Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC 5)

He nodded to the bag. “I got chocolate too, ’cause I know when bitches get on the rag they need that shit. I don’t know why. That, along with women’s bathroom treasures, will remain a mystery to me, but I thought it would be safest to get you some too.”

I didn’t have a response to that, namely because it was so fucking… domestic. He was acting like this was something we did every month. Like he hadn’t just handcuffed me to a truck after finding out about my drug addiction and subsequent overdose. It was so fucking normal and it scared the shit out of me.

His eyes flickered over me, losing the easiness to them. “You didn’t run,” he observed.

I swallowed. “I’m not wearing the right shoes,” I lied. My combat boots would do quite well for running, and for fighting and kicking. One of the reasons I’d worn them since I’d scraped up enough cash to get them at thirteen.

But I didn’t want to run. I was so fucking tired of running from everything.

Lucky nodded. “Yet another reason for me to thank the creator of those things.” He nodded to my boots. “Not only are they hot as fuck but they keep you right where I want you. Perfect.”

As he reversed out of the lot, I had an overwhelming urge to lick the sinewy, tattooed flesh that was inches away from my face.

Instead, I ripped open a chocolate at random, shoving it into my mouth so I didn’t do anything stupider than I already had. The stupidity being staying in the truck without a fight.

“Got to say, firefly, I’m glad I don’t have to use the cuffs,” Lucky said as he pulled back onto the freeway. His gaze flickered sideways for a second, hunger in it. “Well, I’m not ruling out using them completely, but for that particular use, I’m glad.”

I crossed my arms, namely to cover up the way my nipples hardened through the thin fabric of my dress at the pure sex in his tone. Don’t ask me how the guy could be dorky, yet funny, yet dangerous and sexy as fuck all at the same time. It shouldn’t be humanly possible, but there he was, living, breathing, testosterone-emitting proof.

“Where are we going, anyway? Now that I’m not being held prisoner, I should be able to know the destination. I won’t be writing it in lipstick on bathroom mirrors anymore. The last message I wrote only had the license plate number on it. They’re not easy to trace, right?” I asked sweetly.

Lucky chuckled, and the sound sent bolts of electricity though my body.

Get it together.

“I thought my brothers had snapped up the women with the smartest mouths in all of America, Brock especially.” He glanced to me. “I was fuckin’ wrong. I’ve hit the goddamn jackpot.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You haven’t hit anything. And you won’t be. I’m not someone you’ve ‘snapped up.’ I’m someone you forcibly brought into your presence, using handcuffs.”

Lucky shrugged. “There’s only so long you can be in my presence and not fall in love with me.”

I snorted. “Don’t hold your breath.”

My bravado hid my fear. My absolute terror that his words were a premonition.

“Becky, we’re here.”

A soft and pleasing sensation on my jaw accompanied the rough voice puncturing my unconsciousness and I clung to it, just a little longer. Oblivion had been a stranger to me since I had become too close with unyielding darkness. Sleep wasn’t something that came easy when your entire body was electrified with need, with desperation to meet that oblivion once more.

I snuggled deeper into the slumber.

That time the pressure was not soft, and it was on my shoulder. My body shook slightly. “Becky?” The voice was louder, concerned. “Wake up.”

I creaked one eye open, then another. “I was busy,” I moaned, cracking my neck and straightening from my slumped position in the seat. The motion also moved me far away from Lucky’s proximity and his endearing scent, my sleep-addled mind having leaned into it for a split second.

He put his hand to the back on his neck, his face relaxing. “Busy?” he repeated.

I tried to subtly wipe the drool from the side of my face and tame the rat’s nest that was my hair. I had a feeling I looked like a Halloween mask. One I couldn’t take off. “Busy sleeping,” I informed him, yanking my dress into place. His hungry eyes touched my bare legs, sending shivers up my thighs.

“Jesus, Becky. You sleep like the fucking dead. I was worried I’d have to get some smelling salts or some shit. I even checked your pulse. I can still do CPR, and I think you look like you need it.” His grin came back, but it was crooked at the edges and didn’t reach the sides.