Firestorm (The Sons of Templar MC Book 2)

By: Anne Malcom



I locked eyes with Ian. “Yeah, my life was so hard with a private chef and birthdays where I got gifts like a BMW baby racer,” I joked.

Ian frowned at me. “That crap doesn’t mean shit when you’ve got parents who treat you like that,” he said quietly.

I stilled. How could he see through the blasé attitude toward my mother’s indifference—or let’s face it, straight up hostility?

“Yeah, well, I made it out alive and I didn’t turn into a designer-clad vampire, so it’s a win.”

I scanned the room, observing the usual suspects, some of whom were glancing in this direction. Well, almost all of the female population were salivating at Ian.

Back off, bitches, he’s mine.

Wow. Where did that come from? I was not a jealous person and Ian was most certainly not mine. Maybe this martini was spiked and causing me to have weird thoughts. I frowned down at my glass. Surely Ian wouldn’t roofie me; he should have known he could click his glorious fingers and I’d be his.

Those glorious fingers lightly grasped my chin, and with his other hand he put my drink down.

“Look at me, beautiful. Trust me, from someone who knows how lucky he is to have two loving parents, I’m sorry you didn’t have that. And I’m fucking amazed you are who you are, having been brought up like that.”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a raging bitch, just one surgery away from becoming like them,” I whispered to him, transfixed with his stare.

“I know enough. And I know who my sister is and what she’s told me. I know you’re special. Knew it the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Okay, this was serious shit. Like defcon level five type shit.

Battle stations! Do not let the sexy soldier with the endearing accent in! At all costs, people!

“The first time you laid eyes on me I was in my underwear brandishing a candlestick. I’m sure you knew I was some kind of special,” I replied with a raised eyebrow.

Ian smiled but his eyes darkened.

The moment was charged with a sexual tension that I didn’t know was real outside of romance novels. I was so fucked.

“Amy, you love to make our mother’s blood pressure rise, don’t you? Just once could you come to one of these events and not cause some kind of stir?”

My brother’s superior tone interrupted the moment. For once I was glad for the patronizing little shit’s scolding.

“Tripp, what would be the fun in that? She’s already got her Stepford son. I’m just keeping her on her toes, making sure all that plastic surgery and hairspray doesn’t fry her brain,” I replied, giving my brother a sweet smile.

He frowned at me disapprovingly. Where I was the imprint of my mother, Tripp was the imprint of my father. You would never even guess we were related. Where I had pale skin and red hair, he had olive-toned skin and dark locks. His eyes were dark and his jaw chiseled. He was expertly groomed like always, down to suspiciously manicured eyebrows. His short hair was styled perfectly, and I knew it would have taken him longer to do than mine. His suit was of course designer and tailored expertly.

My gaze moved to the woman hanging off his shoulder and I struggled not to roll my eyes in distaste. Okay, maybe I didn’t struggle.

“Penelope, so lovely to see you,” I lied through gritted teeth.

“Amy, darling, it’s so good to see you too. You look great. I would be too nervous to wear something as revealing as that to an important event such as this, but you really make a statement.” Her voice was sickly sweet, but the thinly veiled insult was clear.

I despised this woman. I had known her since we were kids, on account of our parents being friends, which meant I unfortunately was forced to be in her presence a lot. Her only aims in life were to snag herself a well-to-do husband that Daddy approved of and to make other girls feel terrible about themselves. She was a snake. A pretty one at that, with blonde hair, blue eyes and an hourglass figure, but a Gucci-clad reptile she still was. I was less than impressed she was latched onto my brother. Although hardly surprised. She had been after him since we were kids.

“Who’s your date, Amy?” she purred, eyes roving over Ian.

“Sorry, how rude of me. Ian, this is my brother Tripp and this is Penelope,” I stopped myself from elaborating further as I was worried I might label Penelope as man-eating bitch and Ian as a sex god.

“How do you know my sister, Ian? Did she pick you up from a bar on the way here? It wouldn’t be the first time,” Tripp asked, disdain dripping from his tone.

“Of course I didn’t He’s my bodyguard,” I interrupted sarcastically. “He’s here to make sure one of the silicone socialites doesn’t shiv me in the bathroom.” I gave Penelope a pointed look.

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