Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC) (3 page)

“Oh I like her. She’s got fire.” He nudged the staunch and emotionless man beside him. He didn’t take his eyes off me. “Dibs,” he said suddenly.

Oh no, he didn’t
.

I put a hand on my barely clad hip. “Did you just say ‘dibs’ after talking about me like I wasn’t here?” I asked slowly.

He nodded, unperturbed. “You see, our club has a history of beautiful, spunky women blowing through. I’ve missed out.” He held up four fingers. “Four times. I’m not missin’ out this time. I’ve got a feelin’ all those times were meant to be so I could meet you.” His gaze flickered to his emotionless friend. “I don’t want this fucker snapping you up, so
dibs
,” he said, his eyes latching back onto mine.

I narrowed my gaze at him. “You can’t ‘dibs’ a human being,” I snapped.

He grinned at me. “Think I just did, darlin’.”

Glancing to the mute giant who had his scarred arms crossed and his unnerving blue eyes on me, I swallowed the unease that came with that stare. “I get this now.” I gestured between the two of him. “You’re obviously his caretaker or something. I’d suggest you get him back to his padded room before that crazy takes him somewhere it shouldn’t.”

I went to turn on my heel, deciding to indulge in one last hit to get me through the rest of the night and forget the slight pang at the bottom of my stomach I got from this guy. I didn’t need that. Not right now.

Not ever.

He grasped my elbow, not tight enough to be painful but enough to stop me and pull me slightly closer to his body. “Wow, not so fast, firefly,” he murmured. “We’ve barely gotten to know each other. I think it’s only proper we exchange names after exchanging threats.” He raised an attractive brow. “Phone numbers would also be a good start.”

I raised my own brow back at him. “Cocky, aren’t we?”

He shook his head. “Nah, I’m Lucky, but we’ll get to that part,” he said, grinning.

“That’s one thing you won’t be getting tonight,
Lucky
,” I clarified, irritated at his demeanor. It confused the shit out of me. He was a biker, hot as balls, and looked scary as hell. That was until he grinned like a maniac and joked like a goof. I was also irritated at the fact I found this extremely attractive. I didn’t do jokers. Bikers, yes. Scary, yes. Funny? No. I also got the inkling that this was a good guy. I stayed away from those at all costs.

“I already have been. Got to talk to the most beautiful lady in the room, and got to see the firefly has bite, as well as a great ass,” he countered.

I was robbed of my sharp retort by a huge presence. “No touching,” Tyson barked at Lucky.

Any other moment I would be loath to have this steroid-ridden oaf in my presence, but right then he was a godsend. It didn’t matter that he never came and enforced that particular rule of the club. He usually encouraged all sorts of touching as long as money was exchanged. Money he got a cut out of.

Lucky glanced his way, his grin gone entirely and the scary look that his appearance promised in its place. He didn’t let go of my arm, commencing in a stare-off with Tyson.

I rolled my eyes, yanking my elbow out of Lucky’s grasp. “No problem here, dude,” I addressed Tyson. “I was just leaving.”

I didn’t look back after I turned on my heel and walked into the crowd. As much as I wanted to.

That was it. Our first proper meeting after three years when I’d stormed into his clubhouse to retrieve my best friend who had incidentally lost her V-card to his brother. It wasn’t love at first sight then, and it sure as shit wasn’t love at first sight now. But I found as I was walking away, my mind already on what the syringe in my handbag held, that I couldn’t completely forgot the hazel eyes and the easy smile.

* * *

I
expected
he would lose interest. He seemed like he either needed Ritalin or was taking too much. Like an overexcited puppy that wouldn’t stop wagging its fucking tail.

Except puppies were cute.

Lucky—yes, that’s really his name, or the only one he’d give me—was not cute. Not in any sense of the word. He may have been slightly goofy with the sense of humor of a seven-year-old, but he was hot. Hot in a way that had him invading my drug-addled dreams. Filtered through my foggy waking mind. His muscled caramel skin exposed to me and his sinewy arms wrapped around me. It was not good. Not because I found him hot, but because I actually found him something else. He didn’t just arouse me on a carnal level; there was something else, a connection that seemed too fantastical and real all at the same time.

It was dangerous. I didn’t need real connections. I needed that like I needed a root canal.

