Never Have an Outlaw's Baby: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (14 page)

Then I hauled ass to my bike, got on, and roared out, checking the mirror carefully to make sure her rusted little car hung close.

Small miracle I didn't lose my shit on the way back. The sharp, numb focus that always came over me when I'd dealt with life and death before triumphed again. But it got the biggest fuckin' test in my life since the day after Piece died, when Prez had to hold me back, before I went lone wolf against his killers and got myself wrecked.

That kid. That beautiful, mysterious, spear-through-my-fuckin'-chest toddler...I'd grill her about it later, no bullshit.

But I didn't have to. Deep down, I already knew the answer.

The second I saw that bright hazel glow in his eyes, I knew he was mine.

He was my brother.

He was my grandpa.

He was me.

He was a Taylor by blood.

The only man in this world who could've made him was looking back at me in my bike's mirrors, his fucked up eyes flashing with a thousand kinds of rage and a haze of tears.

I had a son. And the bitch I'd once loved had fuckin' lied to me about it for God only knew how long.

O
h
, God.

Holy hell.

Oh, crap.

I tried not to hyperventilate on the long, painful journey down the highway, straight to the exit on the other side of town.

The last thing I needed was to freak out and wreck the car.

The second last thing was scaring the hell out of poor Alex worse than I already had. He'd started crying as soon as he realized something was wrong, about a split second before I saw Joker's bike tear through the bushes.

By the time I picked him up, the lone, deafening gunshot had rang out. Hatch was screaming on the phone, snarling and cursing like a mad dog. I picked it up off the floor and hurled it at the wall as hard as I could, silencing it forever.

I walked across the debris, feeling the satisfying crunch underfoot. The demon who'd threatened my son would be twice as hellbent on killing us tomorrow, but today, he'd lost.

There was about thirty seconds of satisfaction before Jackson's heavy boot kicked down the door. He came in, staring at us, his eyes glued to the baby in my arms.

I wasn't sure how I kept it together. Everything I'd tried to hide away was out in the open, lost in an instant, forever torn away from me by that wild, scary energy in his eyes.

They'd been so dead, so haunted, for so fucking long. But when he saw Alex, before he told me to shut up and leave with him, I saw something I never thought I'd see swirling in those intense hazel eyes ever again.

Life.

He knew the kid was ours. He knew I'd hid him. And I'd probably be dismembered for doing it by the end of the night.

* * *

J
oker didn't say
a word when I followed him into a cracked parking lot. It belonged to a tall, worn looking building.

He got off his bike and motioned, leaving me to park the car in an empty space nearby, then collect Alex. I followed him to the door he unlocked, and we stepped into a tiny lobby lined with big mailboxes.

At least it was cleaner in here than it looked on the outside. Better than the place I'd been living, under the Deadhands' gun.

He shot me an angry look over his shoulder, checking to make sure I was following as he headed for a big, winding staircase.

Little Alex yawned in my arms. I walked slowly, careful not to wake him, hoping he'd finally get some sleep after all the excitement.

He wasn't scared anymore. That counted for something. But now it was like I'd taken his innocent terror, feeling my blood turn to ice with every step I took toward Joker's apartment.

Mine wasn't nearly as innocent. Maybe I deserved whatever was coming, the barrage of abuse, but I'd only tried to protect my son from a man so dangerous, so broken, a normal family life wasn't in his makeup.

Upstairs, he stopped next to a big wooden door, jammed the key into the lock, and threw it open. He held it open, waving us in, while he pulled out his phone.

“Sixty, it's me,” I heard him say. “Feed Bingo for me tonight. Won't be coming back to the clubhouse to pick him up 'til tomorrow sometime.”

I looked around for a place to sit. His apartment was surprisingly spartan, and I walked toward the big couch in the middle of the room, never seeing any of the beer bottles or busted pizza boxes I'd expected.

“Shit, bro, you okay?” I heard the other man say through the phone. “Must've found your own fuckin' party – we were keeping your bottle warm! Whatever, long as you're happy, fed, and deep in pussy. Out.”

