Three Kinds of Trouble (Sons of Templar MC 9)

I blinked at him, my eyes moving over him. “Why?” I whispered, my voice a rasp.

“Because, Freya, you’re mine.”

The words washed over me like a tsunami, my fingertips prickling, my toes curling. And then, before I could properly digest what he’d said, before I could say a word, I drifted out.

I might’ve imagined it, but I was sure I felt Hades’s hand in mine.

HADES

“I’ve got Wire on the trace right now.” Swiss’s tone was clipped, his eyes on the door a few feet away.

I hadn’t let them in the room. Freya was sleeping. I’d sat with her, my hand holding hers, the entire night. Aside from the brief interruption by that fucker Kallum. The guy who, up until recently, I had respected and almost liked. Now I wanted to rip his fucking head off. I hated the way he looked at Freya. The familiarity, the intimacy, the ownership there. Fucking hated that he was holding a bag full of her shit. It was bright pink with a fucking leopard print heart on it. This big fucker with muscles, tats and a glower that told me he was capable of true violence, was carrying a bright pink bag and doing it with some kind of warped pride.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he’d demanded when he entered the room with the bag, eyes on Freya’s small hand in mine.

What the fuck was I doing here?

Sarah had called.

She’d told me what happened, despite it being against regulations or Hippocratic Oaths or whatever the fuck. Sarah had abandoned all oaths since getting involved with us. I had no clue why she’d even called me. How she knew that I’d care. But Sarah was a smart bitch when it came to that kind of shit, had some kind of sixth sense.

My entire body had reacted when she’d told me that Freya had been attacked, beaten. That she was alive but battered and bruised.

Battered and fucking bruised.

If I’d had the name and address of the fucker who was responsible, I would’ve gone straight there, dragged him down to our basement and made his death last days. Months.

As it was, we didn’t have any other information. Plus I needed to see her. With my own fucking eyes. Even if seeing her swollen, bruised face in a hospital bed was a punch to the fucking gut.

It made no sense, the visceral reaction I had to this woman. Why I wanted to rip my skin off my fucking body rather than see her hurt and small in this hospital bed. Then her hand had curled with mine, holding it in a death grip, even while unconscious, and I hadn’t been able to think of much else.

Well, other than what I was going to do to the man responsible for this.

Until Kallum walked in.

“I’m here for Freya,” I answered his earlier question as my eyes went from the pink bag to his face.

“Freya has nothing to do with the Sons of Templar.” He spoke with conviction. Surety. Too fucking sure for my liking. For him to be that sure, he had to know Freya. A lot more than a boss should know his employee.

My eyes flickered to Freya. Another gut punch. The bruises were darkening with every passing hour. Her eyes were still closed, and she looked to be sleeping peacefully. Her full lips were strawberry pink, a dusting of freckles across her nose I’d never noticed before. She looked young, vulnerable, fucking beautiful. Although I would’ve preferred to cut my fucking arm off, I let go of Freya’s hand so I could get up and stand toe to toe with this fucker.

“Freya doesn’t have anything to do with the Sons of Templar,” I agreed.

He clenched his jaw, gripping the bag in his hand. “Well then, why the fuck are the Sons here?”

“The Sons aren’t here. I’m here.” I made sure to inject challenge into my voice. Plenty of it. I knew that I was an intimidating guy. A terrifying guy. It had nothing to do with my tattoos or my cut that had everything to do with a deep survival instinct that I awakened in people. I fucking liked it. It was very rare that a man didn’t instinctively back down from me. On any other occasion I would’ve respected the man. But not when Freya was involved.

“Freya does not need this shit,” he chided, his nostrils flaring.

Fire crawled up my throat. “You have no idea what Freya needs.”

His knuckles were white. “I have a much better fucking idea than you do. You don’t even know her.”

“I know enough that she wants me here. That she needs me here. We gonna have a problem?”

I wasn’t just asking him whether or not he had a problem with me, I was asking him whether he had a problem with the club. That was a whole different fucking ballgame. Kallum had been careful not to get too involved with us since he’d set up shop. We’d been happy with that, since he ran a clean business and didn’t cause any trouble. Plus, the entire club loved his fucking girls.