Never Have an Outlaw's Baby: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (36 page)

Oaths to my family, oaths to my brothers, oaths of seething vengeance.

Vows to my flesh, my blood, my heart.

I had no guilt, despite the way I'd stolen her and blown apart the only world she'd ever known. Dealing with Gioulio and his boys was the first priority, yeah, but fuck if I wasn't gonna make her whole.

If I could make her work with me, see me for the man I really was, then I'd remake everything she knew. I'd push my dick in that hot, wet space between her thighs, that pink slit I craved worse than freedom itself when I was behind bars. I'd fucking brand her, own her, fuck her 'til she opened her eyes and saw exactly what I wanted her to see.

This girl was gonna see the stone cold truth soon, the truth about me and everything else.

I hit the floor, sweating and shaking, totally spent. The black leather punching bag bobbed in the air, the impressions from my fists fading like evening shadows.

This was my chance to start over, living like a free man, and no fucking way was I gonna squander it. I wouldn't let Sabrina waste a minute more of her life without a good man, hiding in the dark from her fucked up family.

I couldn't make any promises about being good. But I sure as shit was the man she needed, and soon she'd see it, plain and pure as the sweat sliding down my chest.

I
expected
him to throw me down and fuck me, leave me locked up, subject my body to the craziest tortures until I gave all three psychopaths what they wanted.

But the bomb he dropped on me that morning was worse than anything I could've imagined.

I trailed him limply to my room, slow and blasted like a zombie, my brain melting in my head.

The 'truth' he'd told me about the bombing at Club Duce defied everything I thought I knew. It was sick, wrong, insane – and just terrible enough to be true.

No, I wasn't ready to give in and believe him yet. But if I totally doubted what he'd said, I wouldn't have spent the evening cramped up in bed, feeling my stomach twisting in bows.

I used the intercom to hail the servants after a couple of hours. Thank God they actually came, an old woman with a thick accent carrying a silver tray. Toast, a carafe of mineral water, and lots of Pepto Bismol.

I was sick right down to my soul. I didn't know what to believe, didn't know where I was, didn't know what I'd really left behind anymore.

Uncle Gioulio always scared me when I was growing up. His personal thugs were always around at dinners and birthdays, menacing as well trained wolves.

Once, he took me out to get a prom dress, a strangely touching attempt to make me feel better about the fact that no boy had the balls to ask me out. When we came out of the shop, he opened his trunk and I saw the black bags inside.

“Fucking shit. Can't believe I forgot to unload my lamb from the butcher,” he'd said with a grin.

I couldn't unsee the very mangled, but human shapes beneath the plastic. A man's limbs, torso, and head, clearly dismembered, folded neatly into the trunk and forgotten. The faint stink of rotting flesh didn't lie either.

He rushed me home and then waited with the servants while his men came to deal with it.

He was a brute, a killer, and seriously intimidating.

Still, he took me under his wing after papa died. He protected me, even when he wasn't around, sending steady checks and fleshing out the already sizable accounts I'd inherited. I lived like a spoiled brat during my teens and put the richest sorority girls at college to shame.

Good old Uncle Gioulio was always there for Christmas or New Year's, my last real blood relative. Even when he had two drunk, slutty bombshells half his age draped around his neck, he brushed them off for a couple hours to have a glass of limoncello or good wine with me.

Now, I wondered if those bombshells were just well paid whores with a taste for older men, or well trained slaves ready to suck his cock because they had a well concealed gun to their heads.

Later, I got up and took a nice, long bath. I had to hand it to Anton – this little prison he'd chosen had all the amenities I was used to, and maybe a few that were even nicer than the condos and suites I'd grown up in. The hug jacuzzi in the adjoining bathroom helped work out the creases in my skin.

But it didn't stop me from cursing my captor and all the Ivankovs at least a dozen times in the space of two hours. Yes, he'd rattled me, but he hadn't broken me.

I didn't know what kinda help he wanted either – probably something to do with handing me a knife to gut my own family. I wasn't going to do that. I promised myself I wouldn't do a damned thing until I had absolute proof he wasn't bullshitting me. Even then, I wasn't about to commit to helping him.

I had to know. A bland, but filling dinner laid out by the old servant helped calm my nerves. Tea, bread, and some kind of broth. I fell asleep quicker than I expected, saving my energy for tomorrow, when I expected to lay into him.

The dreams came, harsher and more fragmented than before. Bastard.

Bastard. Brute. Demon.

