Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC #8) - Anne Malcom Page 0,134

smelled of bleach and lemon, with only a hint of death. Though I think that I was the only one who smelled that.

We watched movies and ate pizza until the kids fell asleep. Then Kace carried them to bed.

Then he carried me to bed and made fierce, intense love to me.

Throughout the next few weeks, he made it clear he was there to talk to. That I was safe. He treated me like I was made of glass, expecting me to shatter. The women didn’t do that because they knew that we were diamonds. It took a lot more to break us.

But that was something I had to communicate to Kace. I got frustrated with the edge in the air, the way he was waiting for me to crumble.

“You want to protect me,” I acknowledged.

“Of course I want to fuckin’ protect you,” he barked.

“That’s the problem,” I replied, voice even. “Every single other one of the courtships I’ve watched over the years have been different. Because the men and women are so incredibly different. But there are some things the same, at their cores. You men. You big, biker men who are used to strong-arming your way through situations. You live a life where you have to be strong, violent and willing to do whatever it takes to protect the club. It’s who you are. You love fiercely. The patch. Your brothers. Your women. So it stands to reason you want to protect them too. But the thing is, you’re all attracted to different women, sure. But these extraordinary women who can survive this life do not want or need a man to protect them. They don’t need shields. They need swords. And to be fair, a lot—okay, all—of the Sons of Templar courtships have involved kidnappings, drive-bys, bombs, poison, gunshots. All things in your wheelhouse. All things you men know how to fight back. But what you want to protect me from is nothing that your experience, that your strength, that your willingness to get bloody is going to beat. I’m not going to have some extraordinary situation with car chases, gunfire or explosions. You’re not going to ride in to save the day or my life. You can’t protect me from what’s coming. What’s already hit me. You can’t protect me from myself.”

“I can’t do what you’re asking.”

“You have to,” I implored. “If you want me. This. Us. You have to trust that I know this life. That I can look after myself. I can’t do this otherwise.”

Kace gritted his teeth. “I trust you, baby,” he scowled. “I just don’t trust the rest of the world.”

“Makes the two of us,” I agreed. “I’m always going to worry that saying goodbye to you means I’m never going to see you again. I’m going to see your death twenty different ways before you come home each night. I’m going to imagine all kinds of horrors. Going to see twenty different versions of what life would be like without you.”

Kace sighed, his eyes troubled and dark. “Fuck, Lizzie,” he murmured.

“You want to back out of this yet?” I joked.

His hands went to my hips. Firm. Bordering on painful. “I never want out of this. Ever.”

So that was that.

Kind of.

This was the first day I’d had alone at my house for more than a couple of hours at a time since Nicole. And Kace texted me at least every hour to make sure I was alive and not bound and gagged in a cheap motel room.

Or trapped in a mansion in another state.

That had happened.

And worse.

I figured Gage was knocking on my door because Kace had bribed or convinced him to come and check on me in a way that seemed organic.

“Gage, what a surprise,” I smirked slyly. “Can I get you anything?” I asked once I’d let him inside.

“Nah, I’m only here to drop something off then I’ve got to get home. Lauren needs to paint, so I’m taking over.”

I smiled, thinking of their dynamic. Of their happily ever after. Even though the first half of his life had been broken. He gave me hope.

“You’re here to drop something off or to make sure I’m not rocking in a ball on my kitchen floor?” I teased.

Gage’s mouth twitched. “Seeing you upright and sane is a bonus, but I didn’t expect anything less,” he proclaimed.

Gage was one of the only men who didn’t look at me like I was going to lose it. We had a connection. He’d seen parts of me,

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