Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC 2)

“Okay, night,” I murmured, snuggling into his hard body.

As I was drifting off I realized I didn’t tell him I loved him too, and for some reason he wasn’t acting like he expected me to say it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“I can’t believe you!” Ry’s hysterical voice screamed.

I held the phone back from my ear, flinching. Gwen gave me a knowing smirk from the counter.

“Ry,” I tried to cut in.

“Don’t Ry me!” he shouted. “What is going on down there? Are you and Gwen just magnets for trouble? Do you have a freaking pyscho homing device sewed into your Chanel? Not only that, you don’t deem it necessary to trouble your best friend with knowledge you have just returned home from a kidnapping!” His voice was getting higher and higher and I worried about the glassware in his immediate vicinity.

“When you drive to LA to go baby shopping you tell me. When you get new highlights in your hair you send me like a dozen pictures. But when you get rescued from being held captive I have to hear it from Dave Simmons, who only knew because his maid is friends with your mother’s maid. So if your hired help wasn’t such a Chatty Cathy I wouldn’t even know!”

“Ry, I would have told you.” I bravely foraged into the fray.

I heard him scoff dramatically at the end of the line. “Really? When? Or do you only inform me about the really bad kidnappings?”

“Ry,” I tried again, feeling supremely bad.

“Amy, you could have been hurt, seriously hurt. And I’d be waltzing around Manhattan worrying about the fact my next gig requires me to bleach my eyebrows,” he said, his voice returning to a normal decibel.

“You’re bleaching your eyebrows?” I asked.

“Amy,” he warned.

“Okay okay, sorry. I was going to tell both you and Alex, I promise. It’s just been a lot, being back and dealing with everything,” I said honestly.

There was a pause at the end of the phone. “Are you okay?” His voice was concerned, any residual anger gone.

“I’m fine, Ry, I promise,” I lied, deciding not to inform my dramatic best friend about the nearly healed cuts on my legs. Not only would he go nutso, so would his super macho, super protective boyfriend. I had enough macho protective nutso-ness at the moment. My eyes landed on a figure leaning on a motorcycle outside the door, but I focused on the conversation at hand.

“Amy, I don’t know what I would have done if anything had happened to you. We’ve had enough. With what happened to Gwen, what happened to Ian—we’ve had enough heartbreaking events. We’ve reached our quota. So if you’ll do me a favor and not get kidnapped again and live the happy life you deserve, that would be great,” he ordered, sounding slightly more like himself, but I could hear tears in his voice.

“I promise you I’ll refrain from getting kidnapped, shot at, or involved in any drug stings,” I declared, hoping this was going to be a promise I stuck to.

“Okay. But if you do, god forbid, promise me you’ll actually tell me.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll send you live video feeds,” I replied dryly.

“I’m holding you to that. I’ve got to go—they’ve got the baby oil warmed up now,” he said bizarrely.

I wasn’t even going to ask. “Okay, love you.”

“Love you, babes, kiss Belle for me.”

I eyed Gwen, who was flat out laughing at the counter. “It’s not funny Gwen,” I complained. “I’m pretty sure he’s done permanent damage to my ear.” I rubbed it.

“I don’t envy you my friend. I’ve been on the receiving end of one of Ry’s rants, and trust me, I heard ringing for days.”

I sank back on the couch I was currently lounging on. The couch was beside the fitting rooms of the store Gwen and I owned in our adopted hometown of Amber. It was doing well, extremely well, despite the fact that we’d had a death threat from a rival gang occur in here, as well as a kidnapping, and Gwen and I had left it for months when Ian died. So it was a pleasant surprise that after only a year of being open we were not only breaking even, but turning a profit. Not to mention I actually loved working here and hanging out with my best friends all day. My eyes travelled back outside to the “friend” I wasn’t so happy to be hanging out with.

“I don’t get why Asher has to sit out there like some kind of friggin’ sentry,” I huffed, crossing my arms. “Not only is it completely unnecessary for him to sit out there looking all broody and badass, but it’s affecting our business.”

“Yeah, affecting it because after every woman nearly trips over their own feet trying to perv at Asher, they come in here so they can continue perving under the illusion of shopping,” Gwen said. “I’m pretty sure we’ve made a thousand bucks off him so far—he should be getting a cut.” Her eyes lit up. “Maybe we could give him a permanent job doing that.”

I stared at her. “I think having a baby has messed with your brain. It’s bad enough having Brock treating me like I’m going to burst into hysterics or turn into a hemophiliac when we’re together, but when we’re not together I have a leather clad shadow,” I whined.

“You’re seriously complaining over a hot guy following you around all day?” Gwen asked disbelievingly.

I thought for a moment. “You’re right. I never thought of it like that.” I let out a frustrated huff. “I’m so mad at Brock.”

Gwen looked up from unwrapping a jewelry delivery. “Don’t be mad at him, honey, he’s just worried about you. They haven’t dealt with this Clark guy yet and it’s better safe than sorry.”

I waved my hand. “Not about that.” I dialed my phone, which was still in my hand after my shouting match with Ry.

“Babe.”

“You’re such an asshole,” I snapped.

“Hello to you too. My day’s going fine, how’s yours?” he asked dryly.

“I’m so mad at you—you’ve ruined me,” I declared, getting up from the couch and pacing.