FIRESTORM
(The Sons of Templar MC)
Anne Malcom
Copyright ©2015 Anne Malcom
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work or fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
Cover and Formatting by L.J. Anderson at Mayhem Cover Creations
DEDICATION
To my Mum, for telling me I could be anything I wanted to be, and for always believing in me.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Author's Note
About the Author
Also Available
PROLOGUE
GWEN
I watched my baby girl sleep peacefully with my hand on her chest, the rise and fall of her breathing giving me a sense of calm. I was pretty sure I had the most beautiful child on the planet. Considering I had the most beautiful husband on the planet it wasn’t a surprise. Though if Cade knew I was calling him beautiful he would have something to say about that. The sentence would most likely include profanities. To me, my rough, badass biker was nothing short of beautiful. He had provided me with an amazing life, brought me back from some dark places and made me feel safe and cherished. Not to mention gave me the best orgasms I’d had in my life. Like the one he had given me an hour ago on the kitchen table.
A spluttering sound interrupted my sex flashback.
I narrowed my eyes and focused on Belle; she was still sleeping but she was making a weird sound. Was that normal? Shit, I didn’t know. Maybe my baby wasn’t sleeping peacefully; maybe that splutter was a symptom of some obscure life-threatening disorder. I pulled out my phone, almost hyperventilating.
Since I had already called Mum twice today I didn’t think I could disturb her again. Plus it was two a.m. at home. I would call her if Belle didn’t stop making that noise. It was freaking me out. I hadn’t been around babies. I didn’t know what were normal sounds and what weren’t. I put my phone to my ear, needing to be calmed down, or at least distracted.
“Hey, this is Amy. Text me. If I don’t reply it means I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Fuck,” I whispered.
Since I was desperate, I made a risky call.
“Good afternoon, Abrams residence,” a brisk voice greeted.
“Um hi, could I please speak to Amy?” I asked quietly, keeping an eagle eye on my daughter.
There was a pause. “Miss Abrams? Whom may I ask is calling?”
“This is Gwen Alexandra...no wait, Fletcher. I mean, my last name used to be Alexandra, then I got married so I changed it to Fletcher. It’s a new name I’m not used to it yet,” I babbled, my lack of sleep catching up on me.
“One moment.”
I relaxed. Well, slightly. I frowned down at Belle. She wasn’t making the noises anymore; she was quiet. Too quiet. Was that a thing? I was pretty sure babies weren’t meant to be that still.
“Gwenevere?”
My attention snapped back to the phone. Amy never called me by my full name; only my family and one other person called me that.
“Mrs. Abrams? So sorry to bother you, I was expecting Amy.”
I was sure I asked the maid for Amy. Maybe I didn’t. My mind was mush. Existing on coffee and orgasms was not a good long-term plan, but was necessary when you had a two-month-old daughter and a sex god for a husband.
“Oh yes, Vera informed me you were looking for Amy. I wanted to let you know she isn’t here. I haven’t seen her for months,” her cultured voice informed me.
That shocked me out of my freak-out. “Months?” I repeated. That couldn’t be right.
“Why yes, we both know Amy isn’t too fond of communicating with her mother unless she is forced. In fact, she actively changes her phone number whenever she becomes aware I have it.” Katherine’s voice dripped with disdain.
I resisted a giggle at this. It was true; Amy routinely changed her number in the past in order to avoid talking to her mother. Now she just had two separate phones; one ‘safe’ and one she specifically bought to communicate with her family. And only when she was faced with no other option. Her cold relationship with Katherine had always made me sad, which was why I had been shocked when she had told me she was staying there.
“But that’s not possible. Amy told me she was staying with you. She left for Europe right after my wedding. She got back two weeks ago, and said she was staying with you and Harold in the city,” I explained, getting a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Katherine laughed without humor. “I’m sorry, my darling, we both know my daughter has an aversion to the truth. I wouldn’t worry. She’s probably sunning herself on some pop star’s yacht and forgot she was meant to be back at home facing responsibility. Although I don’t recall her making arrangements to come here,” she added thoughtfully. “I must go, I’m late to a charity luncheon. Lovely talking to you, Gwenevere.” She hung up before I could say anything else.
My stomach churned. No matter what Amy’s vile mother said about her, Amy wasn’t irresponsible and she certainly wasn’t a liar. I automatically thought about the one and only time my best friend had kept something from me. A lance of pain ripped through my stomach.
She hadn’t told me about her and Ian. About being in love with my brother. Finding out she had kept it a secret, I took it a little bad. Okay, a lot bad since I tackled her on our front lawn. But when I got used to the idea I was happy, ecstatic for them both. Then things got complicated. Brock, the biker badass who rocked a serious man bun, got Amy twisted up enough to question her relationship with Ian. Not that I could get much out of her. But I knew Ian had been determined to get her back. I was pretty sure his decision to finish out his tour was largely to do with her.