He'd abused me with cruel knowledge and captivity as much as seduction. My psyche let me know that night how messed up I really was. I
still
wanted him in all his awful glory.

My virgin pussy burned, clenched, and ached in my sleep. I rolled over, wrapping my wrists around the sheets, imagining how good it would feel to shove my fingernails through his hair. He'd made me come so hard with just his hands.

Jesus, what would his mouth or that huge ridge I'd felt between his legs do?

Would his tattoos come alive and dance on his skin when he held me down, pushed inside me, and fucked me until I shook and whimpered? Would I lose myself in the dark ink or his Neptune blue eyes first?

One way or another, I knew he wouldn't hold out forever. He
would
take me, whether I was ready for it or not, whether I wanted it or not – and, of course, I did. I could only choose how I was going to come up for air after he held me down, filled me, drowned me in his scent and strength and sex.

A rap on the door woke me up late morning. I yanked down my nightgown, shamed awake by the sopping wet heat between my legs.

I threw my legs over the bed and waited, sliding my cold feet into the burgundy slippers they'd given me. Another bang.

“Coming! Just hold on.”

I had exactly twenty seconds to collect all my wits. When I flung open the door and saw him, I was ready to demand answers. I'd give it to him point blank, tell him I wasn't just going to be his wind up toy, marching in whatever direction he sent me.

“Anton, I –“

I threw open the door and stopped. The thick, blue eyed devil named Lev was standing there, a smile spreading across his lips. Before I could think about stopping him, he pushed his way in and shoved a small black box into my hands.

“Gift from Anton. My brother's very busy today, and he won't be by personally.” He stopped, one hand on the wall. His sleeve rose just enough to see he had black stripes of his own going up one arm.

“I see you've settled in much more nicely today” His eyes moved up and down my body, making my skin crawl. “Hm. Perhaps I regret thinking about putting you down after all. Has he fucked you yet, or is there still room for an Ivankov to lay first claim?”

He started coming towards me. I dropped the box, ready to lunge, scratch at his eyes. He was almost as big and strong as Anton, and my odds against him weren't any better. But he caused me to feel repulsed in a way Anton didn't.

When he was just a couple inches away, I threw my hand out and raked his face. He fell back, stunned. He exhaled painfully through clenched teeth, and I saw the neat red rows I'd left on one cheek, quickly covered by his searching fingers.

“Bitch! I should throw you down and fuck your little ass for that.” I didn't move. My knees were like steel, running on fear and hate.

“Go ahead and try,” I spat.

He stood up, circling me at a distance, the same mischievous sparkle in his baby blues that I recognized in Anton. “You're a fighter. I like that. I respect it. You would've gotten off easy with me. I'm the more tender one, or so the ladies say. My brother's going to fuck you sooner or later, you know.”

“Yeah? Not you?” It felt good to taunt him, dangerous as it was.

He growled, shook his head, and widened the distance between us. It looked like he couldn't decide whether to make good on his crude threat or get the hell away from me. I swallowed hard, praying he'd finally leave me alone.

“I like rough and hard to get like any red blooded man. But I'm not about to ruin Anton's little prize before he gets a crack at it. We're brothers, after all. What's his is his. I was just having my fun.”

I stuck my tongue out. So risky to keep pressing him, but he was backing off. I couldn't resist. I'd officially had it up to
here
with these intrusions, all the sadistic extras that came with being Anton Ivankov's hostage.

“Stay here like a naughty
devotchka
then
.
Anton always liked them beautiful and completely at his mercy.” I watched him fish a silky red handkerchief out of his pocket and press it to the scratch I'd left on his cheek, soaking up the blood. “You're very lucky he's got big plans for you, babe. If it was up to me and Daniel, you'd be dead. We can't see the sense in sparing
any
Ligiotti.”

He pointed at the box and turned. Then he threw the door open and slammed it behind him, leaving me to collapse, grabbing my knees, listening to the lock click shut behind him.

When I'd caught my breath, I crawled to the black box. It opened easily enough. There was something rectangular and electronic inside, a brand new tablet. Except it wasn't packaged like anything I'd ever seen before.

I dragged it out of its container and found a little note taped to the back. The big, sharp script could only belong to Anton, a penmanship as imposing as the rest of him.

You've got a lot of questions, and I'll be back to answer them soon. Until then, do your own research. Find out everything you can. Don't take my word for it. And don't you fucking think about calling for help – it's read only. Nothing gets past this house's encryption. – A. Ivankov

I shrugged and complied. It wasn't like I had anything better to do, and how the hell could I help it when he'd dropped such a juicy invitation in front of me?

