Out of the ashes, p.1
Out of the Ashes, p.1Anne Malcom
Out of the Ashes
The Sons of Templar MC #3
By Anne Malcom
Copyright 2016 Anne Malcom
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblence to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
WARNING: This MC novel contains crude language, sex scenes, and graphic violence. Is not suitable for readers under the age of 18. If any of the above offends you, please do not read any further. This is a complete work of fiction and is not a true representation of a motorcycle club. It is for entertainment purposes only. I hope you enjoy.
Edited by: Mary Yakovets
Book design by Swish Design & Editing
Cover design by L.J. Anderson at Mayhem Cover Creations
Cover image Copyright 2016
Living a life in darkness causes the soul to char to ash. Battling demons by turning himself into a monster is the only way he can survive...the only way he can keep a grip on sanity. That grip is precarious at best, every day is a silent battle with demons that threaten to yank him into the truest form of darkness, the abyss he’ll never escape. Then it happens. Light shines through the cracks.
Happiness. Mia Spencer’s life is full of it. She has an amazing new job, friends, family, and the light of her life - her daughter Lexie. Running from the demons of the past, escaping a hell that she vowed Lexie would never know about, she worked through hardship and near poverty to create something she was proud of. Buried deep inside, underneath the swell of love she had for her only daughter, were the fractured pieces of her. Pieces that were smashed and battered when she was young and vulnerable.
Then she meets Bull, who seems to hate her on sight. He screams danger, from his huge physique, to his beautiful ink, to the motorcycle club he belongs to. He is silent, his glares threaten to burn her into flames, yet she finds herself falling for him. Finds this broken man slowly fixing the pieces she thought would stay shattered forever.
To my wonderful readers, I hope you all find your very own Happy Ever After. If Bull can, you can.
I just want to say a huge thank you for reading my book, it’s very surreal to call myself an author and share my characters with you. If you enjoyed Out of the Ashes please leave a review on Goodreads or Amazon. Your review will introduce other people to Mia and Bull and all of the people connected to the Sons of Templar.
You can learn more about what I’m working on, or currently reading, check out my website.
Thanks To The Reader
Table of Contents
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About the Author – Anne Malcom
“You don’t let me out of here, I’m going to fucking kill you,” Bull uttered quietly. A calm had settled over him. A calm that starkly juxtaposed the unbridled fury he had been unable to control in the last twenty-four hours. The fury that was unleashed when they got word Laurie had been taken. In broad daylight. Twenty-four hours. How long they’d had her. How long the innocent, sweet, fuckin’ ray of sunshine had been poisoned by darkness.
He regarded his best friend with a cool stare. He was never out of control. Never betrayed emotion. Never had bitches apart from club girls, which didn’t count since there was nothing below the surface. Bull hadn’t realized how empty that shit was until he found Laurie. Till he found depth. Something else to live for, despite the club. Something else to die for.
“You’re in here for your own good. Good of the club. For Laurie.” Cade paused as Bull’s entire frame tightened at the mention of her name. “You’re no good to her walking round smashing shit and killing people out of control,” he said quietly.
Bull walked up to him, the steps reverberating in the room they had locked him in. “Look at me, brother,” he said quietly. “I look out of control to you?”
Cade stared at him.
“That’s my woman out there. You don’t get it, ‘cause you don’t got that shit. But you keep me in here one second longer I’ll never fuckin’ forgive that shit,” he promised.
Cade sighed, stepping aside. Before Bull could move his best friend slapped him on the shoulder. “With you, brother,” he uttered quietly.
Bull nodded slightly, the only response he gave. He was too busy walking out the door into the bright light of day. Too eager to get out of the fuckin’ room and get to finding her. Then, like serendipity, something happened to cast a shadow over that day and every single one after it. A van, screeching to a stop outside the gates. Bull’s heart stopped as he watched a small body be thrown out of it before it sped away, dust flying as it did so. He didn’t register the yelling, the flurry of activity. He sprinted toward that small form, everything in him turning to ice. He had a hope, a desperate hope that the cold forbidding feeling that settled in him at the sight of that prone form was wrong. But as he reached the gate, flung the prospect kneeling on the ground aside, that hope was extinguished. In fact, everything in him was extinguished, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of his fucking chest.
In front of him was his beautiful girl. The only way he could recognize her was the golden locks matted and corrupted with dried blood. Everything else was foreign. The face, beaten beyond recognition. The fresh tattoo covering half her cheek. The ripped clothes barely covering her battered body. The body that he had held in his arms not two days ago. The body that held every inch of him. Kneeling down, gentle as anything, he gathered her into his arms. He pressed her to his chest.
