Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC 2)

“Fuck. I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you, Red. You’re a feisty little bitch. You need me to tame you, don’t you?” he growled, grabbing my head roughly.

I nodded and he dragged me in for a kiss. It was sloppy and disgusting and I really wanted to bite his tongue off, but I had a mission. He was wearing his gun on a belt holster but I needed to render him immobile for this to work.

“Lie down on the bed. Let me take care of you,” I purred, gazing at him through hooded lashes.

He grasped my chin roughly. “You don’t order me around. Got it? For that I’ll punish you…later. First you’re going to take care of me.”

He dragged me toward the bed, pulling me on top of him. I struggled to ignore the pain in my thighs as I straddled him. I kissed his throat, undoing his shirt at the same time. I raked my hands across his chest and heard him groan; my hand moved lower toward his belt. I took a deep breath. It was now or never. I quickly moved my hand to his gun holster, yanking it out.

“What the…” Rafe started to yell, taking him a second to fathom what was going on. It was the second I needed. With all of my strength I smacked him in the temple with the butt of the gun. I prayed it would work like it did in the movies, rendering him unconscious. Luck was on my side; he was out cold.

I had to move quickly. I didn’t know how long people stayed knocked out for since I didn’t have much experience in that department. My hands reached under the pillows for the ripped up sheets I had stashed there. As quick as I could I fastened Rafe’s hands to the headboard. I hoped they held for long enough. Just to be safe I wadded up some sheet and stuffed it in his mouth. I deduced he could just spit it out. My eyes moved to his belt and I had an idea. I quickly whipped it off, fastening it around his head so it kept the fabric in place. Even if he did wake up he couldn’t yell for help. I mentally patted myself on the back. Just call me MacGyver.

I jumped off the bed. I felt something warm trickling down my leg and glanced down to see blood seeping out of my bandage. The pain in my thighs was excruciating, I gritted my teeth and willed myself not to black out. This was it, my only chance. I would crawl out of here if I had to.

Holding the gun to my side I crept out the door, poking my head out. I half expected to see armed men storming toward me but all I saw was an empty hallway. I took a deep breath and tiptoed out. My bare feet were another hitch in the plan, but Clark had only provided me with heels. Although I didn’t doubt my abilities to carry out any task while wearing heels, I didn’t think they would couple too well with stealth and marble floors. I hurried down the hallway as fast as I could with my injured legs, ignoring the blood trickling down in a steady stream. I paused just before rounding the corner to the staircase.

“Shit,” I whispered, hearing soft footfalls. I clamped my hand over my mouth realizing being silent was an integral part of a stealth escape.

Trying to ignore the dread pooling in the bottom of my stomach I raised my gun with a steady hand. Was I ready to shoot someone? Hell no. But I wasn’t ready to give up on freedom either.

A figure rounded the corner and I took a deep breath, hand on the trigger.

“Amy?” Brock whispered in disbelief as he rounded the corner, lowering the gun he had pointed at me.

Holy shit. Relief flooded through me, but I was in shock so I didn’t think about lowering my gun. I was blinking furiously, praying this wasn’t a hallucination.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him, looking him up and down. He looked as good as ever. In hindsight this may have not been the time for me to check him out.

“I’m here for a tea party…what the fuck do you think? I’m here to rescue you. What are you doing? Lower the gun, Sparky, I’m not fond of getting shot,” he said dryly, but I could see the tension in his features.

“I’m rescuing myself—I couldn’t wait around for you. I’m not fond of how they treat their guests here,” I replied, lowering the gun to my side.

Brock’s gaze moved down my body and he stilled when he focused on my legs.

“Jesus Christ. You’re bleeding.” I glanced down, seeing a red line staining my bare thighs.

“I’m aware,” I replied, feeling lightheaded. “My stitches ripped when I was tying Rafe to the bed.”

Brock’s face turned to stone. His eyes were haunted. “Stitches?” he finally bit out. “Where the fuck is this Rafe?” he added, looking ready to kill someone.

“Can we maybe have this conversation when we are away from a big mansion full of gun toting psychopaths?” I asked mildly.

Brock looked like he was about to answer when we both heard movement from the direction he came from. He moved quickly, pushing me behind him and raising his gun. I noticed it had a long attachment on it and realized it was a silencer. Nifty.

To my amazement Lucky appeared in front of us, his own gun raised. Both men quickly lowered their weapons.

“Jesus Christ, Lucky, I almost shot you.”

Lucky grinned. “Ditto, brother, we need a fucking bird call or something.”

He lost his grin when he locked eyes with mine. “Can’t tell you how glad I am to see your beautiful face, darlin’. Things have been mighty boring without you around.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad I could put some excitement back into your life, Luck, but for now can we blow this joint?” I asked, swaying slightly. I was feeling a little lightheaded. I chalked it up to the fact I hadn’t eaten in twenty four hours.