Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC 5)

Both the checkout girl and I were dazed by the man in front of us, albeit for different reasons.

Surprisingly, she recovered quicker than me. Which meant by the time I came to, Lucky was handing over a wad of cash.

“Hey!” I protested, stepping forward. “You’re not paying for me.”

He glanced at me. “Funny, ’cause I just did.”

I scowled at him. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need you buying my shit.”

Arguably, I couldn’t take care of myself—my mess of a life and bank account was a testament to that—but still. My life was my own to fuck up. And my bank account was mine to empty.

He ruffled my hair. “We need to get you home and wash your mouth out with salt, young lady. You know better than to fucking curse.” He took the bags and walked us towards the double doors.

I glared at him. “You’re not doing that,” I snapped.

“What’s that, beautiful?”

“That alpha, ‘I take care of everything because I have balls’ thing. I can pay my own way. I’ll never be a ‘kept’ woman. Or a prostitute,” I added.

That made Lucky stop and turn to give me his full attention. “I paid for that shit because it’s my fault that you need it. I ‘kidnapped’ you, which means I should foot the bill. I don’t pay for sex, and you sure as shit don’t ever need to fuckin’ charge for it. I’ll never let that shit happen.” His voice turned serious at the end. “And even if I did ever pay for the pleasure of your company, you’d be worth a fuck of a lot more than cheap lace underwear, which I totally fuckin’ approve of by the way. No matter how cheap, your ass will make that shit look ace.” He winked at me. “We good? Or you gonna nurse another snit in the car. I’m good with either option because you’re cute as fuck when you’re angry.”

I fought with the combination of a smile and tears threatening my fragile emotional state. Instead I managed an eye roll and stomped towards the car.

“I’m taking that as us bein’ good since you didn’t swear at me or call me a misogynistic prick,” he shouted after me.

And with my back safely to him, I smiled.

Chapter Nine

“Damaged people are dangerous. They know how to make hell feel like home.”

-Unknown

“Wow, someone got out of the wrong side of bed this morning,” a gravelly voice observed. That was after he had shaken me from my blissful slumber and I’d used every curse word in my extensive vocabulary when he hadn’t let me roll back over.

I hadn’t had any success in killing someone with the power of a glare before, but I tried my darnedest right then. “It’s six a.m.,” I gritted out after my glare only intensified his grin. “There’s only one side of the bed to get out of at this time.” I glanced up and down at him. He was wearing cutoff sweatpants and a white wifebeater that was drenched with sweat and clung to every inch of his muscles. Even my barely awake body responded to that. I reasoned someone in a coma would appreciate that.

“You’re a morning person,” I observed in disgust, swallowing the half-comatose Bex reaction to launch her sleep-addled body at those washboard abs. I resisted.

“You say that like it’s akin to being a suicide bomber,” he replied.

I glared at him. “There are a lot of people I don’t trust in this world.” I held up one finger, starting my list. “People who finish their shampoo and conditioner at the same time.” I held up two fingers. “Couples with joint social media accounts.” I held three fingers up. “Anyone who puts clothing on dogs.” I tried to ignore his amused smirk and how hot he was while doing it. I managed, mostly because I remembered what time it was and that smiling hot fucker was the reason why I was awake. “Morning people round out the list of people never, under any circumstances, to be trusted. It’s unnatural,” I informed him seriously.

I didn’t expect it, but his grin disappeared and he stepped forward, clasping my forearms lightly. His eyes searched mine. “You can trust me, Becky,” he murmured. “Even if everything else doesn’t make sense, shit turns upside down. That’s one thing that’s gonna stay constant,” he promised.

Okay, it was way too early morning for that shit. The ‘hearts and flowers, eternal promise’ type shit that caught me unexpected and almost broke a rib with the force in which it made my crumpled heart beat.

Then I finally registered where I was, in a bed, and a very comfortable one. Lucky was standing over me and I was sitting up. The room around me was bathed in gentle morning light that was blazing through the open blinds. I frowned at the offending brightness, though it was hard to frown at the unobstructed view of the ocean. The room was a lot more hippy and a lot less rock than the other rooms. There was a multitude of antique mirrors artfully splayed on one wall like a fucking Pinterest project and a Moroccan-looking rug on the wooden floor. I didn’t have time to fully take catalogue of the room because I moved slightly and realized what I was wearing—or not wearing. I was no longer wearing the dress I had on the day before. I pulled out the fabric at my chest to get a better look at it. It was not one of the crappy garments I’d purchased either, and it had a telltale smell.