My eyes glistened thinking about what would have been had he not been...killed. I still couldn’t say it. I could barely think it. My brother was dead. My best friend was heartbroken and she wouldn’t talk to me about it, no matter how hard I tried.
Plus, there was something going on with her and Brock. The months we had been back in Amber she refused to talk about it. They didn’t talk to each other apart from some broody alpha male looks Brock had directed at Amy when fate put them in the same room. I had been sidetracked with my reunion with Cade and my growing belly, so I didn’t give her the attention she needed. Then Belle was born in the clubhouse after I killed a man who was going to kill me and drama ensued. Life hadn’t exactly slowed down for me.
Cade had pretty much demanded we get married once I woke up in the hospital. I think he would have happily done it right then and there, but I convinced him I wouldn’t get married while wearing polyester. I managed to hold him off a month, a freaking month after Belle was born and he expected me to squeeze into a weddin
g dress. It was a good thing I was in love with the man or I would have been seriously pissed. Luckily, through a combination breastfeeding and being too anxious about the growth of Belle’s hair, I hadn’t had much of an appetite, which meant I didn’t look like a beached whale at my wedding. Not that Cade made me feel like that for a second. The look he gave me when I walked down the aisle made my insecurities melt away. That and the kiss he landed on me as soon as I made it to him. I had been ready to forgo the ceremony and demand he whisk me away and ravish me.
Arms went around my middle and I jumped, being too deep in my thoughts to notice another presence.
“Baby?” Cade questioned. His deep voice was quiet, noticing the fact our daughter was sleeping.
I was about to tell him about Amy when Belle made the noise.
“Did you hear that?” I whispered, narrowing my eyes.
“What?” His body turned taut, instantly alert.
“That noise she’s making. It doesn’t sound normal. I think we should take her to the doctor,” I declared, frowning at my baby.
Cade relaxed and gently pulled me away from the crib, turning me to face him. He grasped my neck with his hands, his grey eyes meeting mine.
At any other moment I would be drooling at his hotness. His shoulder-length inky black hair, sharp and stubbled jaw and sexy gaze were a pot of male deliciousness. I appreciated it but I had bigger fish to fry. Namely making sure my baby wasn’t suffering from some kind of deadly snuffling attack.
“Gwen, she’s fine. She’s perfect—you need to take a breath. And a nap,” he said firmly.
“Are you crazy? How can I take a nap? What if something happens to her while I’m asleep? I’m her mother, I need to protect her,” I replied, my voice bordering on hysterical.
“That’s what I’m here for, babe. It’s my job to take care of both of my girls. You are the most precious things on the entire fuckin’ planet. I would never let one thing hurt either of you. I’d die first,” he promised, hands tight at my neck.
My stomach plummeted. “Don’t say that,” I pleaded. “Don’t say die.”
Cade sighed and pulled me into his arms. “I’m sorry, baby—you’ve been through so much shit. You amaze me how strong you are to pull through it and still be who you are.” He grasped my hair, meeting my eyes again. “But that shit makes you aware of all the things that can go wrong. Now that you know it can happen you’re convinced it’s gonna happen again. It won’t.” His words a promise, his eyes were so intense I believed him.
Suddenly I realized how neurotic I had been.
“I’m sorry, honey. I’m just terrified,” I confessed. “After Ian I was so sure I’d never feel truly happy again. And now I am. I’m so happy that I’m terrified that something’s going to happen. Because no one can be this happy, not without something ruining it.” My voice broke at the end and a single tear trailed down my cheek.
My hard biker’s face softened and a callused hand stroked my cheek.
“Baby, the shit you’ve been through, the shit you’ve survived? You deserve a lifetime of happy and I’m going to make fucking sure you get it.” He finished this with a kiss.
Plastering my mouth against his, I moaned as his tongue explored my mouth, my worries about Belle fading away.
I pulled back abruptly. “Amy,” I muttered.
Cade’s face was blank. “Not too sure I’m happy you’re thinking about Amy when I’m doing that, babe.”
I shook my head. “That was great. Amazing. Obviously. But it’s Amy…I don’t know where she is. She’s missing.”
Cade’s body tightened at this and he instantly turned into the alert, macho alpha male. “Explain,” he ordered.
I recounted what Katherine had told me. “That means she’s been MIA for two weeks Cade. I’ve talked to her since then but maybe only twice. And both times she said she was busy and had to go. I’m worried.” I chewed my lip.
Cade brought his thumb up to my mouth, lightly brushing it.
“She’ll be fine baby. She’s probably just getting some time away from it all. I know something happened with Brock that might have had her wanting to disappear for a bit.”
I raised my eyebrow threateningly at this. My man had better not have been withholding information from me.
“I don’t know any specifics—put your claws away. I just know that he’s been a grumpy motherfucker. Not that that’s really news over the past year, but more so than usual. Something went down—maybe Amy just needed to get her head straight,” Cade said reassuringly, rubbing my arms.
