t be mimicked by any heating system burst from the walls.

So it wasn’t as if I was being thrust into the lion’s den. That had already happened the night I got onto the back of Gage’s bike.

Voices and music carried over the parking lot.

This was different. This was a club party. This was me being firmly tattooed into this world. And I wanted that. More than anything.

Gage cupped my face. “Been a big day for my girl,” he murmured, searching my eyes.

We’d come straight from the cemetery.

“We can get right back on the bike, go home and I can fuck you till you pass out?” he offered.

My thighs quivered and I swallowed my desire. “No, Gage. I want to.”

His eyes lightened and he laid his mouth on mine. Brutal, and like we weren’t in the middle of the parking lot.

“But hold that thought,” I whispered against his mouth. “I’m not adverse to getting fucked till I pass out… later.”

Darkness floated in his eyes. “Oh you will, babe. That’s a promise.”

Then he slung his arm around my shoulders, yanked me to him and walked us to the party.

“Why don’t we ever go to your place?” I asked, my head in Gage’s lap, peering up from the page of the book I was doing a very good job at pretending to read.

We were naked.

I’d spent hours tracing the design on his chest, his ‘safe’ area. My fingertips could brush down his arms sometimes, when his eyes weren’t full of shadows. They might even clutch them during sex—no, during fucking—because at that point, pain had become just as important as pleasure for us. Ever since I’d showed him that I wanted depraved and dark and not romantic and soulful, he’d shown me all sorts of depravity.

All of which I loved.

We were exploring each other’s capacity for pleasure as well as our capacity for pain.

Gage was a man without limits, both inside and outside of the bedroom.

Well, almost.

Those scarred arms were a hard limit.

But we were working on it.

After him literally holding his breath as I’d trailed the map of pain etched into his skin, I gave him respite by looking at the artistry of pain on top of it.

“Why the gates of Hell?” I asked, tracing around the hooded skeleton.

His body, still taut from my fingers on his arms, tightened even more. “Because, Will, despite what Shakespeare said, Hell isn’t empty. It’s full, too many damned souls and not enough real estate,” he murmured. “And maybe that’s why all the devils are here.” His arms tightened around me. “Present company included.”

I glanced up. “You really think you’re a devil?”

“Awkward, I was talking about you,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes, smiling slightly. He chose the strangest and most inopportune—some might say inappropriate—times to inject his dark humor into situations. Mostly when those situations got a little too close to his exposed nerves.

But I was getting bolder, stronger, more willing to risk brushing against them, causing us both pain.

“We’ve all got our demons, Gage,” I whispered. “I just learned to live in a distorted harmony with mine.” My eyes never left his. “You chose to become yours.”