Firestorm (The Sons of Templar MC Book 2)

By: Anne Malcom

PROLOGUE

GWEN

I watched my baby girl sleep peacefully with my hand on her chest, the rise and fall of her breathing giving me a sense of calm. I was pretty sure I had the most beautiful child on the planet. Considering I had the most beautiful husband on the planet it wasn’t a surprise. Though if Cade knew I was calling him beautiful he would have something to say about that. The sentence would most likely include profanities. To me, my rough, badass biker was nothing short of beautiful. He had provided me with an amazing life, brought me back from some dark places and made me feel safe and cherished. Not to mention gave me the best orgasms I’d had in my life. Like the one he had given me an hour ago on the kitchen table.

A spluttering sound interrupted my sex flashback.

I narrowed my eyes and focused on Belle; she was still sleeping but she was making a weird sound. Was that normal? Shit, I didn’t know. Maybe my baby wasn’t sleeping peacefully; maybe that splutter was a symptom of some obscure life-threatening disorder. I pulled out my phone, almost hyperventilating.

Since I had already called Mum twice today I didn’t think I could disturb her again. Plus it was two a.m. at home. I would call her if Belle didn’t stop making that noise. It was freaking me out. I hadn’t been around babies. I didn’t know what were normal sounds and what weren’t. I put my phone to my ear, needing to be calmed down, or at least distracted.

“Hey, this is Amy. Text me. If I don’t reply it means I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Fuck,” I whispered.

Since I was desperate, I made a risky call.

“Good afternoon, Abrams residence,” a brisk voice greeted.

“Um hi, could I please speak to Amy?” I asked quietly, keeping an eagle eye on my daughter.

There was a pause. “Miss Abrams? Whom may I ask is calling?”

“This is Gwen Alexandra...no wait, Fletcher. I mean, my last name used to be Alexandra, then I got married so I changed it to Fletcher. It’s a new name I’m not used to it yet,” I babbled, my lack of sleep catching up on me.

“One moment.”

I relaxed. Well, slightly. I frowned down at Belle. She wasn’t making the noises anymore; she was quiet. Too quiet. Was that a thing? I was pretty sure babies weren’t meant to be that still.

“Gwenevere?”

My attention snapped back to the phone. Amy never called me by my full name; only my family and one other person called me that.

“Mrs. Abrams? So sorry to bother you, I was expecting Amy.”

I was sure I asked the maid for Amy. Maybe I didn’t. My mind was mush. Existing on coffee and orgasms was not a good long-term plan, but was necessary when you had a two-month-old daughter and a sex god for a husband.

“Oh yes, Vera informed me you were looking for Amy. I wanted to let you know she isn’t here. I haven’t seen her for months,” her cultured voice informed me.

That shocked me out of my freak-out. “Months?” I repeated. That couldn’t be right.

“Why yes, we both know Amy isn’t too fond of communicating with her mother unless she is forced. In fact, she actively changes her phone number whenever she becomes aware I have it.” Katherine’s voice dripped with disdain.

I resisted a giggle at this. It was true; Amy routinely changed her number in the past in order to avoid talking to her mother. Now she just had two separate phones; one ‘safe’ and one she specifically bought to communicate with her family. And only when she was faced with no other option. Her cold relationship with Katherine had always made me sad, which was why I had been shocked when she had told me she was staying there.

“But that’s not possible. Amy told me she was staying with you. She left for Europe right after my wedding. She got back two weeks ago, and said she was staying with you and Harold in the city,” I explained, getting a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Katherine laughed without humor. “I’m sorry, my darling, we both know my daughter has an aversion to the truth. I wouldn’t worry. She’s probably sunning herself on some pop star’s yacht and forgot she was meant to be back at home facing responsibility. Although I don’t recall her making arrangements to come here,” she added thoughtfully. “I must go, I’m late to a charity luncheon. Lovely talking to you, Gwenevere.” She hung up before I could say anything else.

My stomach churned. No matter what Amy’s vile mother said about her, Amy wasn’t irresponsible and she certainly wasn’t a liar. I automatically thought about the one and only time my best friend had kept something from me. A lance of pain ripped through my stomach.

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