I chewed on this for a moment. “But why wouldn’t she tell me? She’s my best friend and she’s going through all of this on her own.” I gazed up at him, tears welling in my eyes.
She was the one who would tell me I was being a crazy person worrying about things like snuffles and hair growth. She’d pour me a cocktail and distract me with Celine’s latest collection or some inane celebrity gossip.
“I don’t make sense without her. Where is she?”
CHAPTER ONE
I slung back my fifth shot, savoring the burn at the back of my throat and the tingling in my fingers as the alcohol seared into my system.
“Another.” I pushed my glass at the bartender without looking up.
He didn’t say a word, nor did he raise a judgmental eyebrow that I was drinking alone in the early afternoon. I was pretty sure it was barely past lunch. This was most likely due to the kind of establishment I was currently welcoming oblivion in. It was dark, with an old wooden bar and equally old chairs and tables scattered around the place. The paint was crumbling at the walls and the clientele was as rough as the bar itself. Not that I cared. As long as they provided alcohol that let me escape into blissed numbness I did not give a shit.
“Here you go, darlin’.” The bartender pushed the drink into my waiting hands and I downed it.
“Want to talk about it?” he asked in a gruff tone.
I glanced up at him. He was older, probably late fifties with dark greying hair and a greying mustache. He was wearing a plaid shirt undone, with the sleeves rolled up and a wife beater underneath. Faded tattoos were scattered up his arms. I met his eyes; they were brown and crinkled at the sides. He was staring at me with a kind expression that looked out of place on his otherwise rough exterior.
“Talk about what?” I replied, managing not to slur my words.
“Whatever’s got a beautiful lady like you in a shithole like this, drinking her troubles away.” He pulled out another glass and poured the clear liquid into it before refilling mine. “Can’t let you do it alone.”
I paused, clinking my glass with his and drinking. “Guess I just felt like being anonymous for a while, and this place seems like same as any to be no one,” I replied, glancing around at the patrons. There weren’t many; the few that were scattered around were keeping to themselves.
The bartender nodded, regarding me. “Fair enough, girlie. Want my advice, best person to be is always who you are. Might not be perfect, might be hard as hell, but you ain’t got nothing if you ain’t got yourself.” With this sage wisdom he left me the bottle and walked down the bar.
I regarded the tequila bottle through blurry eyes. I wasn’t quite ready to be myself. If I was, that would mean I had to face all the issues that came with being Amy Abrams. Currently there was a shit ton of those. I didn’t feel like facing reality, like feeling the pain that had been my constant companion for almost a year. I didn’t feel like masking it through fake smiles and inappropriate jokes. I had played a part for eight months and I was exhausted. I didn’t want to feel anymore. I thought back to what brought me here, to a dive bar in the middle of New Mexico, after driving aimlessly around the country for two weeks trying to get my head straight. If I thought back I had to go way back, to the reason I wanted to be in a dive bar in the middle of New Mexico. The day that changed my life forever and that could have turned me into an alcoholic.
Two Years Ago
“Gwe
n!” I shouted as I slammed the door to our apartment shut, dumping all of my bags at my feet. “Hello, Gwen? I am so fucking late—I need to borrow your Jimmy Choos.”
I kicked off my shoes and yanked my dress over my head, trying to save time while I rushed towards Gwen’s bedroom. I dropped everything at my feet with the vague intention of picking it up at a later date; Gwen was anal when it came to shit like that.
“Seriously, why my mother makes me go to these stupid things I do not know. She knows I would rather chew tinfoil than go on a date with one of the trust fund assholes she always pushes on me the moment I walk through the door. If I was going to go home with anyone it would probably be the bartender, considering he’s the one I spend the most time with. Speaking of bartenders, do you remember that one…” I stopped my blabbering when I reached the living room and there was strange man standing in it.
A seriously sexy strange man with a buzzcut, strong jaw and the most amazing eyes I have ever seen. But that was neither here nor there. I definitely hadn’t left him there this morning and I didn’t order tall, dark, and delicious, which meant he was an intruder.
Man, burglars had gotten sexy. This one even had the audacity to smirk at me, green eyes on my underwear-clad body. In my rush I had divested myself of my clothes.
Shit.
I didn’t scream. I wasn’t a screamer, outside the bedroom at least. What I did do was grab a heavy candlestick holder from the table beside me and waved it threateningly.
“Okay pal, you have twenty seconds to get out of my apartment before I bludgeon you with this solid silver candlestick.” I gripped my weapon, willing to attempt to do as I said. I didn’t think I would be very successful considering the pretty darned impressive muscles bulging out of the intruder’s t-shirt, and the fact that disfiguring such a picture of male perfection would be a crime to humanity.
The thief continued to smirk at me as if I was some kind of amusing child. I did not appreciate the fact he didn’t consider me a worthy foe, regardless of the fact he had about two feet and fifty pounds on me and he wasn’t only wearing heels and La Perla. I glared at him.