Battles of the Broken (Sons of Templar MC 6)

Naked.

And it was the most beautiful sight, like ever.

He grinned, eyes running over me. “Now, I’ve explored every inch of you,” he said wickedly. “But not this apartment. Because you’re distracting and much more pleasurable to explore.” His eyes moved. “But there is one door that I’ve been wondering about.”

“No, wait, you can’t go in there!” I cried, jumping up and rushing forward. But it was too late. He’d opened the door, and his body was barring me from doing anything about it.

He hadn’t turned to face the room; instead his eyes twinkled at me. “What? Is this where you hide the bodies?” he deadpanned. “Because you know that’s no reason to be alarmed. It’d turn me on that you’d be so brazen as to not even bury the bodies of those who’ve wronged you. Even I’m not that badass.” He winked. “Oh, and for the record, I’m already turned the fuck on without even knowing what’s inside this room.”

I could’ve fought him on it, if I’d really wanted. I would’ve lost, of course. Because when Gage wanted to be somewhere, he was there. But it was an instinct to hide another part of myself that no one had ever seen. And Gage wanted in there, to those parts. And he was there.

That wasn’t why I stopped fighting. It was that twinkle. That wink. It was something that he had done often in the time I’d known him. But it was the first time he’d really done it. Done it without that inky blackness that came from inside him tainting it. A small sliver of a moment that he wasn’t fighting his demons. He was just… Gage.

So I didn’t fight it, wanting to keep that sliver alive as long as I could. Not forever, because I knew that was impossible; no one could hide from their demons forever. But you could find someone who scared them off long enough for you to be happy in moments without them. Then, after a time, you’d be happy in moments even with those demons.

I hoped I’d be able to be that for Gage.

Because he was already that for me.

He gave me one more moment of naked twinkle before he turned, stepping fully through the door.

Then he froze.

Every part of him.

I just stayed rooted in my spot, staring at his back. More accurately, staring at the reaper covering the large expanse of his back. Tracing my eyes around the lines of the patch, the piece of fabric that held him together.

“Baby,” Gage rasped, turning to circle the room, his eyes touching every canvas, every piece of paper, everything cluttering the room.

The one area in the house that didn’t surrender to order, that didn’t have to know order. The one area in the house I didn’t make myself control.

His eyes met mine. “These are fucking amazing, Will.”

People had told me things like that before. In art school before… everything. Before I dropped out. My grandmother. My brother.

I wasn’t blind I knew the way a paintbrush, a stick of charcoal, a pencil—anything in my hand—was an extension of me meant something. The way art, creating it, made my heart beat and my blood flow.

But the simple and visceral way Gage said those words hit me somewhere, told me what he was seeing. He wasn’t just saying it because my paintings were good. He was saying it because he saw what my paintings were—pieces of my broken soul wrenched from inside of me and thrown onto square scraps of fabric.

He saw that, beneath the beauty of the paint and pencil, there was ugliness.

“You need to be doing this full-time,” he continued. “This is you.”

I blinked. Opened my mouth. Closed it again.

“Will, why the fuck aren’t you?” he demanded, gesturing around the room. “This needs to be out there. You need to be doing this for a living. You’re good with words, babe. I know it. But this isn’t good. This is something more than that. You need to be doing more.”

“I can’t,” I whispered.

He was on me in two strides. “Why the fuck not?”

I stared up at him. “Because my job, with the words, it’s logic. I know how it needs to be. It has order. It’s… safe.”

His hands tightened around my neck. “We talked about safety the first night we met, Will,” he murmured. “And the only compromise I’ll make on that score is having a helmet on your beautiful head when you’re on the back of my bike.” He stroked my cheeks with a gentleness I didn’t even know he was capable of. “But that’s it. The second your life mixed with mine, you stopped livin’ safe. More accurately, you started living. Because I know this isn’t me forcin’ you into something. This is me showing you who you are. Like the day you showed me those handcuffs.” His eyes darkened. “The day you showed me just how wild and fucking dirty you are. And I’ll need a reminder of that in a couple of minutes. But for now, I’m tellin’ you that safe? That’s out the window. I’m not lettin’ you live safe anymore, baby. I’ll keep you safe in respect to makin’ sure you’ll never get hurt, but respect to keepin’ you wild? That’s just as important as your safety.”