Deadline to Damnation Read online Anne Malcom (Sons of Templar MC #7)

Categories Genre: Biker, Dark, MC, Thriller Tags Authors: Series: Sons of Templar MC Series by Anne Malcom
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Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
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“Claw, take her back to the club, get her showered, checked out.”

Claw moved forward, no more flirty smile in his eyes, they were cold, jaw hard.

Liam moved around me once more.

“I’ve got her,” he growled, glaring at Claw.

Hansen raised his brow. I wondered if he was going to question why this Jagger character was facing off against his brothers for a woman he wasn’t supposed to know.

I then wondered what Liam’s—Jagger’s—answer might be.

But Hansen didn’t ask.

He nodded once, and if I wasn’t mistaken, the corner of his mouth turned up in what looked like a knowing smile.

“Claw, you take care of the body. Shot wasn’t loud enough to draw the pigs, but let’s not take any chances. If they see this, they’ll want a fatter envelope than normal and I’d rather use it for bullet money. Get a prospect to clean up the blood.” He eyed Liam. “We’ll talk once you take Caroline back to the club.”

“I’m not going with him,” I said, now was when the calm in my voice began to falter.

Hansen’s eyes were hard but kind. “Honey, you don’t have a choice in the matter.”

There was a certainty in his voice.

I recognized it.

I realized it.

I’d just gone from bartender to their prisoner.

I doubted I’d have a choice in a lot of things from here on out, maybe what I’d like for my burial.

Jagger

He expected her to speak after the doors to the SUV closed and he pulled out of the lot. It felt strange being in the cage, after a month on the bike, he’d only been using this to transport the prisoner.

But strange didn’t even fucking cut it with who was sitting beside him.

Peaches.

The woman who’d haunted his dreams and soul for almost fifteen fucking years. The woman he’d loved with every inch of his soul, for every second since he met her. The woman who he’d resigned himself to bury in his past like the life he’d ended years ago.

But she was here, sitting beside him, covered in blood of a man he’d killed.

She was here, with different hair, with more curves, with more...everything. More beauty than he’d expected possible. And he’d expected a fuck of a lot. Imagined it vividly over the years.

But he never could have imagined her looking like this. He wondered why she’d dyed the pure white hair he’d loved so much.

Maybe because he’d loved it so much.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel with everything that was different about her. And everything that was the same.

She hadn’t spoken.

Not a word.

And they’d been driving for three minutes.

She was staring straight ahead, eyes glassy, stare vacant. He reckoned she was in shock. She’d just watched a man die.

Fuck, he’d just made her watch a man die.

Then she’d seen the dead come back to life.

Yeah, she was in fucking shock.

So he’d given her the three minutes. Even though the act of keeping silent was physically painful. Even though every part of him screamed at him to pull the car over and yank her into his arms.

But then he remembered her reaction before. The desperate way she’d flailed under his grip. The fear in her voice.

Yeah, he disgusted her now.

He disgusted himself.

So he didn’t pull over.

But he spoke.

Because he couldn’t stand the silence for a second more.

Though he had no idea what to fucking say.

“Peaches,” he began.

“Don’t,” she said immediately.

And he flinched at her voice. The deadness in it.

She didn’t turn her head, didn’t look his way. Her gaze was focused straight ahead.

“Don’t...say anything,” she continued. Her voice was a plea. A prayer.

It speared through his gut.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, grinding his teeth together to keep his jaw shut.

Silence reigned again.

But not really.

There was never really silence between them. The years fell away.

“I think we’re going to have a wonderful life,” she said after turning the radio down, settling her hand on his thigh and grinning.

She did things like that. Made statements seemingly out of nowhere, when he knew she’d been having all sorts of conversations with herself about it in her head.

It was cute as fuck.

He took his hand off the steering wheel and settled it on hers.

“I know we are,” he agreed.

She smiled wider. “Only if you promise to always play my favorite songs on the radio, never judge me when I sing the wrong words, or tease me when I cry at movies.”

He lifted their intertwined hands and laid his lips on her tiny one.

“I can make you a lot of promises, Peaches, but I can’t promise not to tease you when you cry at movies. You’re a big softie.”

She ripped her hand away and smacked his shoulder. “You ass! My soft heart should be endearing to you.”

He sobered and snatched her hand again. “Baby, I promise everything about you is endearing to me. But the softness of your heart is the most precious thing about you. I promise I’ll do everything in my power to keep it that way.”


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