The fact he’d been at the club at least three times a week for three weeks and counting was pissing me off.

Pissing me off in the way I’d come to look forward to our banter when I ‘mingled.’ The way I was disappointed when he didn’t turn up. Despite whatever high I was riding that night, only he made me feel different. Better. But when he didn’t turn up, when I was convinced he’d finally realized what I was, it was worse. Much worse than any low a narcotic offered.

His presence was something my addict mind craved. So fucked-up.

“You changed your mind about me taking you away from all this and giving us a nice quiet life in the country?” his deep voice asked, silky and smooth across the rough ridges of my mind.

I took a breath and turned from the bar, hoping to hide the way my eyes were just a little too bright. I was an expert at hiding the effects of the junk. It was the effects of
him
that I was trying to conceal. I didn’t want to show him that his presence did something to me. That would be bad for both of us.

“Hell frozen over yet?” I asked, trying not to drink him in too obviously.

As always, he was wearing his cut and faded blue jeans. A white Henley showed off the ridges of muscle underneath the fabric. I itched to see it freed from its polyester cage and run my hands, or mouth, along it.

“I’m workin’ on it. Got a hundred air conditioners going full blast as we speak. Man downstairs will not be happy with the electric bill, but you’re worth battlin’ the Devil for,” he replied, jerking me out of my daydream.

I gave him a look. “Those lines work, ever?” They were totally working.

He grinned. “Sixty percent of the time, they work every time.”

“You know those are about eighty percent urine, right?” I nodded to the nuts he was stuffing in his mouth.

Lucky stopped chewing, his eyes bulging. “You’re shittin’ me,” he said through a half-full mouth.

I shook my head, the corner of my mouth quirking despite the ice queen routine I was trying to perfect. “I’m sure you’ve been to a few bars in your time. I figured you’d know by now that you’d ingest as many bodily fluids from licking a toilet seat as you would from snacking on those.” I paused, tilting my head and running my eyes over his cut. “Though, as a biker in a club that owns its very own strip club, I’m sure you see your fair share of bodily fluids,” I added sweetly. Someone who looked like him would get the attention from the girls who worked at their club. I knew a few of them, and they all swore it was the best gig they’d had in the biz; the money was good, they were treated well, and the hotties from the Sons of Templar MC frequented the place.

Much better than the rat-infested shithole I worked at where we got paid shitty, treated even shittier, and the clientele looked like they had girls tied up in their basements.

Which was why it baffled me that Lucky was even there. It pissed me off too.

Lucky grinned at me. “I only exchange bodily fluids with people I’ve taken to dinner first.”

Somehow, he made that line actually send tingles down my already-sensitive skin.

“Why are you here?” I snapped, my withdrawals making me twitchy, cranky. Okay, cranky was an understatement. I felt like I wanted to murder this attractive idiot with a rusty fork. Or kiss him. I wasn’t sure which.

He quirked his brow. “I really like the chicken wings.”

Despite the snake in my belly and the ants on my skin, I smiled, slightly. “You enjoy salmonella, then,” I retorted.

He stepped forward, not close enough to touch me but close enough that I could see his face illuminated in the dingy light. “I enjoy the company and the conversation. Salmonella helps me keep my delightful figure.” He rubbed his flat belly over the top of his tee. I followed its journey and could actually see the outline of his six-pack.

I swallowed the cocktail of emotions that came with his proximity, chasing away the worst of the itch. It wasn’t gone, not completely—it never would be—but his tobacco scent was like a salve. “You come to a strip club for conversation?” I repeated, finding sarcasm as a shield to stop my voice from shaking. “That’s like going to a hooker for a hug.”

“Well, I do need a hug,” he teased.

My skin went cold. “I’m not a hooker. Even if I was, you couldn’t afford me. Or be able to handle me,” I purred, my voice velvet and steel at the same time.

His eyes flared with intensity. “Oh baby, I could handle you,” he rasped.

I swallowed, the pure sex in his tone like a physical caress. “No, buddy, you can’t. Your muscles aren’t big enough to contain me,” I croaked finally.

Something moved behind his eyes, like he was seeing something I didn’t even realize I’d exposed. Then they flickered back to the teasing glint. “Well, that’s just mean. I work very hard on these.” He stroked his arm. “You know, that’s going to do shocking things to my self-esteem.”

