Battles of the Broken (The Sons of Templar MC Book 6)

by Anne Malcom

  And he—I realized I didn’t even know his name—managed to do so.

  Luckily my anger willed me forward instead of me sinking to my knees and offering to sacrifice a goat to him for his eternal favor or something equally crazy—like snatching his beautifully savage face and kissing him.

  “Oh shit, it’s happening,” a deep voice whisper-yelled from the direction of the caramel-skinned, bald-headed, and tattooed biker to my left.

  I barely heard it through the ringing in my ears that had nothing to do with my head injury and everything to do with him.

  The him I had advanced on and whose chest I found myself jabbing a finger into. Yes, literally making contact. It was like pressing against iron. Warm, electric, beautiful, and tattooed iron, but iron nonetheless. I was surprised my finger didn’t shatter.

  “You!” I repeated, yanking myself away from thoughts of running my hands along his bare chest. “You have no right to just drag my car, my property, away in your little truck or whatever and put it in a garage without my consent,” I hissed. “Especially considering you abandoned me outside a hospital in the middle of the night.”

  There was somewhat of a commotion behind me as the bald man moved in my path to, I guessed, block Troy from approaching.

  Troy didn’t like it from the handful of curses and a reminder to the man that he was an officer of the law.

  “I don’t care if you’re an officer of Thor himself. You can’t interrupt such a thing as a courtship between my brother and this little spitfire,” Lucky—I remembered that was his name—said, smile in his voice. “Have you seen Thor? Great movie. But I’m thinking what’s going on in front of us is better entertainment value than a big man with a big hammer. Just let it happen.”

  My finger was still pressed to the chest of the bearded man in front of me. His eyes were on mine, yanking all of my attention, every facet of my being to him.

  It didn’t make sense.

  But it didn’t have to.

  We were close. Close enough for me to smell the tobacco and purely male scent that radiated off him and instantly awakened my desire.

  Everything about him screamed man.

  “Didn’t abandon you considering I took you to the fuckin’ hospital,” he clipped, his voice almost a growl. His eyes were daring me to lower my gaze in a way that I guessed was always successful for him.

  He hadn’t encountered someone like me.

  My stubbornness kept me holding his glare even when everything else inside me—common sense included—urged me to run before it was too late.

  “You’re not a fuckin’ child. A fuckin’ damsel,” he continued, voice still harsh. “By the looks of it, you were quite capable to walk the twelve feet to the door. Sure as shit didn’t need me to be doin’ it for you.”

  His words held something more, but I didn’t have the energy to inspect that. My anger was still simmering. And he wasn’t done, his own anger meeting mine.

  “And you’re an idiot to be mad about me getting your fuckin’ hunk of shit off the side of the road and takin’ it to a garage where it can be fixed,” he continued. “A fuckin’ thank-you would be appreciated. Not bringing the pigs to our property.” He stepped even closer, his fury and danger enveloping me like a cape. “You’ll be sorry for that, Will. Really fuckin’ sorry.”

  People were talking around us. I was sure of it. From what I’d heard about Lucky, he didn’t shut up. And I was sure Troy didn’t appreciate me fighting my own battles, so he was likely having a lot to say about it.

  But I didn’t hear anything following the words that came out of his mouth.

  The threat.

  The threat that didn’t insinuate bodily harm. The threat that was so saturated in pure sex that my panties dampened immediately, my breath coming in short pants.

  I would’ve jumped him right there and then had I not let my anger grasp onto his words.

  “You expect me to thank you?” I hissed, leaning back so I wasn’t choked by his pure presence. “Yeah, fat fricking chance of that, buddy. And in regards to the police officer who brought me here”—I pointed in Troy’s general direction, not breaking eye contact with the icy irises—“he was doing his duty, you know, as a protector of the law, to help me. And I’m not a damsel, let me tell you that. I’m capable as all heck to take care of my own affairs—” I wasn’t intending on finishing there, but the man in front of me did not seem happy that I wasn’t cowering from his fury and his stare as he cut me off.

