Never Kiss an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (16 page)

I was tempting fate, and I fucking knew it. But that 'cunt daughter' meant Cora. I'd die to keep her safe. Some mad dog redness clouded my vision, mad and primal shit fiercer than all the times it had ever went through my veins before.

“You'll get your guns, asshole,” Dust thundered. “Just as soon as you lower yours and send your men back to their bikes. You already broke standard operating procedure, showing up here instead of the fucking clubhouse. This is our goddamned business – civilian biz. Too fuckin' public for an exchange.”

“Shut up!” Red Beard slammed Dust into the wall, his beer gut helping pin the Prez down. “You fucked us over, and you goddamned know it! We had a good thing going on. We were trading, fighting, sharing intel on the Deads. Now, all that's fucked, and it's your fault. Not ours. I'm not gonna stand here while you try to fuckin' tell me otherwise, shithead.”

When I heard the familiar click of a switchblade opening, it took everything in my power not to start a shooting war that'd get us all killed.
Fuck.

Had a sudden flashback to the mountains outside Kandahar. Me and my guys were pinned down, taking a Taliban mortar attack straight up the ass. A couple troops next to me got their arms blown off, and one man lost his head. Fuckers were behind the rocks, shooting at us while their bombs exploded everywhere. All we could do was lay, wait, and put down suppressing fire 'til the cavalry came.

Airstrikes took the terrorist pukes out a couple minutes later. I'd been helpless then, just hoping for a miracle.

This day, this shit...this was worse. Watching Red Beard shove his knife against my Prez's throat fucking gutted me.

Joker moved first. Wrapped his rough hands around another Torches' throat, holding him in a brutal headlock, the kind that'd choke the fuck totally to death if we didn't diffuse this shit quick.

“Rawdog!” Sharp yelled, pulling his gun outta my ribs and turning around. “Prez, that asshole's gonna kill him!”

“Not if I do Dusty first,” Red Beard snarled, his hand gripping the knife like the handle of his bike, one flick away from ending Dust's life. “We're way past heart-to-heart bullshit. I want our cut of the fuckin' guns. I know they're here – you moved 'em when you heard we were rolling into town. Gonna give you one more chance to bring 'em. Right fuckin' now. Do it. Before I decide to push this hungry dagger straight through your goddamned throat.”

“Prez, just say the word,” Skin said coldly, his gun aimed at Sharp's face. “We'll go down fighting, or we'll give these fuckers what they came for. Your choice.”

The crown had never been heavier for our fearless leader.

Every Prez in an outlaw MC dealt out life and death, heaven and hell, plus everything in between like fucking cards. Dust would either order us to our deaths, or he'd give these fuckstains what they wanted, buying us the time we needed to figure out how to kill 'em good and proper.

I expected to hear the Prez bark, the string of words that would either end this rough ass rocket ride I'd called a life, or else let me breathe the biggest sigh of relief since Afghanistan.

Instead, the crazy fucker did Plan C. Pistols and Torches alike nearly shat their pants as we watched our Prez push himself into Red's blade, blood pouring out around the crack where his throat connected with the knife.

“What the fuck?! You lost your mind, you dumb sonofabitch?” Red Beard roared, falling backward in shock, his hands shaking. The knife dropped outta his hands and clattered on the busted concrete.

He wanted to threaten us. He didn't want to kill the Prez in front of us and trigger the shooting that'd get us all killed.

It worked. Dust bent his head, put one hand across the wound in his throat, and looked the bastard straight in the eye.

“You ain't giving any orders here,” Prez rasped. “I am. Joker, Firefly, go get their fuckin' guns. Then make sure they get their asses off of our property.”

I moved. None of the Torches stopped us as I caught up with the Veep. We headed for the garages, where the boys had an old drag racer missing its wheels up on blocks, a tarp draped over it. Joker looked at me, nodded, and we both grabbed opposite corners.

Ripped the tarp right off. There, through the missing windows, were several familiar black crates stacked high.

“Let's get this shit loaded in their truck.” Joker spoke like we were doing a damned chore, rather than narrowly saving this club's ass.

We had to move our asses. Couldn't think about the risk, the danger, or the Prez bleeding all over the fuckin' ground after the cut he'd taken.

