Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC) (5 page)

“Not gonna hurt you, Becky,” he murmured. “I’d never do that. Despite how fuckin’ pissed I am that you’re too fuckin’ stubborn to accept help and come to the clubhouse with me. If I wasn’t worried about how those nails will embed themselves in my cheek, I’d be putting you over my shoulder and dragging you there myself… but I like my beautiful face untainted.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Yeah, well it will stay that way if you don’t try and forcibly take me to your compound. I don’t do well in captivity.”

Something moved behind his eyes. “Yeah. You’re wild, baby. In a good way. No way in hell I’d try to rein in the spirit dancing behind those eyes. It’s what drew me in, part of why I like you so fuckin’ much. Caging that, it’d be a crime to humanity.”

I swallowed at his words. At the fact I felt like a fucking teenager and wanted to dance around the room at hearing he liked me.
Me
.

He doesn’t know you, not really
, the voice inside my head told me.
If he did, no way in hell he’d call you beautiful. Not when he knew the real you. The drug addict fuckup. The tarnished little girl.

The thought was like ice water on my psyche. I sat up and moved to stand on the other side of the bed, putting furniture between us. “You don’t like me,” I hissed. “You’re just not used to someone not liking
you
. You think I’m something to be conquered and cast aside once you’ve satisfied your ego that you can claim any girl you like.”

Lucky’s face hardened. “You’re right. I do want to conquer you.” His voice dripped with erotic promise. “But I don’t suspect it will be easy. Suspect it’ll be worth it, and I sure as fuck won’t want to cast you aside after the fact.”

I straightened, trying to ignore the way my entire body responded to the pure sex in his voice. I’d just been beaten up by my very ex loser boyfriend, and now I was getting turned on by the biker who’d been borderline stalking me for two weeks? I was so fucked-up.

I met his eyes and hoped my bitch stare was firmly in place. “Whatever. Dreams are free. Which is all you’ll ever get in regards to me. You’re not getting what you want, for once. Try not to cry into your pillow tonight. Or do. I don’t care either way. Just leave me alone,” I ordered, my voice cold. It may have been an order outwardly, but it was also a plea. A prayer.

Lucky rounded the bed and stalked towards me. I backed up but had nowhere to go once my hip hit my dresser. He boxed me in. “You think I’m leavin’ you alone?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper. He brought his hand up to my bruised cheek. I held his eyes and refused to flinch away. “After that fucker did
this
to you?”

I jutted my chin out. “I can take care of myself.”

Lucky nodded. “Yeah, I reckon you can. Reckon that’s been your life. Looking out for yourself. Fighting to protect yourself. Can see it behind your emerald eyes. The glint of a warrior who’s seen too fuckin’ much. Fought against too much.” He paused. “You don’t know what it’s like to have someone step up and do that for you. It’s a fuckin’ shame. But I’m also happy to be the first man to do that.”

His words hypnotized me, gave me a glimpse at a life I might be able to have in a parallel universe. One similar to what Lily had with Asher. What normal people had.

Normal. Normal was clean.

Clean I was not.

The window to the world shuttered.

I wasn’t normal. Wasn’t innocent or unpolluted like Lily. I would never have that life.

Lucky’s mouth was inches from mine. It took all my strength not to cross that small gap and just get a taste of what that life could be like. But even I wasn’t that much of a masochist. Instead of pressing my lips to his, I placed both of my hands on his hard chest and pushed. My strength was laughable and I never would’ve been able to do something like that if Lucky decided to exert his considerable strength over me, but he didn’t. As soon as he realized my intention, he stepped back, though he frowned as he did.

“You’re not going to be the first man to ‘protect me’ from the big bad world.” I used air quotes to go with the sarcasm in my tone. “This isn’t the macho hot biker show where you have all-consuming powers to shield some whimpering female from the horrors of reality,” I said, eyeing him. I put my finger to my chest. “This female is already well acquainted with those horrors. They’re the fucking backdrop of my childhood. Demons are my goddamn lullaby. So thanks for the offer, but there’s nothing left for you to protect me from. I’ve already lived through it all.”

Seeing Lucky’s face so blank and harsh, devoid of the humor that I’d come to understand was his nature, was more than a little unnerving. The fury of earlier today was downright eerie, and more than a little hot. But this, the way his body turned to granite at my little speech, it was something else. Like he was physically
feeling
the meaning behind my words.

The reaction was confusing. Impossible. We barely knew each other. He couldn’t look at me like he knew every secret I clutched to my chest.

His eyes held me captive, paralyzing me even though all I wanted to do was leave this room, escape his shrewd gaze and the electricity between us. Escape my own feelings for him. I wanted to run and find a fix to take it all away. But his draw was even more hypnotizing than the needle.

“Yeah, you do need protectin’, firefly,” he said quietly. His gaze flickered on my body. “The ones with the hardest exteriors always got the sweetest softness on the inside.” He stepped forward, not enough to get our bodies close but so I could smell him, feel his presence envelop me. “I’m gonna find it. Taste it. And own it.”

I swallowed the stupid fucking butterflies crawling from my belly to my throat at his words. “Who speaks like that?” I snapped. “Seriously? Give me a list of people who thinks that’s acceptable conversation to share with someone you’ve only met a few times.”

His brow quirked. “Babe, I’ve seen you naked. I think it’s more than an appropriate way to talk.”

I pursed my lips at the stark reminder of reality. Reality was sorely needed in this little conversation. “
Everyone’s
seen me naked. Everyone who pays the cover and frequents nasty strip clubs. They got deep pockets they can see me
real close
,” I said, my voice a taunt. I was doing it to remind him of what I was, to make him realize that I wasn’t whatever warped image of me he had in his mind.

The teasing glint left Lucky’s eyes. His emotional transitions were giving me whiplash. “That shit’s stopping.”

I folded my arms and restrained the wince that came with this movement. “What are you talking about?”

“You takin’ your clothes off for lowlifes in this fuckin’ dive. The place owned by a bad motherfucker who tried to pimp you out. You’re quittin’.”

A red film covered my eyes and I went deathly calm. “I thought we’d already ridden this merry-go-round. If I remember correctly, I pushed you the fuck off, considering you have no power over me,” I hissed. “So at what point in this conversation did you descend into your little fantasy world? Or did you always reside somewhere that isn’t the here and now?” I paused. “That makes a lot of sense.”

Lucky’s eyes darkened. “Jesus, Becky, you can hardly fuckin’ move. That hot little body is covered in evidence of just how bad that shit is for you. At how far away it is from where you should be. What you deserve. You ain’t goin’ back there.”

I found my feet and stormed past him, taking a wide berth so he didn’t get any ideas. I opened the door and leaned against it while staring back at him. “You’re wrong. This”—I gestured to my face—“is
exactly
what I deserve.” I ignored the way he visibly flinched at my tone. “Now this is the part of the conversation when you run along back to your biker buddies. Find a whore to boss around, rebuild your Harley, write the next great American novel. I don’t give a shit. The main part is you
getting the fuck out
of my apartment and forgetting whatever has you thinking I’m some possession you can do with as you like and order around. That is not me. I’m never going to be that girl.” My voice was ice.

Lucky stood in the center of my room, digesting my words. As he did so, I took a mental snapshot of him standing there, in the middle of my chaotic, messy life. The beautiful tattooed biker who was a contradiction. Funny as hell, carefree and kind, but ruthless and violent at the drop of a hat. And tender. And irritating as shit. Someone I’d never have.

Maybe I’d use it as motivation to get off the shit and finally get my life together. Something had to. Today my life hadn’t exactly flashed before my eyes, but death had come knocking and I realized what a fucking sad story I’d have to tell the reaper if I’d answered. I didn’t want sad. I didn’t want some tragic end, to become another damaged junkie who’d lost their battle with their demons.

No.

I wanted to fight.

And I wanted to win.

I just had no idea how I was going to do that. A start would be to forget the biker who made me want to fight and surrender all at the same time.

He moved, not taking his eyes off me. My perusal of him, or maybe my distraction at the demons clawing at my back, had me unable to react as he stalked across the room and clasped the back of my neck. His eyes glittered with hunger that I only got a glimpse of before he pulled me in to press his lips to mine. I probably should have struggled, pursed my lips and turned to stone. I sure as shit shouldn’t have opened to him the moment his lips crashed down on mine. But I was never one for doing things I should, and I definitely indulged in everything that was bad for me.

And that kiss, the way it set my body alight, the way he tasted as his tongue plundered my mouth, it was bad for me. The worst. Because it was good. Too fucking good.

In the blink of an eye—or maybe an hour later, who knew—he yanked back, resting his forehead on mine for a split second. Our gazes locked and I scrambled to shutter my eyes, to regain my mental shield. But it was too late; his hazel eyes saw to the core of me.

Not a good thing.

Because my core was not soft and beautiful. It was shriveled and rotten.

His jaw hardened and he stepped away from me. I shouldn’t have been surprised. If he actually got a glimpse at the wasteland behind my eyes, I’d never see him again. I hated how much the thought of that hurt. I was momentarily pissed at myself for creating such a connection to someone I barely knew.

He scrutinized me a moment longer, then moved farther away. The absence of his body was similar to withdrawal. My skin itched without him. One kiss and I was hooked.

I quickly scuttled to the side of the room. I didn’t need another addiction.

“Come here, Becky,” he commanded, his voice a low growl.

I found my feet obeying his command without hesitation and I came to a stop in front of him. He grasped my hips, gently pulling me to him.

“I’ll go,” he murmured. “Whores don’t seem to interest me anymore, and my bike’s already a work of art. I’m sure I’ve got a few great novels in me, considerin’ I’m a goddamn genius.” His eyes twinkled, then turned serious. “I’ll do none of those things. I’ll only do the one thing that you suggest, which I don’t want to do, and that’s leave.” He paused. “Forgetting about you is not an option, firefly. You’re under my skin.” He leaned forward to land a soft kiss on my bruised face. My eyes fluttered closed, feeling a cocktail of pain and pleasure from the gesture. When I opened my eyes, he was gone.

And I was well and truly fucked.

Because he was under my skin too.

Amongst the filth and the demons that had been there since I was a kid.

That was the last place someone like him needed to be.

“
D
rugs take you to hell
, disguised as heaven.”

-Donald Lynn Frost

Y
ou’d think
I’d be a little hesitant at opening the door to someone banging on it, considering what happened the last time.

You’d think wrong.

And it wasn’t just that I was riding a glorious little high my boy Silas had hooked me up with. Broken ribs and a battered face hurt, a
lot,
so I was able to get some heavy-grade painkillers. Yeah, the beating hurt, but now I had a socially acceptable reason to pop pills.

You know, because heroin wasn’t enough.

But a girl needed something. Especially since I wouldn’t have the cash for much more until I was on the mend. Carlos hadn’t been happy when I’d called to tell him the situation. Not about Dylan beating me up, no, about me not being able to work a pole with four cracked ribs.

“You’re letting me down, Rebecca. I’m disappointed,” he clucked over the phone.

I scowled at the air. “Oh yes, I’m letting you down,” I replied sweetly. “By not saying yes to prostitution after the first punch? Do you really think I’d play nice if you got Dylan to convince me with his fists, you chauvinistic prick?”

There was a long silence on the phone. Don’t ask me why I’d even called him, considering he was the reason I was a lovely shade of purple. Maybe so I could finally yell at him.

“I’m going to choose to ignore that little outburst considering your situation,” Carlos said finally. “I had no knowledge of Dylan’s actions, and I’ll see to it that our business relationship is severed.”

I restrained a snort.
Yeah, right
. Dylan was a Tucker, and the Tuckers were a notorious wannabe mob family who thought they ran everything in this town. Carlos was so tangled up with them it wasn’t funny.

“And I’ll go and dye my hair, join a sorority, and wear pink,” I retorted sarcastically.

Another pause. “You should be careful talking to your employer like that,” he warned. “A girl like you doesn’t have a lot of options considering your only assets are what you can sell and your little… habit.” His voice was smug.

Of course he knew. Carlos was a weasel, but he knew everything that was going on at his club. “So I’ll place you on unpaid leave while you think about your options. Your many,
many
options,” he taunted.

There was an audible click as he hung up.

“Fuck,” I hissed through my teeth. I threw my phone down with a force that sent barbs of pain through my midsection.

The fucker was right. I had no option but to go back to him. No one to fall back on but myself. And I was doing a pretty crappy job right now. But if I wanted to stay fed—and, more importantly, stay high—it was my only option. Lily would, of course, offer to sell her kidney for me if that was what it came to, but no way in hell was I letting that happen.

So, after slamming the phone down, I answered the door. I wasn’t afraid of what I’d find on the other side. Fear was useless and not something I’d felt since that night all those years ago. I wasn’t scared of opening the door.

Though I was confused.