  “That’s why you were stumbling down the road in the middle of the night. Why you can’t even say the word ‘fuck,’” he rasped, drawing out the last word, his meaning behind it very clear. The meaning that would have him taking me wildly. Brutally.

  I swallowed and his eyes flared as if he sensed exactly what was going on between my legs.

  But he kept speaking so I had almost definitely imagined the way his eyes flared.

  “The woman who crashed a car that’s basically un-crashable, and considering your stance on the speed limit, I’d say you weren’t even going fifty,” he guessed correctly. “Yet you crashed. A fucking Hyundai. And you need the boys in blue to come here with you, keep you safe from the likes of me? No, you’re not a damsel.”

  It was a challenge. Plain as day. One he expected me to back down from. Because everyone probably backed down from him. Even those scary bikers who were currently watching us.

  Because there was no threat in his words. In his eyes. Only promises. Somehow I knew he was a man with nothing to lose.

  Because somehow I knew he’d already lost himself.

  Maybe I recognized it because I’d lost myself too.

  So I had nothing to lose either.

  “For your information, asshole, I’m not afraid of curse words,” I snapped, even though it wasn’t entirely true, the word ‘asshole’ foreign and harsh on my tongue. “I just consider them to be a crutch for people who aren’t intelligent enough to make their point with more effective words.”

  I made every word heavy. Even. It took everything in me not to rasp them, not let them shake like my knees did. But I managed.

  “And I crashed my car because I was trying to save a life.” I looked him up and down and was proud of myself for keeping my tongue in my mouth, not drooling while making it look like I wasn’t impressed with the savage beauty before me. “I’m sure that’s not something you’re familiar with, but I didn’t want to hurt an innocent. So I crashed. I’ll heal. The dog wouldn’t have.”

  He laughed. It was cold and somehow attractive at the same time. It didn’t fill me with warmth like Troy’s throaty chuckle. But it did fill me.

  Every part of me.

  He leaned forward, his body pressing into the air of mine. “Yeah, babe, you’ve got me pegged. I don’t worry about protectin’ innocence. I only ruin it.”

  Again, not a threat in the words. Only promise. Dripping with sex. The kind of sex that didn’t exist in romance books or movies. The kind no one talked about. The kind I didn’t let myself think about.

  The kind I craved.

  The kind that would ruin me for anything else.

  But I had a strange feeling that I was already ruined for anything else.

  “Ruin away, asshole,” I invited, my voice slightly husky. “Because I’m no innocent, and I’m not scared of you because you growl like a dog, swear like a sailor, and dress like an outlaw. It takes a lot more than that to scare me.” I glanced at my car, and the blond man beyond it who, of course, was muscled and attractive, covered in tattoos. Brock, I thought it was. And he was gaping at me. Gaping.

  I didn’t think these men gaped in surprise easily.

  I ignored him and pressed my glasses up the bridge of my nose, where they’d fallen slightly during my tirade.

  The man watched me do it, and every single part of me reacted to the way his eyes followed my hands, watching me as if I were undoing my shirt.

  I ignored that too.

  I had to.

 
; “And you know what, speaking of innocence, and your lack of it, this,” I said, pointing at my car, “is a crime. Troy?” I called behind my back. “Arrest this criminal. For theft.”

  The air around us turned to ice, as did the stare in front of me. But something else lurked behind those cold eyes. Sex. Definitely. Some kind of attraction so visceral and so animal that it was almost a physical thing.

  But also… surprise? Did he not expect me to stand up to him?

  I stood up to death itself when it ripped out my soul.

  I wasn’t about to succumb to a mere man. Even this man.

  Brock burst out laughing.

  Troy appeared beside me, though by the way he moved, I suspected he wanted to position himself in front of me. The giant before me tensed as if he expected him to do so and was ready to snatch me if need be.

  “By all means, arrest me, Officer,” the giant offered, but there was no surrender in his words. No, it was a threat. One that told me he didn’t fear the law.