Everything moved on autopilot after that. Small miracle I swallowed the urge to rip every one of those fucks with the rival colors apart, soaking the glowing torches sewn on their cuts in their own dirty blood.

When everybody saw the Veep and me carrying their crates, the whole atmosphere relaxed. Just barely.

Prez leaned against the wall, still covering his throat, blood drying on his hands as fresh red soaked through.

“Put them down,” he said, his voice getting weaker by the second. “Let these fuckers take their shit to the trucks.”

We did. Red Beard nodded, and a few of his burly brothers picked the crates up, disappearing through the gate from our view.

“We're not leaving 'til we check this shit over,” he growled at Dust. “Not 'til we find out where Jimmy's little bitch has gone, neither.”

“Already told you, we don't have a fuckin' clue. She ain't our problem. We've had this alliance for fighting the Deads, sharing intel, doing deals. That's all shot to shit now. Consider it dissolved and get the fuck out. We're done here.”

There was a long pause. I kept one hand on my nine, ready to blow Red's brains out and start a shooting war if he so much as took another step toward Dust with that blade in one hand.

Prez was hurt. Fucking incredible he could just stand there like the stone cold bastard he was, bleeding out his neck, staring all these mean motherfuckers down with his life oozing outta him.

“He right, Prez?” The one named Rawdog looked at their leader, and I noticed one of his eyes was just glass.

“Yeah. For today.” Red Beard turned his back and started walking, pushing past me with two of his boys flanking him. The rest trailed behind them.

I took several steps toward the Prez, and froze when I heard the Torches stop by the gate and shout.

“Nice doing business with you pricks! We'll be doing our homework, fuckers, and don't you forget it. If I find out you've been lying about that bitch who scurried off or anything else, you
will
see us again. Don't give a shit if it means killing some Deads along the way. We'd rather have an army of crazy fuckers breathing down our necks rather than friends like you.” He stopped, looked me dead in the eye, and let a mean smile twist his lips. “Shit, looks like the reaper's breathing down his neck. Better get that boy a tourniquet, or else I'll be busting somebody else's balls next time I come back.”

Asshole.
I formed fists so hard my fucking knuckles cracked. Blinked my eyes, just staring through the redness, 'til they were gone.

Nobody moved 'til we heard their engines roar. Then everybody ran toward Dust. I got to him first.

Prez halfway collapsed. I took over where he'd left off, squeezing one hand against his throat, feeling hot blood gushing against my fingers.

“Oh, fuck.” I looked up, staring at Skin and Joker. “We gotta get him the fuck outta here. He's been bleeding like this for at least five minutes. Poor bastard must've lost a fuckin' gallon by now.”

I looked down. The dirty red puddle beneath my boots said it was no exaggeration.

“Joker. Firefly. You boys...you're taking the lead now. Hold the club together while I try to un-fuck myself. I...” Prez tried to talk more, but his eyes rolled back in his head.

Shit. Fuck.

“Fuck trying to drive him. We need Laynie out here
now,
dammit!” I barked orders.

“On it.” Joker had his burner phone out, dialing her number.

Meanwhile, the prospects tore off their shirts, ripping them into neat strips so we could try to stop the bleeding. Behind us, we heard laughter, the rumble of the last few Torches' bikes.

Rage flashed red on Skin's face when we heard the fence surrounding our garage get bowled over. The whole crew of fuckers must've flattened it on the way out, judging by the rattle.

I looked at Dust and grit my teeth. His eyes were closed, and his pulse was slowing in my hands, but he held on.

“Just keep it together a little bit longer, brother,” I whispered, gingerly squeezing his hand.

We'd get him patched up. Then Joker and me would figure out how the fuck we'd kill every last one of the miserable shits who'd jumped us.

They'd made it personal, too, the stupid fucks, the very second they'd mentioned Cora. And pushing our Prez against the wall, causing him to slice his own fuckin' throat?

They were already dead.

God willing, we'd smoke 'em without any more of our boys suffering for it.

* * * *

W
e stood around while Laynie show up, worked her magic, and then got him into her car. The woman was always a beast under pressure, patching guys up and saving lives, but she worked like a double demon on her own son.

Soon as she had him stable, riding with her to the clinic, we got on our bikes and rode straight to the clubhouse. The old mustangs with their bikes in the shop would have to wait. Club business trumped civilian shit any day of the week, and it had never been this serious.