“No, baby,” he choked out, unable to swallow the horror that felt like it was killing him. He pressed his lips to her head. He wished, no, fucking prayed for whatever was out there to save her. To somehow repair the broken body. The broken mind that lay underneath it. Wipe away the horrors a gentle mind had endured. And if that wasn’t possible, if she was gone forever, to take him. Wherever it was that you went after. Take him as well so he could escape the pain and the weight of the guilt he felt. So she wouldn’t be alone. That he wouldn’t be alone.
But no mercy was granted to him. She faded away the next day, succumbing to the mindless brutality inflicted on a gentle soul.
She faded away; he endured. He didn’t follow her. He was engulfed, strangled, in darkness. Haunted by demons that embedded themselves into his mind and sentenced him to a life without light. Without sunshine.
Four Years Later
“Lexie! Have you seen my shoe?” I yelled as I straightened from inspecting under my bed.
“What shoe?” a voice yelled back.
“You know, the
“Great Caesars Ghost!” I exclaimed with irritation as I caught myself from a header.
I really needed to get around to unpacking those boxes. They were a health hazard. Someone - namely yours truly - could break a leg from tripping on those death traps, and crutches were not conducive with my fashion choices. I mentally added unpack house to my to do list.
I came face to face with Lexie, who was holding a shoe in one hand and a coffee in the other. I sighed in relief. “I knew there was a reason I keep you around,” I said, taking the coffee and the shoe.
“I thought it was because you gave birth to me,” she replied with a smirk, sipping her own cup. Caffeine addiction was genetically transferred.
I waved my hand while inhaling the liquid needed for me to be a functioning human. “Yeah, that factors in there somewhere, but the fact you are handy at finding things, namely my favorite pair of heels is the frontrunner today,” I told her, trying to hop and not spill my coffee while I put on my other shoe. “Plus you give me coffee,” I added, waving the cup.
I stared at my daughter, turning serious. “You nervous, Dollface?” I asked her quietly.
She shook her head, smile still in place and her blonde ringlets swung with the movement. “No, actually I’m not.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re seriously not anxious at the prospect of starting a new high school where you don’t know anyone?”
Lexie shrugged her shoulders. “I assume the school isn’t filled with Satan worshippers and necromancers. There’s gotta be at least some decent humans in there somewhere. I’m sure I’ll survive.” She linked her arm with mine, directing us toward the stairs. “Plus, I’m too busy being proud of my mom for being in charge of a freaking hotel to be thinking about something as trivial as high school and the possibility of a Mean Girls situation,” she declared as we descended the stairs.
I gave her a sideways glance. “Do not so casually joke about such a work of cinematic genius,” I told her with mock seriousness. “The fate of your high school survival depends on this one piece of advice.” I paused for dramatic effect. “On Wednesdays we wear pink.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll only wear sweats once a week,” she replied just as seriously.
My daughter and I had a lot of conversations spoken purely in movie quotes.
I laughed at the prospect of Lexie actually going to school in sweats. I didn’t think I’d ever seen my daughter leave the house in sweats, apart from when she left for exercise purposes. And even then she wore cute ones that looked better than half the people in regular clothes.
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to face Lexie, putting my hand on her cheek. “You sure you’re not harboring some secret resentment for me yanking you away from your school, your friends, and you’re not going to make it known one day by declaring you are into the black arts and demanding to be called Moon Shadow?” I asked.
My daughter gave me a look. “No, Mom. I promise I’ll make new friends. And thanks to the wonder that is the Internet and the creation of motorcars, I’m still going to see the old ones. I’ll get used to the new school, and if it does somehow scar me for life, it’ll just give me more material for my memoirs.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“That only means I get a cut of the royalties,” I countered.
She scowled at me. “You wish.”
I turned serious and shook my head with pride. “How’d I get such an awesome kid?”
Her face turned solemn. “I think someone seriously screwed up at the hospital.”
I laughed. But I seriously regarded my daughter. My kid was the freaking shit. I was lucky as hell my sixteen year old was who she was. I was so proud of her some days I thought I’d burst. She was beautiful, not in the “she’s my kid so I’m genetically programmed to think she’s stunning” kind of way. She was just growing into a spectacular young woman. It frightened me slightly. With such looks like the ones she was growing into came boys. I so wasn’t ready for that yet. Her blonde hair fell long in ringlets down her back, her skin was yet to realize it was a teenager and was blemish free and flawless apart from a light dusting of freckles. Her blue eyes mirrored mine, as did her heart-shaped face. She was also short like I was, but her muscles were lean thanks to the fact she actually exercised, the weirdo. Me, on the other hand, I was petite and was blessed with a fast metabolism so I was reasonably slim. I had no muscles to speak of. That was due to my fear of any form of torture disguised as exercise.
“Okay, by some miracle of the gods we aren’t actually running late, so how about we start the recon of the breakfast situation in this burg?” I suggested, scouring our half unpacked living room for my purse.