  The air was wired. Just because the club and the police lived in strained harmony didn’t mean the old dichotomy between the law and the lawlessness the man in front of me represented didn’t exist.

  A slow clap interrupted the moment and Lucky came into view, grinning and slapping the giant on the shoulder. “Bravo. Better than Thor, I’ll give you that.” His eyes were on me. “You’ve got a Greek god beat for your bravery, darlin’,” he said, eyes twinkling.

  “Everyone knows Iron Man is better than Thor,” I responded, Lucky’s easy smile somehow calming me slightly. Chris Hemsworth was hot and all, but I liked Robert Downey Jr better.

  Lucky gaped much like Brock had. “Oh my God, you’re insane,” he all but breathed. “Therefore, you’re perfect for Gage,” he decided, folding his arms as everything was decided with the diagnosis of insanity.

  One that usually would’ve speared through my memories and prodded at an old wound that wasn’t healed.

  But it didn’t that time.

  Because something else speared through me.

  Gage.

  That was his name.

  I let the single word sink into my skin. It was perfect for the man in front of me. The man and beast in front of me.

  The man and beast who were still staring at me, as if the two bikers on either side of him and the police officer in front of him didn’t exist. As if nothing existed but us.

  I didn’t know if that was a good thing.

  No, I knew it was a bad thing. A terrible thing. Because it excited me more than anything good ever could.

  “I’ll admit, I didn’t imagine you exactly,” Lucky continued, taking in my battered face, my simple white collared shirt, my dark blue jeans and crisp white tennis shoes with an appraising eye. It wasn’t uncomfortable, his gaze. It didn’t make me feel less, exactly. It made me feel more, if I was honest. It was appreciative, but not in a sexual way.

  “Which is why I’m not surprised at all,” he continued. “Because it’s always the ones who don’t seem to fit that end up slotting in perfectly.”

  His cheerful tone was not at all home in the situation, nor did his words make sense, which was the reason I didn’t respond immediately. And that was the reason someone else, someone who was not at all cheerful, answered instead.

  “Walk. Away. Now. Lucky,” Gage clipped through his teeth.

  I watched the way he’d held himself since Lucky’s eyes had been on me. He was reacting to the words. To the gaze. The one that was not at all sexual, only curious. A large wedding ring glinted on Lucky’s left hand. Men didn’t wear them that big unless they were proud to show the world they were taken.

  And from what I’d heard about his wife, he adored her—it had taken a lot to get her down the aisle—so I knew he wasn’t about to throw that away.

  But it didn’t seem to matter to Gage. Or the fact that Lucky was meant to be his brother. He looked ready to kill him for merely calling me ‘not what he expected.’

  That was when Brock entered the fold, right about when Troy’s heat pressed into my side.

  “Right, we need to take five here,” Brock said casually, not even glancing at where Troy’s hand had started to rest on his gun. His twinkling eyes met mine with the same amusement and interest as in Lucky’s. “Darlin’, I’m gonna first tell you that you’ve just earned my respect. Not one person, including myself, has managed to give Gage such a verbal lashing as you have. And I don’t blame you for wanting to lock him up, because he can be a fucker.” He glanced at the man in question. “But we’re also the best garage in town, and by the looks of you, you’re gonna be needing a car as soon as possible. I can’t imagine walking after being in that”—he nodded to my ruined car—“is much fun at all.”

  “She’s not walking,” Troy interjected. “I’ll take her where she wants to go.”

  “Right, I’m fuckin’ done,” Gage hissed.

  “Oh fuck,” Lucky muttered.

  “You’re not takin’ her anywhere,” Gage growled at Troy, ignoring Lucky. “And you’re takin’ yourself off our fuckin’ property. And I’m not gonna stay here while you try and tell me that I can’t threaten an officer. Because I did and I will. You touch her again, I’ll kill you.” He didn’t even pause before he snatched my hand and dragged me out of the garage before I knew what was happening. “I’m taking you where you need to go, babe. Don’t give a fuck about where you want to go.”

