Wilting Violets (Sons of Templar MC – New Mexico #2) Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Dark, MC Tags Authors: Series: Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom
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Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
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He was a cop in a college town. He like fucked-up porn. He had power here. If we’d found any evidence that he’d done anything with that power—beyond not listening to a woman who was assaulted, which was crime enough—he wouldn’t be getting any other fucking choices.

As it was, I was still eager to kill the fucker. But it would be messy. Killing a cop would bring a lot of bullshit. Bullshit I was more than willing to deal with for Violet, but I also had a club to think about.

“We’ll be watching you, so if you try to come back here, try to tell anyone about this little visit or try to wear a badge somewhere else, it’ll be back to choice number one,” I hissed. “My personal favorite.”

The bitter stench of piss was overpowering as the coward’s bladder let go.

He did as we asked, so unfortunately, I had no reason to kill him. But it meant that I would be going back to Violet without blood on my hands.

In the literal sense, at least.

I was covered in it, if you wanted to get metaphorical. Which was why, among many other reasons, I had no business touching her, claiming her.

But I did it anyway.

Because, despite what she said, I was not a good man.

VIOLET

I had been a wreck since the second Elden had roared off on the bike.

Of course, I hid it from Sariah. She didn’t need that from me. She needed a friend who gave her the space to be a wreck. To break down. And she did. She cried. Cursed. Let out all of the feelings she’d be holding onto so tightly.

She agreed to see a therapist after I’d gently suggested it.

And when I’d told her about Elden and Colby’s appearance, and that they intended to make sure that he was never heard from again, her eyes had lit up with a bloodlust I hadn’t expected from her.

“If only I could do it myself,” she muttered. “I’ve binged How to Get Away with Murder because Queen Shonda wrote it, and because it’s a fucking great show, but I don’t think I’d be able to put it to practice,” she sighed. “And I don’t think I have the heart for it.”

I squeezed her hand. “You have the biggest heart I know,” I told her truthfully. “This does not define you.”

Her eyes welled as she looked at me. “I know,” she whispered back. “I have great tits and an even better personal style… That defines me.”

We both burst out laughing, and I came to understand that friends, real ones, found reasons to laugh in even the darkest of times.

The rest of the day was spent in sweatpants, watching Nora Ephron movies and eating copious amounts of snacks we didn’t normally keep in the house.

I hid my unease from her, even as the night crept on and Sariah fell asleep on the sofa.

There was no way I was going to be able to sleep, so I drank way too much coffee—even for me—and tried to work on my assignments. I failed at that, trying to write a paper on the art and architecture of the Roman Empire was not something to do after three cups of espresso while worrying about the man you had a thing for who was murdering the man who’d raped your best friend.

I settled for a particularly spicy fantasy trilogy, but even that felt wrong. So I just settled for staring at Real Housewives yelling at each other, my phone right beside me and the volume turned way down low so I could hear the rumble of a motorcycle.

Except there were no motorcycles. There was a gentle tap at our front door, though. I jumped up so quickly, I sent my empty coffee cup flying. It made a clatter, yet fortunately, Sariah did not stir. She hadn’t when I’d been using an espresso machine at three in the morning either: She was deep in a sleep that she’d needed for weeks.

I smoothed my hair and did my best to wipe crumbs off my sweats, cursing myself for not changing, or at the very least washing my face. But it was too late.

The sun was teasing the horizon, and it served as the perfect backdrop for Elden standing at my front door.

He looked good.

Beyond good. I could only assume he’d also been up all night, although not a hint of that showed on his face. I did a quick scan of his body. There were no obvious wounds. No blood. No signs indicating that he was hurt.

My body sagged in relief. “I was worried about you,” I told him, meeting his eyes once more. They were glittering with something I couldn’t quite place.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Violet,” he murmured softly.

I stepped forward, desperate to be closer to him, to feel the heat of his body. He stiffened as I did so, but he didn’t move backward.



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