I let out an unladylike snort. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s in the gutter. You’ll survive. How about you go and engage in some riveting conversation with Nat.” I nodded to my friend and coworker who had professed her utter jealousy that I had my very own ‘pet biker.’ She could have him. He was more trouble than I needed and I was more than he could handle. I cloaked my face before regarding him again. “I’ve got to get to work.”

Before I could turn away from him and the complicated emotions he seemed to arouse in me, he stepped even closer, so his body brushed mine. All humor flickered out of his face. It was unnerving, the quick transition, and also hot as fuck.

“I want to see you,” he half growled.

I swallowed. “You will.” I nodded to the stage. “You and everyone else.”

I tried to turn again and that time he snatched my hand in his, maneuvering it so the meatheads at the corner of the room couldn’t see the gesture, his muscly body working like a shield.

“I don’t want to see what everyone else sees,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I want you to give me something. Give me
you
.”

I was paralyzed, only for a split second but long enough for his words to filter through the utter fucking chaos of my mind and settle somewhere. I ripped my hand out of his grasp.

My eyes met his. “There’s nothing to give,” I whispered, and before I could inspect the way his face changed at my words, I turned on my heel and walked away. As soon as I left his presence the itch came back, more ferocious than ever, more intense and unbearable than before.

“
N
umbing
the pain for a while will only make it worse when you finally feel it.”

-Albus Dumbledore

I
had
to get myself sorted. In the far reaches of my mind that weren’t captured by the villain in the syringe, I knew it was getting bad. The need, the thirst, the necessity of that rush. Of what I felt when I got it. What I didn’t feel.

I was a slave to it.

But I wasn’t dirty when I was high. I wasn’t filled with sorrow. I wasn’t broken.

I was
nothing.

Nothing was hard to give up. Even when I was starting to realize I was becoming a slave to it.

I couldn’t become a slave to it. Not when the horrors of my childhood already had me in chains.

So I sat on the sofa, rocking slightly, trying to figure a way out. To find out how to free myself.

“Bex?”

I jerked at the soft voice.

“You okay?” Lily asked.

My gaze darted up to my best friend, who was regarding me with concern. I noticed she looked better. She was eating more, which meant she was slowly putting on the weight she’d lost through the horrors of the past few years. Three of them. Caring for her sick mother.

Her dying mother.

Trying to care for me when I was intent on hitting the self-destruct button that had always been just out of reach, until it wasn’t.

Her eyes still danced with grief but she seemed stronger somehow, more sure of herself. Her golden hair shone with health and tumbled down her back, no longer lank and lifeless. The dark circles were disappearing from underneath her eyes, and the pallor that had worried me was now disappearing. I knew it had a lot to do with Asher, the hot biker who seemed to believe she invented the Harley Davidson. He did what I couldn’t, pulling her out of the abyss when I only yanked her back in.

I owed him a lot. I was also weary. For the three and a half years we’d know each other, it had been my job to protect Lily. She was shy. More than that, she suffered from social anxiety, stuff that made her vulnerable to the shitty world. That’s how I’d met her, on her first day at college, on the verge of a panic attack. She looked so tiny, a fucking child, and something drew me to that. Some carnal part of me recognizing that vulnerability painted on her pretty face, that same vulnerability that was stolen from me when I was a kid. Something clicked, made me determined to make sure that wasn’t stolen from her like it was stolen from me. I couldn’t control it then, but I sure as shit could control it now. Since that day, it was my job to protect her. Asher had taken over that job. He was much better at it than me.

Me? I offered her a bottle and escape the only way I knew how, by partying.

He offered her more. Much more.

“I’m totally fine, Lilmeister,” I lied, smiling brightly at her. I’d gotten good at this, at the act. Hiding the way I got twitchy if it’d been too long between hits. How I was spending all of my spare money on it. I was an expert.

An addict.

No. I didn’t let my mind focus on that word. I wasn’t that.
No.

“You sure?” she asked, her gaze running over me.

I kept my grin in place. “Sure, babe. I’m just contemplating my outfit for tonight. I’m feeling inspired by Rihanna’s S&M. Whips and chains excite me.” I winked at her.

