Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC 2)

“Here you go, darlin’.” The bartender pushed the drink into my waiting hands and I downed it.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked in a gruff tone.

I glanced up at him. He was older, probably late fifties with dark greying hair and a greying mustache. He was wearing a plaid shirt undone, with the sleeves rolled up and a wife beater underneath. Faded tattoos were scattered up his arms. I met his eyes; they were brown and crinkled at the sides. He was staring at me with a kind expression that looked out of place on his otherwise rough exterior.

“Talk about what?” I replied, managing not to slur my words.

“Whatever’s got a beautiful lady like you in a shithole like this, drinking her troubles away.” He pulled out another glass and poured the clear liquid into it before refilling mine. “Can’t let you do it alone.”

I paused, clinking my glass with his and drinking. “Guess I just felt like being anonymous for a while, and this place seems like same as any to be no one,” I replied, glancing around at the patrons. There weren’t many; the few that were scattered around were keeping to themselves.

The bartender nodded, regarding me. “Fair enough, girlie. Want my advice, best person to be is always who you are. Might not be perfect, might be hard as hell, but you ain’t got nothing if you ain’t got yourself.” With this sage wisdom he left me the bottle and walked down the bar.

I regarded the tequila bottle through blurry eyes. I wasn’t quite ready to be myself. If I was, that would mean I had to face all the issues that came with being Amy Abrams. Currently there was a shit ton of those. I didn’t feel like facing reality, like feeling the pain that had been my constant companion for almost a year. I didn’t feel like masking it through fake smiles and inappropriate jokes. I had played a part for eight months and I was exhausted. I didn’t want to feel anymore. I thought back to what brought me here, to a dive bar in the middle of New Mexico, after driving aimlessly around the country for two weeks trying to get my head straight. If I thought back I had to go way back, to the reason I wanted to be in a dive bar in the middle of New Mexico. The day that changed my life forever and that could have turned me into an alcoholic.

Two Years Ago

“Gwen!” I shouted as I slammed the door to our apartment shut, dumping all of my bags at my feet. “Hello, Gwen? I am so fucking late—I need to borrow your Jimmy Choos.”

I kicked off my shoes and yanked my dress over my head, trying to save time while I rushed towards Gwen’s bedroom. I dropped everything at my feet with the vague intention of picking it up at a later date; Gwen was anal when it came to shit like that.

“Seriously, why my mother makes me go to these stupid things I do not know. She knows I would rather chew tinfoil than go on a date with one of the trust fund assholes she always pushes on me the moment I walk through the door. If I was going to go home with anyone it would probably be the bartender, considering he’s the one I spend the most time with. Speaking of bartenders, do you remember that one…” I stopped my blabbering when I reached the living room and there was strange man standing in it.

A seriously sexy strange man with a buzzcut, strong jaw and the most amazing eyes I have ever seen. But that was neither here nor there. I definitely hadn’t left him there this morning and I didn’t order tall, dark, and delicious, which meant he was an intruder.

Man, burglars had gotten sexy. This one even had the audacity to smirk at me, green eyes on my underwear-clad body. In my rush I had divested myself of my clothes.

Shit.

I didn’t scream. I wasn’t a screamer, outside the bedroom at least. What I did do was grab a heavy candlestick holder from the table beside me and waved it threateningly.

“Okay pal, you have twenty seconds to get out of my apartment before I bludgeon you with this solid silver candlestick.” I gripped my weapon, willing to attempt to do as I said. I didn’t think I would be very successful considering the pretty darned impressive muscles bulging out of the intruder’s t-shirt, and the fact that disfiguring such a picture of male perfection would be a crime to humanity.

The thief continued to smirk at me as if I was some kind of amusing child. I did not appreciate the fact he didn’t consider me a worthy foe, regardless of the fact he had about two feet and fifty pounds on me and he wasn’t only wearing heels and La Perla. I glared at him.

“I’m guessing you must be Amy,” he stated causally, shamelessly eyeing my barely clad body.

I stood straight, refusing to cover myself; this was my freaking apartment, after all. I also refused to acknowledge the flutter of desire that came with his gaze. Getting turned on by a man who had just broken into your apartment? That’s fucked up, Amy, no matter how hot he is.

“How do you know my name?” I questioned.

Shit, maybe he was here to kidnap me and hold me for ransom. The hottest guy I’d laid eyes on in my life and he wasn’t around to date me, but kidnap me. Great. But then again, that accent sounded familiar. I had a feeling I was missing something.

The hunk crossed his arms and I failed not to appreciate the way his veins bulged when he did that. I mentally shook myself. Focus. Strange man in house, not good.

“Every time I talk to Gwen she mentions you at least four times. Although she failed to quite accurately describe you.” His voice was full of manly appreciation and so was his gaze, which had my nipples in danger of popping out from the seriously flimsy material encasing them.