Joker killed the call with a grunt. A tense silence blanketed the small, cozy space between us. I watched him take a lap around the coffee table like a lion deep in thought, before he finally sat in the black leather recliner across from us.

I licked my lips, tasting fear in my own sweat. “I don't know where to begin,” I said.

“At the fuckin' beginning, babe. You tell me a story. I'll sit here and listen real quiet – just like your little boy.” He leaned forward, hands on his knees, the wild eyes he shared with my son stabbing through me. “Maybe by the time you get to the end, you can put him down for a nap in my room. Then we can talk about more serious shit.”

I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat before I started. Had to do it several more times throughout my story. I told him about the Deads rolling into Seddon, coming into my store, roughing up whoever they didn't like, and walking out half the time without paying for anything.

Nobody challenged them. Nobody dared.

I told him about the drugs, how bad it got since mama died and he left for Tennessee, what life was like, living in a building half-full of junkies.

He heard about how long I suffered alone, doing my best to raise Alex on my shoestring budget and some food stamps when I needed them, how I wished every day, every night, and every minute in between that mama was still alive to help.

I didn't tell him the truth about the boy, where he'd come from. Stupid when he knew –
holy Christ, he knew –
but the words caught in my throat every single time.

He watched the tears come down in silence, sitting up a little straighter, a mix of compassion and raw hatred in his eyes.

God, what a contrast.

What a storm.

Joker sucked in a sharp, brutal breath, one that made his entire chest ripple, reminding me how incredible he looked underneath his leather cut and thin club t-shirt.

No, no I couldn't think about that, though. I had to carry on.

“Then there was Hatch,” I said. “That's what he called himself.”

“President of the fuckin' Deads in northern Georgia,” he growled, nodding.

He already knew. Hell, of course he did. None of this nightmare would've happened if I weren't plunged into the middle of a blood war between motorcycle clubs.

“Yeah. Well, he knew about us, our history. Knew he could use me to get to you.” Joker stiffened up, staring me down. I hugged Alex closer, glaring back just as angrily. “Obviously, I wouldn't have screwed you over. I didn't know how to break the news, Jackson. I had to play along, at least for a little while, anything to stop him. He threatened Alex, told me he'd kill him right in front of me!”

I forced my voice to a hush, feeling him stirring in my arms.

“Alex, huh?” Joker said, ignoring my bullshit. “That's a great fuckin' name. Strong name.”

“Right,” I said quietly, before I glared at him again. “Seriously, how was I supposed to tell you what was really going on? Every time I came by, you made it
very
clear you wanted nothing to do with me. You wouldn’t even sit down and talk.”

“That's before I knew you were sitting on the biggest fuckin' secret in the world,” he growled, standing up. “Whatever, fuck it. Let me hold him. I'll put him down for a nap. Gotta learn sometime.”

The big, awesome biker towered over us. Reluctantly, I sighed, and lifted my baby, offering him up to his father for the first time.

I was ready to jump in at a moment's notice, if he held him the wrong way, or moved too fast.

It never happened. My heart plunged into my stomach and smashed into a million bits, just watching them together.

Alex rested his head on Joker's thick, muscular arm, suspended against his leather chest with that wonderful, manly scent.

Father and son. One.

A sight I thought I'd never see, that I'd tried to keep for so fucking long...

God. What the hell was I thinking? If only I'd come to him sooner, told him about the little boy.

Maybe he wouldn't have been dead for so long. Maybe I wouldn't have suffered alone.

It was too late for that. Tears clouded my eyes as I watched him holding the boy, rocking him gently in his arms, staring down at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

More precious than the bike that took him everywhere. Maybe even more than the big, hairy dog I'd seen at his side the other day.

I stood up cautiously and followed him into his room. I'd halfway expected guns on the wall, or a thousand sharp things sitting around, but there was nothing except an old guitar in the corner, a couple posters of bikes and classic cars, and a big, thick bed with a headboard going halfway to the ceiling.

I had a flash of us laying down together, instead of him putting our son down for a nap, making that headboard rock as I straddled him, hands on his immaculate chest, sinking down onto the only cock I'd ever had inside me.

