And then he slammed the door behind me, threw me over his shoulder and stomp up the stairs. I let out a surprised squeak that wasn’t at all cute.
“Gage!” I cried, not struggling even though the motion wasn’t sexually motivated. I should’ve been very, very scared by that look on his face.
I was.
But that same fear excited me in equal parts. Because Gage had awakened that in me. That reaction to things that scared me. That craving for them. Since he scared me most of all.
Once at the top of the stairs, he plopped me down unceremoniously and rather roughly, telling me that his carrying of me was because it was the most efficient way of getting me up the stairs and not because he wanted to throw me on the bed and ravage me.
Part of me—a lot of me—was disappointed. But there was also a lot of me left to be freaking terrified, since I really hadn’t gauged the full range of his anger in the fleeting glimpse I got of him at the door.
He. Was. Mad.
“You went to the fucking cop?” He spat the last word at me with such force that it hit me physically, like a bullet.
My brow furrowed, understanding his anger but not realizing the source of it. “Come again?”
Me not immediately knowing the source of his manly and oh-so-visceral anger was obviously not the right reaction because his stare darkened and his fists clenched harder at his sides, the veins of his arms sculpting themselves even more sharply from the scarred flesh.
He stepped forward, body brushing mine in a threat, not a caress. “Oh, I’ll make you come. Again. And again. And a-fucking-gain. Until you’re tortured with the amount of attention I’m showing that pretty cunt of yours. Until you think you can’t take any more.” He grasped my chin roughly. “And then you’ll take more.” His eyes were black. Cruel. “And that’s gonna be your fuckin’ punishment for this shit.”
The air thickened between us until I could breathe nothing but pure sex in the air. Then he stepped back and I exhaled in relief. Or in disappointment.
He folded his arms across his chest, the muscles underneath his scars moving the puckered skin. “But for now, you’re going to explain why the fuck you went to the man who not only stands for everything we don’t but who also wants a piece of my fucking woman.” His voice held no more of that erotic threat. No, this was pure fury, the tenor beginning to rise to an almost shout. Something Gage rarely did. Which meant he was really mad.
I struggled to capture my thoughts under the torture of his glare. Then I realized why he was mad. Because I had gone to Troy. About the photos I’d taken on the night Gage had dragged me from Niles’s car and onto his bike. I expected him to ask more about it. He didn’t. Though I guessed he’d come to the right conclusion after I told him about David. Maybe he thought he didn’t need to say any more about it, since he’d already expressed his disapproval and thought that would work to stop me from doing anything further.
I was almost finished with the story I’d begun writing because of the reaction I got from Troy a week ago, which was not a lot about my pictures and a heck of a lot more about my relationship with Gage.
I pursed my lips. “I’m not here to talk about my personal life, Troy,” I said, my voice sharp, like it’d been the second he’d started to tell me how dangerous the men of the Sons of Templar were, and how Gage was most of all. “And I’m reasonably sure that it’s of little import when measured up to these.” I nodded to the images on my screen. The images I’d put in front of Troy after initial strained pleasantries—I hadn’t spoken to him since that awkward car ride back from the Sons of Templar compound when I’d brushed off all questions pertaining to Gage—were done.
He wasn’t looking at the pictures. He was focused on me, all softness gone from his face, his expression hard and grim. “I beg to differ, Lauren,” he clipped. “One of the sweetest and most innocent women I know getting tangled up with one of the most dangerous men in the Sons of Templar MC is a hell of a lot more important than a fucking lowlife selling to other lowlifes.”
I flinched. Not because of the harsh tone, nor the sheer disgust with which he spoke about Gage, nor the truth of his words about Gage.
“Lowlife selling to other lowlifes.”
His face changed the second I flinched, softening with the realization of what he’d said, and the implications.
“Shit. No, Lauren, that’s not what I meant.” He leaned forward, as if to grasp one of the hands I had lying on the desk.