Battles of the Broken (Sons of Templar MC 6)

“Happy birthday,” he murmured, hand outstretched

“It’s not my birthday,” she said, eyeing the envelope suspiciously. Gage was sure she would’ve treated it like a bomb had it been slightly larger. Though she was getting fuckin’ better at handling them than he was. His glasses-wearing, logic-driven woman excelled at making bombs.

He grinned inwardly. “Well of course. It wouldn’t have been a surprise otherwise.”

She sighed and his dick hardened. With her just fucking breathing on him. He wondered if that would ever change, if he would one day stop being so affected by her to the point of madness.

He didn’t think so.

She bit her lip. “Gage, my birthday isn’t for eight months.”

No, he knew he’d never stop being affected by her.

He clenched his fists to the sides, mainly to stop himself from forgetting the envelope altogether and fucking her on the kitchen island.

Her eyes flared as she sensed his need. She always did that. Saw right through him, even though he knew for sure there was no emotion on his face. Not an ounce. Didn’t matter though, not with his Will.

“Open the fucking envelope,” he demanded.

The sooner she did, the sooner he’d bend her over the counter and sink into her hot and greedy cunt. He was getting better. Once she was well enough to take him—really fucking take him—things were bad. And for him to say it, it was bad. He needed to be inside her constantly, with a need that surpassed his normal violence. Because fucking her was when he felt the grave the least. When the images of her fucking headstone sitting right beside his daughter’s didn’t yank fire from the pits of Hell and lay it on his soul.

She took it.

Every time.

Matched his hunger. His violence.

And just when he thought she couldn’t take more, she took more.

Fucking perfection.

The longer she stayed flush, healthy, the more weight she put on, the more she was able to do without needing to rest, the more she painted, he was able to relax.

Slightly.

As much as was possible for him, at least.

It was hard. He itched for junk, for nothing if not a relief from feeling so fucking terrified all the time. But Bex had picked him up for meetings. Every single day. Only now they were back to once a week, because she seemed to sense that he wasn’t as bad.

And it had been bad.

In an effort to stave off the bad, he tried something new. He tried doing something good. Something that lay inside that envelope.

Lauren gave him a gut-punching smile and then did as he asked. He didn’t breathe as she read the envelope.

He knew it was a risk.

But his existence—including Lauren—was built on risks.

“Gage,” she breathed, her eyes wide, still staring at the envelope. She stared for a long time.

Gage waited. The view was fuckin’ worth it.

The wait was fuckin’ worth it when she moved her eyes upward and locked her gaze with his. They shimmered with tears.

“You rented out the gallery?” she whispered.

Though she was a near expert in reading him like he was fucking Nietzsche, he was still useless as tits on a bull when it came to figuring her out. Gage was able to figure most people out. Because people were simple. Pathetically so.

Lauren was the exception to that rule.

The exception to every fucking rule.

So he had no idea what her reaction would be.

“You believe in me?” she asked, her voice low and sweet when he’d been prepared for her to yell about how this was her decision and she should be allowed to make it.

Though he was shocked, he didn’t hesitate. He yanked her into his arms, relishing how her soft and warm body melted into his. “Yeah, baby, I believe in you. Only thing I believe in.”

She blinked at him through wet lashes. “Okay.”

He blinked back, lashes not wet. “Okay? It’s that easy? You’re just gonna do it?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s that easy, since everything we’ve dealt with to get us right here has been hard,” she said dryly. “I’m ready for a bit of easy.”

And Gage, who’d been prepared for his life to be hard until he took his last breath—didn’t think there was another way for him to exist—agreed.

That’s when the pounding came at the door.

He rested his head against hers, closing his eyes a moment. “I’ll get rid of them, Will,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead and reluctantly stepping out of her arms. “And then I’m fuckin’ you on the kitchen island.”

Her cheeks flushed and her eyes flared at his words. Gage left her there before he had to fuck her without answering the door.

He got to the bottom of the stairs and wished he’d done that instead.

“You better have a fuckin’ good reason for being here,” Gage snarled, looking at Troy and the two uniforms beside him. “’Cause otherwise I’m going to be making my complaints. And trust me, you don’t want me doing that.”