Three Kinds of Trouble (Sons of Templar MC 9)

It was not a request. The man had spoken in a cold, even, authoritative tone. He’d given me an order. Like he was someone entitled to order me to do such things. My stomach dipped. Maybe the government had started paying law enforcement more. My mind immediately went to Hades, to his club. Fuck, as much as I’d thought about their illegal activities, I’d never entertained the possibility that they’d get caught.

“Are you a police officer?” I asked, willing my face to stay even.

“No, ma’am.”

My brows narrowed. “Are you affiliated with a government agency of any kind?”

His eyes didn’t leave mine. “No, ma’am.”

“Well, then I’m not going anywhere with you,” I declared, suddenly pissed off at this man and men in general. What the fuck was it that gave them the deluded sense of entitlement to do shit like this?

“I’m going to have to insist.”

Something unfurled in the pit of my stomach. I glanced around the parking lot. Still desolate. Had I not learned my lesson about shopping at times when everyone else was somewhere else?

“I’m going to have to insist, harder,” I shot back through gritted teeth. “No.”

He sighed. It was long and audible and told me he thought I was a huge inconvenience. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but...”

He pulled open his suit to reveal the gun that was tucked neatly into a holster. Fear crawled up the back of my neck and something else too. The holster, the gun—it reminded me of Hades, who was thousands of miles away and had no idea what was going on. Who could not save me or our child.

It was up to me right now. Could I run? Not so well wearing these heels and carrying extra weight. It was very unlikely that this man in the expensive suit was going to shoot me in the back, so maybe if it was just me, I might’ve taken that chance. But it wasn’t just me anymore. Even if the risk was slight, it was there. And if he didn’t shoot me, he could make chase, I could trip, something could happen, and I could lose the small swell in my stomach that meant more to me than anything.

But getting in that car could be much, much worse than potentially getting shot in the back. Not knowing what to do, I stepped forward and got in the car, praying I’d made the right decision.

Because no one was coming to save us.

We drove for two hours.

The driver, otherwise known as my kidnapper, did not speak to me. I spoke. A lot. Demanded to know where he was taking me, who had sent him. He remained tight-lipped, so I eventually gave up. There were water and snacks in the side pockets of the car. Fancy water. The Fijian kind. Fancy snacks too. Gluten-free, refined-sugar-free, happiness-free. The car itself was even fancy. It appeared that whoever had kidnapped me was rich.

My assumption was confirmed when we pulled up to opulent gates that opened for the car and we drove up a winding driveway to a house nestled in front of the mountains. Not a house. A mansion. There were no neighbors to speak of, and the last house I’d seen had been at least fifteen minutes ago. I was in the middle of nowhere.

HADES

“What the fuck?” a female voice screeched from the direction of the door.

I didn’t turn because the daylight would burn my fucking corneas. I didn’t need to turn to find out who was standing at the clubhouse door anyway.

I was surprised she’d taken this long to get here. She must’ve only just found out. I was also surprised that Hansen was able to keep this shit under wraps for as long as he had. This woman had him wrapped around her little finger.

Heels slammed against the floor of the clubhouse as I contemplated my drink. It was the same one I’d been staring at all day. I’d only held a glass in my hand so my brothers assumed I was actually drinking and left me the hell alone. Not that I’d really needed the glass. They’d steered clear of me when I was sober or drunk; they knew I was a loose cannon. They were all afraid of me now. Even I was fucking afraid of me.

But this five-foot-nothing woman in platform heels was not afraid of me.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she snapped from right beside me.

I still didn’t look up.

“Yeah, I’d have a little trouble looking me in the eye too,” she sassed, venom in her tone. “I bet it’s a fuck of a lot harder looking at yourself knowing that your woman, your pregnant fucking woman, is alone in another state, most likely scared, swollen and heartbroken. I’d wager my entire shoe collection that she hasn’t checked out of life to drown herself in a bottle.”