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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“As for the ridiculous concept that we think differently, somehow less of you,” Macy interjected, “That is impossible. If anything, we think more of you, knowing what you survived. You’re family to us. And as with your stubborn man, this thing is for life. And we aren’t going to let you talk down to yourself. To blame yourself. To downplay the strength it took to stand right here,” she pointed to the ground. “One more thing… You’re gonna take the help we’re offering. It doesn’t come with strings, requirements. It comes because we adore you, and we want to help you rise up.”

“It’s selfish, really,” Freya giggled. “We’re trying to build our girl gang, and you’re the perfect addition. We don’t want you going anywhere.”

My throat was burning, my eyes were misty and my heart heavy in a way that felt restorative.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I croaked out, my voice thick. But certain.

I was sure, for the first time in my life, beyond any reasonable doubt, that right there was where I was meant to be.

* * *

SWISS

It was the first time I’d been back at the club alone since we’d found Kate. After she gave me that ultimatum, I’d had to escape. I’d rode for hours. Fucking hours.

Up and down the interstate. Then I’d parked outside the house I had managed to convince the owners to sell to me.

For an above market price.

Money didn’t mean shit to me, I had plenty of it. Years I’d been with the club, different charters, doing various, mostly illegal, shit. And mostly illegal shit paid pretty fucking well. Lifestyle I lived wasn’t exactly lavish. All I needed was my bike, handful of shit to wear and not much else. I paid my taxes like any good, law-abiding citizen. But that tax was on whatever meager salary I’d earned from whatever legitimate business the charter I was running with owned.

Currently, I was a mechanic.

A mechanic without rent, without utilities, any of that shit.

So in short, I had a lot of money. Enough to pay cash for the house, the six acres of land around it, and have plenty left over.

Enough to take care of Kate.

Take care of Violet, if need be. Her college or whatever the fuck. That was when I’d been planning on killing Preston. Sure, he probably had a fuckload in the bank, and Violet was taken care of, but I wanted to cover my bases. Anything Kate needed or wanted.

Which was all I fucking needed.

I’d stared at the house for a long time.

Big. Kind of quirky, Spanish inspired with trees bordering the long driveway. Huge pool ’cause it was my goal to see Kate in as many swimsuits as possible. Greenhouse. Garden.

And the kitchen... Fuckin’ huge. An island, gas range, fancy fridge. All the shit Kate had practically drooled over that first night at the club. The night she made pasta while wearing my tee.

The night I fell in love with her.

I imagined her cooking for us in that kitchen. Then I imagined fucking her on that counter. And on pretty much every other surface in the house. And in the large bedroom that had a view of the mountains, the desert and nothing else.

I imagined a life outside of the one I’d lived for years. A home. Something I also hadn’t had in years. Something I hadn’t had since I held my dead daughter in my arms.

I might’ve sat there all day except there was church.

You didn’t miss church unless you were missing a limb, and even then, you were expected to cauterize it and get your ass in the chair.

Of course, I hadn’t been recently ’cause I was with Kate. And no one expected my ass in that seat at a time like that. Especially since, for once, things were fucking quiet at the club. Gun shipments were going smoothly. New business ventures were cruising along. No new, bloodthirsty enemies to speak of. All of the shit we talked about at church was mostly logistical. Who did what runs. Who was guarding the warehouse, assembling guns, overlooking distribution. Who wanted to do protection detail or the more sinister contracts that came in. Hades and I mostly handled killing for hire. We didn’t make a habit of doing it, that wasn’t what the club was about. But we collected favors. And it was always handy, having evidence that a powerful figure paid to have someone tortured or killed.

“Macy took Kate out to the house this morning,” Hansen commented as we walked in.

His tone was even, unjudgmental, but it was also pointed. Also acknowledging that I wasn’t there. Wasn’t with my woman when she discovered her new home.

Hers.

Something spasmed in my chest. Burned like a thousand sons of bitches. I tried to imagine Kate’s face as she took in the small house. With flowers and all kinds of other shit that bitches like. Eclectic. Cozy. Warm. Safe. Enough shit to make it feel homey but also enough space to fill with whatever she wanted.


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