Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC 2)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ian’s departure had left a bitter taste in my mouth. I lost any strength I’d had when he declared I was the person that was going to get him through the last of his tour. How could I say anything to that? I was a coward. His visit stirred up feelings I had been previously ready to let go. The last night between us had totally fucked me up. I felt sick over the fact it happened. I felt sick at the reverent, tender way Ian had made love to me. He didn’t know my mind had also been on another man after the sweet performance.

I felt sick over the fact I hadn’t seen nor spoken to Brock since Ian left. It had been weeks. Gwen had tried to extract information out of me regarding the entire train wreck I had created but I had refused to speak of it, mainly because I was ashamed at how it all had played out. Also because I was terrified she would be disgusted with me about the way I had treated her brother.

So I tried to forget it all once again. I tried to pretend I didn’t crave Brock’s touch while dreaming of Ian’s smile. That I didn’t wish for the flames I felt from Brock’s lips on mine while I wondered about what life with Ian would be like. I tried to forget it all. Unfortunately fate had decided to thrust Brock and I back together when Gwen got a death threat from a dangerous gang.

The fact she was delivered a box of tarantulas creeped me out and terrified me. I hated the thought of my best friend being in danger once again, so I supported the club going into ‘lockdown’. I supported it until an unsmiling prospect had turned up at my door.

“Gwen’s already been escorted to the biker fortress, kid. I think you’re a bit behind the eight ball,” I informed him.

Regardless of the fact he couldn’t have been much other than twenty, he didn’t look like a kid. He looked mean and dangerous.

“You’ve got to come with me to the clubhouse,” he informed me.

“You’re kidding, right?” I scoffed at him.

His face was blank. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“Well, you look like a kid who’s used to extracting lunch money with little or no argument. I’m telling you now I’m not going anywhere,” I informed him.

He scowled slightly. “I’ve been instructed that if you refuse I’m to tie you to my bike,” he informed me without humor.

My anger peaked. “That’s the only way you’re going to get me to go with you,” I declared, calling his bluff.

The prospect had raised an eyebrow and unearthed rope out of his cut. “You sure about that?” he asked.

Shit. The little fucker was serious. “Cade is so getting his ear chewed when I see him next,” I snarled under my breath.

The prospect stared at me. “It wasn’t Cade that ordered you in,” he said.

I paused. Brock.

I had been pacing the floor in his filthy room for what felt like hours. Tequila had done little to quell my rage; actually, it fed it. How dare Brock force me to not only be locked in this godforsaken place, but sleep in his room? The asshole. We hadn’t even spoken since the whole Ian debacle, but still he thought it was appropriate to play possessive male? He would be getting a rude awakening. I had initially planned on trashing his room but it was so messy I doubt he’d notice.

In the deep recesses of my furious mind a little part of me acknowledged that maybe it was nice that he cared about me, worried about me enough to face what he knew would be my wrath to keep me safe. But unfortunately that little piece of me didn’t have control at the moment. Tequila did.

Midstride the door opened and my eyes snapped to the figure walking through it. “You!” I shouted, stomping forward to poke my finger at his chest. I didn’t register the tired and weary look on his attractive face.

“How dare you get some freakin’ kid to basically force me onto a bike with barely enough time to pack a makeup bag, let alone a sufficient variety of outfit choices?” I paused for a moment; I wasn’t sure that was what I was mad about. Turned out tequila had more control than I originally thought. I continued, “Actually, how dare you have someone drag me off at all? And then demand I sleep in this…dorm room!” I glanced around at the messy room in distaste. “I’m not yours! I do not belong to you. Hell, we don’t even sleep together anymore. You can’t lay some fucked up claim on me!” I had moved right to his face and was breathing heavily.

Brock’s expression was blank. “Sorry this isn’t five star accommodations that you’re used to, Sparky. We’ll get the maid to leave a mint on your pillow in the morning if that helps.” His eyes searched mine. “But you are mine. No matter what shit you pull, no matter who the fuck turns up and tries to tell you any different. You may not be my old lady but you’re mine. I know how sweet your pussy tastes, I know how your mouth feels around my cock, and I know that if anything fuckin’ happened to you I’d lose my shit.” He paused and it was enough time for me to register the wetness between my legs and the fact we were so close our mouths almost touched. I could smell the tobacco on his breath.

“I’ve had a long night. I can’t be fucked dealing with your mouth tonight unless it’s on my cock. How about I fuck you and we pick up this argument in the morning?” he asked with a growl.

The erotic promise in his eyes, the hand that suddenly clutched my hip sending fire through my body dissipated the rage that I was feeling. Or more accurately channeled that rage into desire.