Lexie bent over the sofa and handed it to me. “Sounds great.”
Sometimes I thought she was the one taking care of me, not the other way around.
“Okay, I’m giving the coffee a hundred and twelve and the pancakes a solid nine and a half. I deducted half because I feel like they could be improved by adding chocolate chips to them,” I declared, leaning back in my seat.
Lexie nodded at me. “I’m seconding the coffee, and I’m hugely impressed a town this small has embraced acai bowls. I must say this one is hells good.”
I rolled my eyes. “I fail to believe that any acai bowl could be “hells good.” It’s a crime to breakfast foods everywhere that that can be considered appropriate as a meal. It’s a smoothie poured into a bowl. It’s like cold soup,” I said, my nose curled in distaste.
Lexie folded her arms. “Acai is a super food and it does wonders for your immune system. It’s full of antioxidants and is a much better way to start the day than with processed sugars and bleached flour,” she told me in a scolding tone.
“The only way, other than coffee, to start a day is with sugar. That’s the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning,” I argued. “That and the possibility Jensen Ackles will finally realize he’s in love with me,” I added dreamily.
Lexie sighed. “I don’t know how you’ve stayed this skinny, Mom. You should need a crane to get you out of the house,” she said, scrunching her nose at me while she looked me up and down.
“I don’t know how my daughter learned about acai and freaking quinoa when such things are sacrilege in my mind,” I countered.
“A little thing called the Internet,” she replied.
I frowned at her. “Well, that’s got to stop. No more surfing the net for ridiculous health foods. Strictly porn and gambling from now on,” I ordered.
Somehow my daughter had become a health freak of epic proportions. It wasn’t my doing. For the first thirteen years of her life I didn’t even know if I had bought a broccoli, let alone freaking kale or whatever the fad vegetable was. But suddenly my budding teenager had come home declaring we buy things such as salad and hummus. I had complied, more out of shock than anything else. I had thought it would be a passing fad, like those weird jelly bracelets things I had been obsessed with as a teenager. But this healthy eating thing had stuck in a way tacky jewelry could not.
Lexie’s grin dimmed and her eyes went wide, her jaw slackened slightly as her attention went over my shoulder.
“I know you can’t be satisfied after that bowl of goo, but please do refrain from drooling on the table, Dollface. We’ll get you a muffin to go.” I patted her hand, assuming such a look was at someone else’s breakfast.
Blue eyes darted to me. “Don’t look now, Mom, but some seriously hot guys have just entered t
“Scale rating?” I shot at her. This wasn’t our first rodeo.
She contemplated. “Off the charts.”
I stilled, my coffee to my mouth. “Off the charts? Hotter than that firefighter we saw saving that kitten one time?” I asked in disbelief. That wasn’t possible. You get a hot firefighter, combine that with an adorable furry animal, you get a perfect score on the Lexie and Mia hot guy chart.
“Blows him out of the water,” my daughter declared.
I slowly swiveled my head to get an eyeful of this record breaker. There had never been an “off the chart” before. Lexie and I were very particular with our rating system.
What my eyes fell on told me the record books had been broken. We may as well just set them on fire and be done with it now. No man would ever compare to what we were gazing upon. The three men standing at the counter were hotter than Hades. I didn’t think men like this existed in real life. They were all tall, like tall. And built. Not in a gross steroid freak way, but in an ”I’ll bench press a car then chop wood with my bare hands” type built. One was joking with the woman at the cash register, an easy smile on his face. He was rocking a freaking amazing man bun and he looked like some kind of badass surfer. Every part of his face was chiseled and perfect, apart from a slightly crooked nose, which made him look more rugged and twelve times hotter. Another one was talking into a cellphone, his inky black hair brushing his collar, a tender look on his handsome and rough face. I totally envied whoever was on the other end of that call who made such a badass look like that.
It was the last one who drew my attention. I didn’t know why but my eyes seemed to be locked on him. They were all big, but he was big. Not fat. That guy didn’t look like he had an ounce of body fat on him. Huge, in a way that every woman liked because he exuded power and strength. He also exuded something else. Menace, danger, and something I couldn’t put my finger on. His hair was cut close to his skull and his features were hard and masculine. My eyes rested on his goatee. Now, I would never consider myself a goatee fan, but I sent a little prayer up right then and there to thank the Creator for them. His face was blank and it looked like he never cracked a smile. Every inch of him looked rough, dangerous and forbidding. He was beautiful. I didn’t miss the fact that all of their impressive bodies were covered in ink. This wasn’t cheap scribbles; from what I could see it looked awesome. I also didn’t miss the leather cuts they were wearing, ones that had insignias on the back. Ones that usually communicated some type of gang.
Out of the Ashes by Anne Malcom / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes