Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC 5)

He bent down behind the breakfast bar so he was out of sight but started talking. “I thought we’d start this off right,” he called.

Then he lifted two heavy coolers onto the bar, grinning from ear to ear.

“Please don’t tell me there’s body parts in there.” I nodded to the white containers.

His grin widened. “Of course not,” he said. “Red is for body parts, white is for food.” He tapped the side.

I shook my head and wandered to the breakfast bar to get a better look.

“I present to you our dinner, breakfast, and lunch for the next seventeen months,” he said, eyes on me.

The he took the lid off both bins. Inside, amongst the ice, were cartons of Chunky Monkey. A crap ton.

I gaped at them. Then at him.

“You were serious?” I asked.

He nodded. “I’m always serious about two things, frozen goods and my firefly.” He paused. “And Golden Girls,” he added.

I smiled at him. Actually smiled at the warmth he was spreading just by being him.

“There she is,” he murmured, his eyes dancing with demons.

Before the moment could get too much, he shut the lids.

“Right,” he declared. “I’ll take these out to the big freezer, move some body parts around, and be back.” He gave me a look. “I’ll give you some quiet just to, you know, settle.” His arms pulsed lifting the coolers and I tried not to drool as he walked into the door leading to his attached garage.

Rosie was right. Quiet was only something you got if you let it in.

And I let it in.

It was nice.

For about five minutes.

Then the noise came back.

It was when I was unpacking my things in Gabriel’s walk-in closet. Yes, he had a walk-in closet. I’d called him on it, not five minutes before.

“It came with the house,” he protested.

I’d grinned and shook my head and he went to get us beers. Or him a beer and me a soda. I was still swearing off any mind-altering substance. Well, not any, considering I’d just moved in with the most dangerous substance of them all.

Whatever.

While depositing my underwear in a drawer, the glint of metal sparkled in the light and caught my eye. Once I focused on the object I froze. Not just my body, but every molecule of my being.

I was no longer in the cluttered yet comforting, warm room. I was caged in by concrete walls, cold, the bitter air sucking every inch of life from my naked body. The steel rubbed against my wrists and I could barely stand it, the pain. No, the pain I could stand; it was the filth I couldn’t. I couldn’t escape it. Those cuffs held me in place, kept me from trying to escape the dirt. Try to get clean.

I started to shake. I couldn’t stop and it racked my entire body. I was paralyzed but inwardly I writhed, trying to get free of that prison inside my mind. I was trapped, and the thought had me wanting to sink to my feet. To run. To find it. Nothingness.

“Becky?”

The voice made me jump but I didn’t turn. Didn’t speak. I was too busy fighting.

He came closer, his heat at my back. “Babe?” he asked, voice thick with concern.

It was his hand on my hips that did it. The gentle pressure of him pulling me back into his hard body. His clean body.

I ripped out of his grip, finding my motor skills then.

“Don’t touch me,” I half shrieked. My feet moved, my body working on pure survival instinct. I ran towards the bathroom, one destination in mind.

One goal in mind.

To get clean.

I didn’t even realize he’d followed me, too busy on my mission. I reached to turn the shower on and started to strip down.

“Baby. What’s going on? Fuckin’ talk to me,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.

I could feel his presence but he didn’t touch me. Thankfully.

“I can’t talk. I’ve got to….” I trailed off, yanking my shirt off my head. “I’ve got to get clean,” I muttered, more to myself than him. On autopilot, I divested myself of all my clothes, everything in the room going soft around the edges. It blurred so I was half in the dirty room, chained to the bed, and half in the bathroom filling up with steam.

Then I was in the shower.

I wasn’t sure how I got there, considering I didn’t exactly remember turning on the shower or stepping in.

I met hazel eyes.

Gabriel. He was in the shower with me, fully clothed and holding me up. “You’re clean, baby,” he murmured.

It was then I realized that something soft and rough was moving over my body. Not his hands but a pink loofah, trailing suds everywhere.

I watched his hands move it up and down.

“You have a pink loofah,” I observed.

His eyes stayed on mine. “I do,” he agreed.