Wretched Love (Sons of Templar MC – New Mexico #1) Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Contemporary, Dark, MC, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom
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Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
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But he was covered in tattoos like the man at the gas station, from his neck to his fingertips—which grasped the door of my car because I was stupid enough to have my window all the way down. He could reach in here, take out my keys, and I’d be trapped in the middle of nowhere with men I was pretty sure were criminals. That thought solidified when I saw the gun tucked into a holster underneath his vest.

My heart thundered as I stared at the young man who could not be much older than my daughter. His eyes were strikingly blue, his features rather boyish compared to all the tattoos, biker attire, and weapon strapped to his swimmer’s body.

Those eyes flickered over me. “You here for the party?” he asked.

Here it was. I could say I was lost, and I thought this was my Airbnb. Or say something a little more convincing. The main thing was, this was my escape hatch.

“Yes,” I said instead of constructing some lie.

What in the heck was I doing?

The boy stared at me a beat longer, and I thought maybe he’d save me from myself and declare I was much too old and not at all edgy enough to be let into this party. I could go back to my small motel room and learn to accept the quiet loneliness.

Instead of this, he winked at me.

Winked.

Sexually.

I didn’t even know someone could wink sexually, let alone someone that young, and armed. But apparently, it was a thing.

“Have fun,” he drawled after the wink, stepping back from the car.

I idled for a little while longer before I slipped the car in gear and drove forward, parking in one of the open spots closer to the mechanic side of the place rather than the clubhouse with bikes lined in front of it.

The last thing I needed was to accidently back into one of them. I didn’t know much about bikers, but I figured they considered damaging their ride a personal affront.

I hadn’t even thought about the logistics of what I was doing.

I’d had three beers at the motel. I had a slight buzz on. All of Violet’s teenage life, I’d drilled into her how terrible drunk driving was. How it could ruin and end lives.

Yet here I was, being a hypocrite. Although I wasn’t exactly drunk; I was still in control of all of my faculties. I just had a strong enough buzz to think this decision was a good idea.

But to keep thinking this was a good idea, I’d likely have to have more drinks once inside the clubhouse. Many more.

Then I wouldn’t be able to drive back to the motel. And I certainly wasn’t staying here.

“You can still leave, Kate,” I told myself.

That wasn’t entirely correct. I was under no obligation. But a quick glance in the rearview mirror told me the gates were already closed. Instead of making me feel trapped and terrified, the closed gates filled me with… relief.

They were shutting out the world and everything I was running from. Surely a party at a biker compound was unpredictable at best and dangerous at worst, but it was no more dangerous than waking up in a mansion beside my husband for almost two decades.

Even if Preston was out looking for me, he could never find me here. Even if he had found his way to Garnett at that very moment, even if he’d found the little hotel room I was staying in—the one with the flimsy deadbolt lock and a bored teenager working checkout who would likely give him my information—he would never find me here. He wouldn’t be let in here.

That thought alone had me turning off the car and opening the door.

And no one knew me here. Not a soul. There were no expectations of me. I was not required to act in a manner befitting the man I was married to.

The thump of the music got louder as I walked across the parking lot.

People were milling around close to the entrance of the clubhouse. There were picnic tables scattered around, smoke rising from fire pits, the smell of barbeque wafting through the air. Someone had threaded fairy lights on a patio area to the far left.

My stomach was twisting as I got closer, as people saw me. The men in vests varied in age, size and attractiveness. Some had women clinging to them in various stages of undress—also different ages. Some looked barely legal, others closer to my age. Their eyes shifted to me. Some of their gazes were curious. Others were warm. And a handful were hostile.

I didn’t focus on the way the men were looking at me. I needed a drink for that.

Many drinks, I decided once I was inside.

The room itself was large, larger than it appeared on the outside. And more tastefully decorated than I would’ve thought. The sofas that were covered with people were in soft shades of brown, plush and clean looking. The coffee table was littered with beer bottles and glasses, but most of them had coasters. Coasters. I would not have expected that from a biker party.


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