She stared at me with furrowed brows for a moment longer, then shook her head. She was used to such phrases from me. I
was
the vulgar, stripper best friend after all. Plucky and able to handle almost anything. I had to play my part. She couldn’t see the crumbling filth beneath the façade I’d constructed with black clothes and an expert hand at winged eyeliner.

“You need anything at the supermarket?” she asked, rifling through her bag the way we all did, making sure everything of import was in there.

“Caviar, Dom, the usual,” I replied, reclining back on the sofa.

She shook her blonde head once more, in a way that made her look older than me, like she was the slightly amused mother looking at her immature child. Then again, she had a lifetime of being that person, the responsible one. Her mom had been a free spirit, an artist. A wonderful woman and a magnificent mother, but not the best at remembering to pay the electric bill and keep the cupboards stocked. That had been Lily’s job. She might need protecting but she took care of people. Of me. Of her mom. Until the moment her mom died.

It hit me then, the last time I spoke to her. Hit without warning, so I couldn’t chase it away.

“Love.”

My head jerked up from its resting place on the corner of the bed. Sleep released me from its grasp as soon as I saw Faith’s eyes. She’d been sleeping more now. Closer to the end. Our lives were getting darker and darker as her light grew dimmer and dimmer.

Lily dragged herself away to work. She didn’t want to. I knew she was terrified that Faith would slip away while she was slinging cocktails. That’s what I was afraid of.

Faith leaving her.

Leaving me.

I rubbed my eyes. “Love?” I repeated, confused.

“Love isn’t knowing every inch of the other person. Looking at the darkest corners and getting to know their skeletons. It’s finding their truth, the core of who they are, the part of you that they recognize in themselves. Some people recognize that truth after spending a day ‘getting to know’ someone. Others a year. A special few, a moment.”

I blinked at her, the journey into lucidity jarring. “I’m not looking for a Prince Charming or a ‘love at first sight’ deal, Faith. You know that’s not me.” I tried to smile and wink at the woman I loved more than anyone on the planet, the one who was little more than a skeleton in front of me.

In a very deliberate and devastatingly slow move, Faith moved her gray and bruised hand to cover mine. With a surprising amount of strength, she squeezed it, her eyes glittering. “I’m not talking about a Prince Charming,” she rasped. “I’m talking about Rebecca. About you finding her truth and seeing how utterly beautiful and unique her truth is.” She paused, sucking in a labored breath. “But Prince Charming? I doubt he could handle you. Nor would he deserve you. You’ll get someone much better than him. And you’ll get him.”

The certainty in her voice unnerved me. Had me wondering whether the fact she was flirting with death gave her some glimpse into the future.

“Faith,” I whispered. But I couldn’t say more because the grip on my hand loosened and that lucid gaze disappeared.

It was the last time I saw myself through her eyes, got a glimpse of my truth before I buried it in dirt and darkness.

I swallowed the chunk of coal at my throat as grief crept through the itchiness of my mind.

“I’ll get right on that,” she said with a small grin.

A grin!

I was so going to mouth-kiss that biker for making it possible for my best bud to smile again.

I’d also totally disembowel him if he took that smile away.

My own plucky smile left the moment Lily closed the door, my relaxed demeanor changing immediately as I darted off the sofa into my room. My shaking hands unveiled the expertly hidden package, and I wasted no time in finding my escape. My way to be clean. It didn’t escape me that my pursuit of washing off the filth gave me even more grime in the long run. Dirtied my soul. Like I said, future isn’t really my game. I live in the now.

And in the now, flying on the cushion that circled around me the moment I injected myself, I was clean. I was nothing.

* * *

A
n unperceivable amount
of time later, a knocking jerked me out of my reverie. I was already coming out anyway. This stuff was shit. The high didn’t last enough, but I couldn’t afford any better.

Jesus, I wasn’t even good enough for the ‘good’ drugs.

Tragic.

I slowly pushed my jellylike limbs to the floor, my movements lethargic.

The knocking at the door turned to pounding. I stumbled into the living room, rolling my eyes.

“Okay, okay, jeez. Keep your motorcycle panties on,” I muttered as I reached the door. I was assuming it was Lily’s biker man, there to throw around some alpha over the fact his woman did something that he could do for her. Like breathing and such.