No. Hell no.
There were so many strange, twisted things running through my mind right now I had to fight, but I definitely had to go after
this,
tooth and nail.

“Make sure you check up on him often. He isn't used to sleeping in a bed like this.”

“We'll only be a little while. Promise.” He laid the boy down and tucked a sheet over him. We both stood there, watching as he drifted off, blissfully away from the tortured hearts and real life killers hanging over us like swords.

“Outside, Summer. Now.” The growl in my ear was almost inhuman. Joker put his thick, rough hands on my shoulders and squeezed.

So much for savoring the small, miraculous heartwarming scene on the bed. I turned around and walked out, leaving his hands on me, stopping in the hall while he slowly pulled the door shut behind him.

Then, he looked at me, and I was completely alone with those feral, angry, beautiful eyes. “Why'd you lie to me, Summertime?”

“What else could I do?” Shaking my head, I swallowed, preempting another stone from forming in my throat.

“That's your defense?” he snorted. “Tell me again. Why'd you fuckin' lie to me?”

Shit.

He didn't wait for an answer. Snarling, he grabbed my hand, and jerked me deeper into the apartment, into the bathroom with him while he slammed the door shut.

“You fucked me over, you fucked yourself, and you fucked our son, keeping him from me. He's really mine, ain't he? Don't even fuckin' deny it!”

His rage paralyzed me. Before I knew it, I was up against the wall, his chest on mine, both his hands planted on each side of my head, caging me in completely.

“Yes,” I said softly, wincing as what was left of my heart ripped in two. “He's yours. He's only two, just had his birthday a couple months ago. We made him that summer, Jackson. The last few happy nights I ever had in my life...”

“Last? I don't fuckin' know 'bout that. But you can be damned sure that every last night you're gonna have is mine now.”

I gasped. What the hell did he mean? He talked like he was entitled to make me his property!

“I'm not your prisoner. I'm –“

“Summertime, shut your fuckin' mouth and listen. Long as my kid's under the gun, he ain't going anywhere with you. You're not taking a step outside this apartment unless I say so, neither. The Deads are coming. I'm getting the club together,” he said coldly. “Murdering every last one of those filthy, sick cocksuckers. It was always personal, ever since they did Freddy, but now they're doubling down on my son?”

I flinched when he shook his head, his hands turning into fists next to mine. My ears heard the faint sound of plaster starting to crack, felt the pressure of the wall behind me caving in.

“They're fully, completely, totally fucked!” he growled, spittle flying through his teeth, landing on my neck.

“And babe,” he said quietly, coming closer, touching his crazed forehead to mine. “So. Are. You.”

He was right about one thing – life as I knew it was
over.
There was no coming back once I was face-to-face with a raging, handsome psychopath.

Definitely no coming back from the strange, sick tingle that ran through me, being this close to him. Even when he looked like he was about to strangle me on the spot, he was gorgeous, so rough and primal my brain couldn't stop the chemical reaction churning my blood.

My thighs pinched together, trembling, feeling my panties soften with my own wetness. His lips were only inches from mine, lips that cursed me, threatened me, told me they were taking over, and
fuck me
if I didn't like it.

Yes, fuck me.

Fuck.

“Joker...Jackson...” I said softly, finally at a loss for words. “It doesn't have to be this way. I trust you to protect us. We can talk the rest of this out. We can –“

“Bullshit!” he snapped, his eyes narrowing, boring into mine until my eyelids fluttered, the only defense I had left. My hands went plush against his chest, ready to push him away if I had to, even though I didn't have a prayer of making it happen. “What did I tell you about that fuckin' mouth, Summertime? Said I'd shut it.”

It was the last thing he said before he kissed me.

That is, if a woman could call the savage pressure and teeth sinking into my bottom lip a kiss, rather than an act of total domination.

The passionate tease he'd given me the other day outside the nursing home, slamming his lips on mine? Nothing compared to this.

This was fire. This was hate. This was a man coming undone in my mouth, tearing a bitter moan out of me, and then another when his hand flew to my breast and twisted my nipple through my shirt.

My nails tangled in his shirt, raking against his chest.