Three Kinds of Trouble (Sons of Templar MC #9) Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Biker, Crime, Dark, MC, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Sons of Templar MC Series by Anne Malcom
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Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 111435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
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HADES

I deserved a fucking medal.

Granted fucking sainthood.

To be just a few feet from Freya, her pebbled nipples pressing through the thin fabric of her shirt, her lips pink, full, begging to be wrapped around my cock. Her pussy already wet for me. Drenched. If I’d pulled down her pants, bent her over the sofa, she’d be ready for me. She’d clench around my dick, and she’d scream my fucking name.

Oh, how I wanted to make her scream.

But I didn’t.

I wouldn’t.

I’d made an insane vow to myself that I wouldn’t taste the inside of her cunt until I’d worn the blood of the fuck who put those bruises on her beautiful face.

I might’ve been an outlaw, a demon, an immoral piece of shit, but I kept my vows. Especially when they came to death. I’d also been fucking certain it wouldn’t take this long to find the piece of shit. He was a trust fund pussy with no idea who was after him, yet somehow, he’d eluded us. He’d made me torture myself, depriving me of Freya.

After she’d stumbled to her room, face flush with arousal and disappointment, I’d almost followed her. Truth is I would’ve had my phone not rang.

“We got him,” Swiss snarled.

It seemed, on this night, the devil was looking out for me.

The second a prospect roared into the driveway, I left, hurtling toward my vengeance. Toward my vindication.

He was bleeding and tied to a chair in the basement when I got there.

I glared at Swiss who just shrugged. “You said we couldn’t kill him, not that I couldn’t have some fun with him.”

As I stepped closer, the piece of shit opened his mouth, and blood poured out along with a muffled, wet groan. His tongue had been cut out.

Swiss shrugged. “He was talking too much.”

I stared at him, the blood-soaked, urine-drenched piece of shit. My fingers trailed across the knives laid out on a tray beside him. “I’ve put a lot of thought into your death,” I said, looking at him. His eyes were wide with pain, with panic. He was staring at death, and he knew it.

“I was going to make it last for days,” I continued. “Weeks. It was just going to be me and you down here. I was going to fucking bathe in your blood.” I gripped a knife I’d imagined cutting his balls off with, the urge still strong.

But I let it go.

“The problem is,” I said, taking my piece from my holster. “That takes away the time I have with her. Freya.”

He stilled at her name.

I smiled. “Yeah. Freya.” Her name was ambrosia, even in this windowless room that smelled of death and piss. “I’m not going to waste time killing you since it’s time I could spend fucking her.” Then I lifted the gun and shot him in the face.

Unfortunately, time had to be spent getting rid of the asshole’s body. Time had to be spent because he was an asshole who, unfortunately, would be missed. Money would be spent looking for him. So we had to make sure that no one found him. That there was nothing left to be found. It was also a good way to educate Anderson on the finer and more gruesome aspects that came with wearing the patch.

We’d all been convinced that he was going to pass out or vomit, but the kid held fast. He didn’t even fucking pale. Didn’t look away. His eyes actually lit up, showing me he was worthy of the cut.

My hands were still covered in blood when I disarmed the alarm at Freya’s house. It was the middle of the night. The curtains in her room hadn’t even moved when the other prospect left, so I knew she was dead asleep.

I was going to wake her up with my mouth on her pussy. My cock was rock hard even thinking about it. My cock which had been hard as I’d been cutting her fucking ex to pieces. It was sick and evil, and I shouldn’t have even fucking been here. But I was sick and evil, so I was fucking here.

My hand paused on the handle of her bedroom door. I’d go in there. I’d finally taste her. She’d come around my cock. I’d feast on every inch of her fucking skin. Even though I’d make it last for as long as possible, even if I made it last for fucking days, it would eventually end. I’d have to leave. My job was done. There was no justifying my presence in her life. No reason to stain it with my sins, stain her with them.

My hand released the doorknob, and I walked back into the living room, poured myself a tequila, slammed it then went back to my room and took a shower, letting the blood wash off, making myself come thinking of her cunt.



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