I frowned at the skinny redhead in front of me. He looked like a pizza boy, tall, lanky, splotched in freckles, and looking like he had barely gone through puberty. “Wow, Dominos is really edging up their uniforms,” I exclaimed, taking in his leather vest, jeans and boots. “I dig it. But you seem to have forgotten your pizza. And I didn’t order one.”

I tried to close the door and was not surprised when his skinny arm stopped me. There was astounding strength behind it.

“Lucky sent me,” he declared, his voice way deeper than I expected. “I’m here to look out for you. I’m Skid.”

I tilted my head. “Yeah, I didn’t order a pizza and I certainly didn’t order a
Skid
to look out for me,” I replied. “What is with you bikers and the names? Seriously dude, Skid? What’s wrong with freaking Scott? Or Bob? Just once I’d like to meet a biker with a normal name and normal bone structure,” I babbled. Despite his teenage geek appearance, he managed to work it, almost like he should’ve been strutting down a runway or something.

He regarded me expressionless, though the corner of his mouth did a little twitch. “Sorry, ma’am, but I was informed you’d throw some ‘spitfire-type sass’”—he finger-quoted a certain biker—“and I was instructed to tell you that I’m authorized to knock you unconscious and then transport you to the clubhouse.” He quirked a brow. “Please don’t make me knock you unconscious.”

I stared at him. “I really can’t tell if you’re joking,” I said, raising my own brow. “But I’m not joking when I say if you call me ma’am again, I’ll throat-punch you.”

He didn’t grin but his mouth twitched. “I’ve also been told to get rid of any stains on the carpet.”

I grinned, opening the door wider. “Well, why didn’t you just say so, Skippy?” I asked. “I happen to
hate
cleaning, and you’ve just worn me down. No threats of unconsciousness needed.” I stood back and let him in. The back of his leather cut had the ‘prospect’ rocker. Figured considering I heard they got all the crappy jobs.

I was guessing I was the crappiest job of them all.

With the help of my painkillers, I forgot that readily enough. “We’re going to have to do something about that name, though. I just can’t call you Skid.” I scrunched up my nose, folding my arms. “You’re gonna have to tell me your real name. I promise I won’t tell.” I crossed my fingers over my chest.

He stopped his perusal of the bloodstain in the middle of our rug—thanks, Dylan—and stared at me. “You aren’t to be standing,” he said instead of answering me.

I frowned at him. “What now?”

“That’s another instruction. ‘Make sure she doesn’t move that sweet ass anywhere but the john.’” He used finger quotes but I didn’t need them.

“I’m so killing him,” I muttered.

Skid kept staring at me.

“You’ll take me bodily to the sofa if I won’t move, won’t you?” I surmised.

He nodded gravely. “There was talk of zip-ties if you weren’t cooperative.”

I supposed I should have been angry. Furious, most likely. But nothing seemed to bother me with the magic painkillers. So I stomped to the sofa.

“You gonna tell me your name?” I asked while I watched him inspect the blood.

“It’s Skid.”

I grinned. “So we’re gonna play it that way. Okay, Karl.”

No response.

“Not Karl? That’s cool, I’ve got Google and buttloads of time,” I informed him.

Apparently I did. And now that I had a babysitter who was going to be watching me, I had to make sure I used that time wisely. Namely not shooting up in the bathroom.

You need to stop,
the voice pleaded.
No
. It was small and childlike, an echo of the plea from that horrible night eleven years ago. Only that time I wasn’t fighting against a monster in the night, but myself.

And I was losing.

I tried. My fucking hardest. After Lucky left that night, with nothing but a gangly biker and healing bruises to remember him by, I’d tried to gather up the mess I called a life and give sobriety a crack.

I lasted about two days. Then the itch, the horrible shaking, the sickening yearning got the best of me. I welcomed the filth back with a relief. Found solace in the nothing.

It didn’t matter that my finances were becoming dangerously depleted since I couldn’t work looking like a bruised peach. Only one thing mattered.

The needle.

The nothingness.

There was no escape from it. So my body healed from the beating Dylan gave me while my mind became more damaged from the battering of my demons. I dodged Lucky; that was one addiction I had to kick, no matter how tough the withdrawals were. The universe seemed to be on my side for once because he and Asher were away on some biker mission and I was safe. Safe from the illusion of safety he offered.