I sat on the bed with the little device, wondering if the encryption was really as tight as he'd claimed.

Yup. Email, apps, and all the chat sites I knew were off limits. The browser wouldn't let me move through the web fluidly. There seemed to be a list of bookmarks, and nothing else.

The first page I pulled up was an old profile on a fetish site. The face belonged to Michael Wilkins, the investment banker killed in the attack. I recognized his smug face from the obituaries I'd read for my piece.

I only browsed a few lines of his interests. It was enough.

Not a fucking game...real pain...I like to leave permanent marks.

Another page opened up a large PDF. It was an account statement from a dead city councilman with monstrous amounts marked gratuity for the Club Duce. The last transaction was just an hour or two before the bombing, about what you'd expect a multi-millionaire to tip for exceptional service.

On and on the evidence ran.

Sick profiles. Financials he'd gotten by some black magic. A carefully suppressed draft of a story that was never published in a major paper about one of the dead businessmen breaking his wife's jaw when she confronted him about his depraved affairs. The reporter's boss was on the dead man's payroll.

Over and over, I saw GIOULIO LIGIOTTI in big letters whenever the owning party was named for Club Duce. Anton left it there, as if to shove it in my face, constant reminders saying,
you see this shit, babe? You see who's responsible? Fucking look!

Oh, I did. I saw it all.

I took the longest, harshest look I could until my eyes wouldn't work anymore and my fingers went numb on the little device. Then I picked it up, stood on the bed, and hurled it through the opening in the curtain.

The thing went flying towards the vanity and smashed with a clatter like fireworks. I collapsed, clawing at my face, sick to death and shaking.

I was beyond fucked. Only, I didn't know who to blame. I didn't know whether I should hate my own dirty blood or the bastard who'd made me think my Uncle was the filthiest man on earth. Maybe both.

The truth wasn't necessarily any clearer. There were a million ways he could've doctored everything on the screen.

The man seized me, and he was holding me prisoner right now, after all. How far would he really go to get his way, to get me to help him destroy the only man who'd ever offered me his protective hand?

I was still wondering when I crashed, exhausted, stuffing my face in the pillow to dry my hot tears.

At some point, I must've fallen asleep. Next thing I heard was the door swinging open. I sat up in the darkness. Didn't need to make out the dark silhouette near the entrance to know who it was.

A piece of busted plastic from the tablet crunched under one of his shoes. He stopped, ground his foot into the tile, and whistled.

I glared as he looked at me through the dimness, folding his arms. “Fucking shit, babe. I knew you'd get upset when I confronted you with what was on that thing...never knew you were the smashing type.”

“I wish I'd saved it for later. I'd have held it and waited until you came in.”

God, it would've felt so fucking good to belt him in his stupid handsome face with that thing.

A smile pulled at his lips. An instant later, he was on me like a wolf, pinning me to the bed with ease.

“I'm gonna let you up, and you're gonna get dressed. We got shit to talk about. But not here. I'm not comfortable keeping you cooped up in this room forever.”

Something about the icy, commanding tone in his voice tasted extra bitter. I narrowed my eyes, pouring heat through his dark blue gaze.

“No.”

One of his eyebrows twitched. “Don't fucking make me stuff you into a dress. I'll do it with my own bare hands if I have to. It's been a rough few days. That's why I'm gonna go easy on your sweet ass. Work with me. Don't make the rest of your week hell, babe.”

“I don't care anymore. It's not like I have a choice. I never did.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He growled.

“I don't believe a word of what I saw on that tablet. Did you really think I'd buy it when I couldn't connect to the web on my own? How was I supposed to fact check anything?”

“I was doing you a goddamned favor.” More thunder in his voice. “I laid it
all
out. You wouldn't have found shit anywhere that wasn't already in those documents.”

His muscles tightened around me. His hands had slid behind my back. It took all my energy not to flinch, not to let the heat smoldering beneath my skin reach an inferno.

Bastard!
Even when I wanted to hate him, bite him, kick and scratch, being this close activated more primal instincts that weren't ruled by sane emotions.

“I don't need anything from you. I'm done with this. Let me go or kill me.”

He took a good, long look at me. His eyes were glowing like the devilishly powerful, sexy predator he was. He scared me, but the current running through my nerves was far more fearsome.

If this was my fate, a prisoner to this insane attraction, I hoped he'd put me out of my misery.