I didn’t expect to be shoved savagely aside by a huge angry form entering the room, slamming the door. Asher may have given a new meaning to the term ‘caveman’ but he would never be so brutal, even with someone like me. None of the men in his club would. I had come to understand that, although they were rough bikers who could be scary as fuck, their attitude towards women, even junkie strippers, was respectful.

Despite this current situation, my mind wandered to the man who’d been visiting the club for the last few weeks. The one who didn’t seem to go away, despite seeing what I was. Not all of it, no one would ever see that, but it should have been enough to scare him away.

“What’s this I hear about you givin’ Carlos shit?” an angry voice hissed.

I moved my gaze lazily up past the muscled chest and to the contorted face of my kind-of-boyfriend. Kind of because I didn’t ‘do’ boyfriends, and he was a dick. I hadn’t seen him in a couple weeks, and I hadn’t missed him. “Hello to you to, Dylan,” I replied smartly.

His hands tightened on my forearms to the point of dull pain. Had I been stone-cold sober, I reasoned that pain might’ve edged on unbearable. However, I was still high, so it had a numbing quality, an unimportance.

His eyebrows narrowed and his eyes turned to slits. “Don’t give me your mouthy shit. You’ve done enough of that,” he clipped.

I regarded him, not feeling much fear at the fury in his tone, his lack of hesitation at getting physical. He was not cute when his face was scrunched up in fury. Another part of me, a shameful part, felt kind of turned on with this fury, this lack of respect I was getting.

Fucked-up, I knew. That was me. Fucked-up to the core.

I reached out to his grip on my forearms, gently stroking the white knuckles.

“How about we don’t talk at all, then,” I murmured.

Even as I said the words they tasted bitter. As I touched his arms I wanted to flinch away in disgust. At him.

At myself.

His gaze flickered, the anger rippling like a channel changing on the TV as he pushed me roughly into the wall. “Yeah. We’ll get there. I’ll get that pussy. First, that pussy is gonna make us some money,” he said. No,
ordered.

I straightened and jutted my chin up, glaring at him. “Excuse me?” I replied sharply. I might’ve been fucked-up enough to be turned on in the face of his anger, but even
I
wouldn’t stand for being talked to like that. I was still clutching that last crumbled piece of self-respect.

“Don’t act surprised. You know what I’m talking about. You’re going to fully immerse yourself in the business.”

Anger crawled up my throat as I laughed coldly. “You’re seriously trying to be my
pimp
?” I asked in disbelief. I knew he was connected to Carlos through shady business deals but I didn’t think he’d be that far into the prostitution side of the business. I tried my best to not find out what he did with his life. I wasn’t interested in getting to know him. He was only around in order for me to turn myself into a stranger.

My gaze flickered over his flannel shirt and faded jeans. “You need to get yourself a tracksuit and some gold jewelry if that’s the goal,” I informed him smartly. My eyes narrowed. “And a new fucking girlfriend. ’Cause that right there is never going to fucking happen. I’ve told Carlos numerous times to go and fuck himself on that score, albeit more diplomatically because he signs my paychecks. You, on the other hand, do not, so go fuck yourself. I sure as shit won’t be doing it anymore,” I hissed, wrenching myself from his grip and moving to the door so I could open it.

His palm went above the knob I was clasping, making moving it impossible.

“You’re assuming you have a choice,” he murmured in my ear, his body pressing into me from behind. “I’m sick of you acting like you’ve got some kind of code. Like you’re
better
. Newsflash, babe, you’re not better. You’re a fuckin’ stripper. White trash. A good one at that, with a nice ass and nice tits.” He paused so he could cup them roughly. “But still trash,” he added in my ear. “That body is worth something, and it’s going to be used to not only milk my cock but to earn me some fuckin’ coin.” The unmistakable feeling of his hard-on pressed against my ass.

I swallowed bile and struggled against the stab of pain at his words. The truth in them.

Trash.
I was that.

But I wasn’t his. I wasn’t anyone’s.

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again. Obviously your tiny brain needs repetition because the only head that seems to be working right is the one between your legs,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “Go. Fuck. Yourself,” I uttered slowly, trying to exert strength in my tone since he had exerted strength over my body.

I was whirled so I faced him, so his front pressed to mine, so his face could dip close to me and I could feel his breath on my nose. “You need to learn a fuckin’ lesson. Learn your place.”