Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC 5)

But bikers, with their shrewd eyes and badass skills, they’d notice. Especially one pair of hazel eyes that melted into me and seemed to see more than I showed the world.

“Doin’ a thing like painting nails might fuck with my street cred, but I’ll do it if I get to touch those delicious feet,” a raspy voice answered. One that was way too deep to be Lily’s. Plus her voice didn’t cause my body to prickle with expectation. I didn’t swing that way.

I jerked my head up from my nails and most likely fucked them up. “What are you doing here?” I snapped at Lucky. He was standing, his face light, though he held his jaw hard. His body seemed to take up all the space in my small room. “Plus, delicious feet? Ew. Do you have some kind of foot fetish? They’ve got 900 numbers for that,” I added.

His eyes flickered down my bare legs. I was wearing a long tee and no pants, lying on top of my comforter. I was lucky that it was meant for men and the sleeves fell just past my elbows. It’s the only kind of tee I wore, since it hid the red dots in the crook of my elbows when they weren’t covered in makeup like they were for work.

Despite the fact it was more clothes than I wore on stage and he’d seen it all, I felt exposed. Maybe it was because my face was bare of makeup, the only decoration being the spattering of bruises. There was no hiding it with a curtain of my midnight-black hair, as it was piled messily atop my head. And due to the fact I was a pale as a ghost, the bruising stood out so much it was comical. It wasn’t attractive, but I’d take it. Plus, when I was on stage, slathered in a mask—and, more often than not, high as a kite—I was somewhere else. I journeyed beyond a dimly lit room and leering gazes, kind of had to to survive.

But this was my little sanctuary. Sure, it was messy, with clothes strewn on the floor and makeup littering my dresser, but it was mine. The one place in the world the mask could come off. Well, not completely off; I still had to cling to a shred of it in order to face myself in the mirror. That had a little to do with the junk hidden in a lipstick canister and a lot to do with the little girl who still haunted me with her lost innocence.

“A fetish insinuates a habit,” Lucky said, eyes moving down to my toes. Then they moved back up to my face and hardened. “I don’t have any obsessions with other feet. Or other women.” He paused. “Well, not for long, anyway. It’s one in particular who fascinates me.” He let that hang between us before his eyes went to my bedside table, where various bottles were littered. “Now, what color are we thinking?” He picked up a forest green, squinting and putting it back down. “I think purple would be best. Plus, it goes with this.” He leaned forward to touch a tendril of my dip-dyed hair, which had escaped from my bun. My heart thundered at him touching my hair. My freakin’ hair. I flinched back and his body stiffened.

“Not gonna hurt you, Becky,” he murmured. “I’d never do that. Despite how fuckin’ pissed I am that you’re too fuckin’ stubborn to accept help and come to the clubhouse with me. If I wasn’t worried about how those nails will embed themselves in my cheek, I’d be putting you over my shoulder and dragging you there myself… but I like my beautiful face untainted.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Yeah, well it will stay that way if you don’t try and forcibly take me to your compound. I don’t do well in captivity.”

Something moved behind his eyes. “Yeah. You’re wild, baby. In a good way. No way in hell I’d try to rein in the spirit dancing behind those eyes. It’s what drew me in, part of why I like you so fuckin’ much. Caging that, it’d be a crime to humanity.”

I swallowed at his words. At the fact I felt like a fucking teenager and wanted to dance around the room at hearing he liked me. Me.

He doesn’t know you, not really, the voice inside my head told me. If he did, no way in hell he’d call you beautiful. Not when he knew the real you. The drug addict fuckup. The tarnished little girl.

The thought was like ice water on my psyche. I sat up and moved to stand on the other side of the bed, putting furniture between us. “You don’t like me,” I hissed. “You’re just not used to someone not liking you. You think I’m something to be conquered and cast aside once you’ve satisfied your ego that you can claim any girl you like.”