Safe to continue the habit that offered the comfort of danger. Because Asher wasn’t around to offer Lily the life raft she still needed, despite the fact she was treading water now, it was my turn to help her stay afloat. Though I feared dragging her out to some club and plying her with booze was dragging her deeper. I had no choice to come out to drown my sorrows, or at least drunken them, in order to gain the courage to go back to work tomorrow.

Yep, work. Back to the place where my boss had sent the guy I was sleeping with to rough me up in order to convince me to solicit.

I’d guess most people would say such a move was insane. Or at least people who had the luxury of choice.

I did not.

So in order to live with my choice, I came here. And dragged Lily with me.

Because I was such a great friend.

It was the shame that came with that realization that had me slipping into the bathroom to find solace in nothingness, so I could face my friend. So I could face myself.

I wasn’t under the illusion that I was doing this for anyone but myself. Fuck, I couldn’t get any more fucking selfish than leaving my vulnerable best friend in some greasy club while shooting up in the bathroom.

I almost retched from my disgust in myself.

As always, I shook myself, as if physical movement would chase those thoughts away, and plunged the needle into my arm. The pain of the needle was almost nonexistent now, the moment that blissed nirvana entered my bloodstream pain a rather arbitrary concept.

Everything fell away. The chattering of girls outside the bathroom stall I was crouched in, the thumping of the bass in the club. The filth. That was the most important thing. The filth fell away. No, maybe it didn’t. It was tattooed onto my skin, onto my soul. It would never leave. But it was hidden. It was gloriously cloaked like everything else was in these precious moments.

I closed my eyes and leaned back, cherishing the moment. The future didn’t exist. It was only the now.

Then, as the darkness dragged me deeper than I’d ever been, I had a horrible premonition that the now was all I was getting, all that was left.

Then there wasn’t even that.

Then there was nothing.

* * *

A
lmost overdosing
in a dirty bathroom stall of some terrible club was a turning point for me. My bottom.

No, actually waking up in hospital after I’d almost died was a turning point.

The first thing that assaulted me when I woke was the smell. Unpleasant was not the word. It seemed to seep into my bones, that sterile, ammonia smell. Taunting me with its cleanliness, making my own filth that much more visible. Inescapable. Because the first thing I’d wanted to do was find a needle, a pill, a fucking cocktail to blur that dirt, make myself care just a little less about it.

Unfortunately they didn’t offer narcotics or stiff drinks to junkies recovering from overdoses in hospital rooms.

Then it was the pain. Every cell in my body hurt, every strand of hair a weight on my pounding head. It was not pleasant. But that was all Club Med compared to a distraught and pale-faced Lily sobbing at my bedside when she’d come in.

I saw it then. The consequences of my actions. Of what my death would have done to the only person in the world who loved me. My only family. I saw how fucking selfish I’d been, looking for escape like a coward and then laying all that shit on Lily just after she’d buried her mom.

Worst friend of the century goes to me.

It was then I found my strength. I decided to make a change. Not to be a coward and find excuses to flush my life down the crapper. Not to hide behind the demons of the past and let me destroy my future.

So I went off the junk.

Cold turkey.

I wouldn’t recommend it.

I don’t really want to relive the sickness. The insects crawling on my skin. The itch that nothing but a needle could scratch. The pain of my body coming back to itself. Me descending back into the unfamiliar home of my body, which was now a stranger to me. Because that’s what I’d ultimately tried to run from with the drugs at the start, so coming back to it and facing the real me, stone-cold sober, wasn’t pleasant.

But I survived. People did it every day, so I would. And I did.

I hated myself,
a lot
, for being like that. For needing Lily to take care of me for the first handful of hellish days. When I’d been so sick I couldn’t stand, couldn’t shower. Forget keeping down any form of food. It mirrored the hell Faith went through with chemo. Though she was putting poison in her body in order to stay on this earth, to heal, I’d been doing it to leave it, further damaging my already-damaged body. I subjected Lily to that, after she’d gone through the same with her mom.

I was going to hell for sure. Withdrawal was already hell, so I guessed I had a taste of what the afterlife held for me. Totally not keen on meeting my maker any time soon.

By the time I was well enough to bathe myself and think beyond a rabid craving for junk, I was lucid enough to see what withdrawal had done to me. My pale face was almost translucent, and the circles under my eyes looked like smudged eye shadow. I looked like a cancer patient. No, I looked like a
junkie.