Wrathful Souls (Sons of Templar MC – New Mexico #3) Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Biker, Contemporary, Dark, MC Tags Authors: Series: Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom
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Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
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“You’re done,” Colby decided, his head bobbing as he reached into the large duffel I’d been dutifully ignoring.

I lifted my chin in defiance, pretending I was not at all interested in what he was retrieving from it when really it was fucking killing me, not knowing.

“Knew your fancy shit was expensive because it looks it,” Colby muttered. “But fuck, did I get some sticker shock with these bad boys.”

Out of my peripheral vision, I saw him place something on the bed. Still, I didn’t look.

Colby let out a sound that was dangerously close to a chuckle. “But then I remembered the first time I saw you. And fuck, do I still remember every single thing you had on your body, and I remember vowing I’d see all of that shit on my floor once I got you naked. So it’s worth every penny.”

Holy shit.

Cue the skin sizzling. The desire piquing.

He grasped my chin so I was forced to look in his direction.

Or I would’ve if I didn’t squeeze my eyes shut in defiance like a fucking toddler.

The grip on my chin tightened. “Open your eyes, Ri,” Colby requested, voice featherlight.

Now, I was stubborn as fuck. And I had already decided I would not open my eyes. I would keep them squeezed shut, same with my mouth, and wait this fucker out.

But my eyes opened of their own accord.

Colby was staring at me, his eyes blazing with reverence, tenderness. So much of it, it almost knocked me off my feet. Too much of it. Much more than I could handle.

But I was still rooted to the spot, unable to move, even though I wanted to run. Even though I needed to run.

“Actually, the thought of those fancy ass clothes on the floor were the first thing that entered my mind because you’re fucking gorgeous, and I was thinking with my dick,” he continued. “But not long after that, I thought about those fancy ass clothes hangin’ in a closet I built for you.”

My breath left me in a rush.

But he wasn’t done.

“I couldn’t have known it then, but you haven’t had people give you things. Build you things.” He moved his hand up to stroke the tiny scar on my cheek. It was miniscule compared to the rest. Created with the sharpest edge of a knife, just because he could.

“You think you’re so perfect” he whispered, his breath hot and fowl on my face. “But you’ll be ugly, ruined when I’m done.”

Though Colby’s touch was impossibly tender, pain exploded beneath his fingertips. Pain that was even more intense than what created that scar.

I covered my face with my hands.

“Life has only taken from you,” he whispered, pulling my hands from my face. “And I don’t want to do that, Ri. Want to give you things. Everything. Starting with this.” He nodded his head to the bed.

Again, outside of my control, my gaze went there. To the box.

The tan shoebox with white script.

I looked at it, trying to process what I was seeing. While I did this, Colby let go of me, only to take the lid off the box to expose what was inside.

Boots.

Christian Louboutin boots, to be exact.

Not just Christian Louboutin boots but Kate boots. One of their most iconic fits with buttery leather and a spiked heel that looked needle thin and sharp enough to cut a bitch.

I glanced from Colby to the boots then back.

“You picked these?” I asked him, my voice weak with shock.

He shrugged. “With a little help from Violet. I didn’t know who the fuck was who in the designer world. She introduced me to Christian, and I chose those.”

“No one has ever given me a gift like this,” I whispered.

He smiled sadly. “I know.”

My hands shook as I touched the leather. I’d shunned all the decadent things I’d surrounded myself in, clothed myself in. I’d told myself it was for a good reason. And maybe it was. Maybe it was the only way I could survive … then.

But what was my long-term plan? Bounce around shitty motels and become a barely functioning alcoholic for the rest of my life?

“This isn’t a message that I’m expecting you to be the woman you were before,” Colby said as I ruminated, pulling my gaze from the boots to him.

“I’ve got no expectations about who you are now,” Colby continued. “You’re gonna be different, and I’ll fucking treasure every new part of you because it was born from your need to survive.” His hand fastened on my hip, the other clutching my neck. “You can be whoever the fuck you need to be, and I’ll still want you. And I’m willing to bet that this new person will still need to kick ass wearing ridiculously expensive, ridiculously sexy boots.”

My chest felt too full. It had been hollow for so long, the beating of my heart splintered my ribs.


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