Three Kinds of Trouble (Sons of Templar MC 9)

The smell—the pleasant one—was not the only thing that surprised me. I’d also expected bottles, maybe a few rogue condom wrappers, loud music, gun parts on the coffee table and men in leather everywhere. It was clean, I noticed that first, but before I could take stock of the room, my attention moved to the only man standing in the room.

He had been leaning against a bar, head bent down to the phone in his hand. That head jerked upward as I walked into the room.

There was no escaping now.

“Freya, I knew you’d come eventually. Granted it took a little longer than usual, but I’ve been haunting your dreams, haven’t I?” As he spoke, Swiss grinned at me with fire in his eyes. “Let me guess, you couldn’t stop thinking about me, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat and just had to find your way here so you could get some peace? Although that’s the last thing you’ll get with me.”

In any other circumstance, that fire might’ve done something to me, might’ve spread to all my limbs. As it was, everything down to my fingertips and my toes was ice cold.

Swiss being the perceptive badass that he was, noted my demeanor immediately, and his smile disappeared, causing his features to change completely. It was chilling, to my bones, to see that transition—he was now a cold-blooded killer.

I actually backed away a couple of steps instinctively as he advanced forward, but he was much too quick, so his hands were grasping my chin before I could even try to escape.

“What happened, darlin’?” he asked, his voice low, menacing, deadly.

His eyes sucked me in, pools of inky black rage. Rage at what, I didn’t know. I didn’t know what he saw in my eyes to act this way, all alpha male and protective. No one had touched me. There were no physical signs to hint at what had happened. There was something inside of this man that could see my fear, that was trained to see it, utilize it, maximize it, maybe.

I swallowed, unsure of whether I’d made a terrible mistake coming here. If what had happened had occurred in any other city, I likely would’ve packed up everything and left. I was practiced at doing that, could have my whole life in my car before the sun went down. But Garnett was meant to be different. I liked it here. I liked my boss, the women I worked with, I had friends. I had a coffee shop where they knew my name, order and pastry preference. I had roots here, and I didn’t want to yank them out of the ground before they’d had a chance to grow.

Looking into the dark and intense eyes of a definitely dangerous biker, it remained to be seen how big of a mistake I’d made, but it was very clear that he was not going to let me leave. Not now.

The warmth of his fingers against my chin was comforting, grounding, his large imposing presence making me feel secure and a lot less vulnerable than I’d felt about two seconds ago. I’d made my choice, so I had to commit.

“I, um, I was at the grocery store and...”

I trailed off, my mind skimming over what had happened. It seemed detached from my life, as if it hadn’t just happened fifteen minutes ago.

The gun barrel was cold against my temple. Shockingly cold. Though the temperature of the gun was not what I should’ve been shocked by, it should’ve been the fucking gun at my temple.

I got plenty shocked by that too.

And the fact that it was broad daylight, yet this guy did not seem at all worried about that. And this was not a regular grocery store parking lot; this was a Trader Joe’s parking lot which was almost always chaotic, with Lululemon moms and their screaming children, gym bros with their noisy cars. Not men with guns.

“Don’t scream or I’ll blow your brains out,” he said from behind me. His hand was on my hip. The grip was tight, bordering on painful. It was invasive, sinking into my bones, intimate and sickening.

My heart was hammering in my throat, bones vibrating. My trunk was open, obscuring me from the view of the entrance to the supermarket. No one was around, the lot desolate this time of day, which was why I liked shopping at this time. It wasn’t busy, aisles weren’t clogged. I loved to take my time when I was grocery shopping, leisurely walking through the aisles, looking at the new cookies and coffee creamer flavors, deciding if I was going to be honest with myself and buy five bottles of wine or pretend I wasn’t a huge wino and that two would last me the week. Other times, I’d be really honest with myself and buy a whole case of ‘Three Buck Chuck.’ I’d spend a good ten minutes at the flower display, figuring out what my mood would be for the week.