Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC) by Anne Malcom Read Free Book Online Page B

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.

Chapter Three
    “ 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