  I watched Troy try to go after me, but Lucky and Brock both managed to stand in his way. I wondered if Lucky would talk his way out of an arrest. I hoped neither of them got in trouble because of me.

  Then again, I didn’t need to worry about them getting in trouble.

  I needed to worry about myself, and how much trouble I was already in.

  Like being dragged across the parking lot by a man who looked like he may very well kill me.

  “Let me go,” I hissed at Gage. But I didn’t struggle.

  Why wasn’t I struggling?

  “No, you lost your fuckin’ chance at that the second you put your foot in this compound,” Gage said, his voice hard, flat. “Now you’re in Hell too.”

  I screwed up my nose at his words, at the ridiculousness of them. The promise of them. Because his grip on my arm, his eyes on my body, sure as shit didn’t feel like Hell.

  It felt like Heaven.

  But wasn’t that the trick of the Devil? To make someone comfortable in their torment so they couldn’t get out before it was too late?

  It was only when we crossed from concrete to grass that I realized Gage wasn’t throwing me out of the compound as his face and brutal voice had communicated.

  No, we were approaching the building that was off to the side of the garages, with a wide porch and grassed area, flying the same flag as the image on the back of the leather cut I was staring at.

  “Where do you think you’re taking me?” I demanded, still not struggling.

  Why was I not struggling?

  Maybe because it would hurt my aching body to do so. Though his face, his voice, and his words were violent, his touch wasn’t. He was somehow grasping me hard enough so he could drag me, but not so much as to jerk my sensitive body.

  I would not have expected that, a gentleness amongst the violence.

  Yes, that’s why I’m not struggling, to take care of my body, I lied to myself.

  Because even if I was protecting my body by letting him drag me up the steps and into the clubhouse, I sure wasn’t protecting my mind.

  We entered a large living area that smelled faintly of smoke and spirits, but also tinged with lemon, telling me this was where the bikers partied, but someone cleaned it too.

  Evidenced by the freshly vacuumed dark carpet. The relatively nice sofas surrounded a large television. There was a well-stocked but tidy bar off to the corner, some hallways leading to what I guessed were the kitchen and other rooms, and a large door with a sign reading ‘Church’ atop it.

  The space wasn’t full of people pas
sed out or half-dressed as I had expected. Instead, there was a beautiful woman on the sofa, smiling at a little girl sitting on the floor and drawing in a book. The woman’s emerald eyes went to Gage, then me, and instead of looking shocked by a large and menacing man dragging a woman kind of against her will, she smiled.

  “Cade, honey?” she called. “You totally owe me. I told you Gage would be next.” She had an unusual accent that curled around the words in a way I couldn’t place. Or wouldn’t have been able to had I not known she was from New Zealand. Because everyone knew about the beautiful Kiwi woman who had caught the most ruthless man in all of Amber and married him.

  A man appeared from a hallway, a small child attached to his legs. Another man I’d seen around. And he was a man you saw. Because he was big. Tall. Tattooed. Muscled. Long, dark hair. Dark features. One of the most stunningly beautiful men I’d ever seen.

  Before Gage, of course.

  He was the president of the Sons of Templar.

  You weren’t a resident of Amber without knowing about Cade Fletcher.

  He was notoriously cold and ruthless until his pretty wife had come along.

  And now he was slightly less cold and ruthless, as the story went. He was a husband and father who had almost lost everything when someone tried to kill Gwen when she was nine months pregnant. They’d ended up shooting Steg, the previous president, and she’d had to kill the attacker. Before giving birth in this very clubhouse.

  With Cade as midwife.

  As the story went, it was one of the biggest in Amber.

  Not just because it was about one of the town’s most eligible and dangerous bachelors being taken off the market.

  But because the most dangerous outlaw motorcycle club was rumored to almost completely take ‘outlaw’ out of their identity after the events that almost got this pretty woman killed.

  And because it had changed the dangerous and ruthless man in question.

  His entire form softened when he glanced from me and Gage to his wife. “Baby, that’s not a bet I’m complaining about winnin’, considering what I owe you.”