Half an hour later, we were all in the meeting room. Felt strange to see the Prez's chair empty – or close enough.

Bingo sat in it like a fuckin' person, his massive, hairy body taking up the full seat. Everybody watched the big dog, his lazy tongue hanging outta his mouth, ignorant to the heavy cloud hanging over the club.

“Think you oughta let him sit there?” Sixty said, lighting a smoke.

“Prez ain't dead. Better him than any of us. He's keeping it warm.” Joker looked at me, and I nodded, putting my fists on the table.

“We've gotta figure out how we're gonna handle this shit. No telling how long Dust'll be out of commission 'til Laynie fills us in.”

“We can't go after 'em. Fuckers own Atlanta with their mob connections. Outstate Georgia's Deads' territory. They've got themselves a moat surrounding their asses, made of our worst enemies.” Skin tried to reason, like he always did.

“Yeah,” I said, wishing like hell it weren't true. Brother was right. “We don't have the numbers and we don't know the territory well enough to hit 'em where they live. Chances are their old school ties to every mafia and gang in Dixie would tell 'em we're coming, too.”

“What do we do?” Crawl pushed his shaggy black hair back. “Don't give a shit what we decide, just as long as it means they die.”

“Everybody's on the same page there, brother. We can't be fuckin' idiots. Need to watch our asses,” I said. “Let's look at the situation. We've bought ourselves some time, giving 'em their guns. They came in all pissed about that dead fuck, Jimmy, foaming at the mouth so much they didn't give a shit about tearing up our partnership.”

“Go on.” Joker had his knife out, holding it by the blade. Crazy fucker looked like he wanted to push his fingers down on it, slice them clean off.

Who the hell ever knew what was rolling through his head?

“We'll lure them onto our turf for another round. This time, we'll find out when they're back. We won't be caught with our pants around our ankles again.”

“Lure them?” Sixty snorted. “Shit, bro, it won't take much. Red Beard said he'd be back if he found out we fucked 'em on anything else.”

“Yeah, and we have.” Everybody looked at me. “Cora. They're gonna find out about her sooner or later. It's my job to keep her safe. Seeing the Prez take a hit made me realize I can't do it as long as they're breathing. I'll let 'em find out she's ours –
mine
– but I'll make damned sure they don't come within ten miles of where I've got her holed up.”

“Fuck me – you're using your girl as bait?” Skin's eyes narrowed. He looked at me, then at Joker.

The Veep looked up, suddenly done playing Russian roulette with his knife. “He's right. Girl's the only lure we got.”

Steam nearly shot out my fuckin' ears. I hated hearing her talked about like a goddamned piece of meat. I
really
fuckin' hated that this was the only way to keep her safe and do justice.

My fist hit the table. “Look, I'm the last fuckin' guy at this table who wants to do any of this. Red Beard's an arrogant piece of shit with a temper like a damned volcano. You saw what he did to Prez.”

“Yeah,” Skin growled. “We all saw.”

“How do you think he'll react when he hears we've got Jimmy's girl? Bastard thinks we double-crossed him once. Twice – he'll flip his shit. The Torches'll come roaring into town for blood. We'll have a bear trap ready to snap their fucking legs off. Cora's never gonna be in a lick of danger, if I've got anything to say about it.”

And fuck me, I did. Had it all mapped out in my head, every grim, dirty detail coming together to protect her, avenge the Prez, restore the club's honor after the kick in the balls they'd given us.

“What the fuck are you thinking, Firefly?” Skin growled. “I'm gonna trust you on keeping her safe. You know the special treatment the Prez has given this girl from day one. Don't know how the hell you think you're gonna announce her, bring them into our ambush, without leading 'em smack into her.”

I stood, looking over all my brothers, one by one. “We're gonna piss off Red real bad. Let the fucker know we lied right to his face. Announce it in the open.”

I paused. They all looked at me, waiting. I flexed my fists, finally ready to speak the words chewing at my insides.

“Truth is, I'm claiming Cora. She's getting my brand slapped on her skin and a ring on her finger before shit flies. Torches' spies'll hear all about it. We'll hit 'em hard when they come charging in, assuming big Red doesn't have a fuckin' stroke first...”

“Shit!”

“Fuck!”