Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love)
Read Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) Online
Authors: Nicole Snow
Never Love An Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance
By Nicole Snow
Never Love An Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance
I: Smothered in Shadows (Megan)
IV: Money, Money, Money (Skin)
IX: Too Close to Paradise (Megan)
Outlaw's Kiss: Grizzlies MC Romance | By Nicole Snow
III: Many Kinds of Ransom (Missy)
VIII: Deals With Devils (Brass)
Content copyright © Nicole Snow. All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America.
First published in October, 2015.
Disclaimer:
The following ebook is a work of fiction. Any resemblance characters in this story may have to real people is only coincidental.
Please respect this author's hard work! No section of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission. Exception for brief quotations used in reviews or promotions. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thanks!
Cover Design – Kevin McGrath - Kevin Does Art. Photo by Allan Spiers Photography.
Description
I'M FALLING FOR AN OUTLAW I HATE...
MEGAN
I wasn't supposed to end up in an outlaw biker's bed. I wasn't supposed to love it. I definitely wasn't supposed to crave his fiery kisses, beg for his touch, or ache to know the man behind the evil looking ink and scarred smirk.
I was the good girl. He was the monster. Then everything changed.
I became a prisoner. I prayed for Skin to save me. He did – and he kept me for himself.
He's no saint, and I'm no angel. They've already taken so much from me. I'm scared he'll take what's left.
Never love an outlaw, they said. I believed it. So why can't I stop myself from falling for this bad boy so hard I break?
SKIN
I went psycho when I saw her in that dirty whorehouse. She's everything I never wanted, a spitfire with a body meant for claiming.
Then she told me her secret, and I almost needed a straitjacket. I saved her life instead. I gave her a second chance.
I know she's a marked woman, caught between my club and the b*stards I killed. Damn if I won't make her wear my name, even if she's trouble on two long legs I can't stop picturing wrapped around me.
I'll brand her, bed her, own her, no matter how much hell I'll pay. Outlaws love like ticking time bombs, and I'm gonna blow Meg's world apart 'til she's begging for more...
The Outlaw Love books are stand alone romance novels featuring unique lovers and happy endings. No cliffhangers! This is Skin and Megan's story in the Deadly Pistols MC series.
I
couldn't remember my own name sometimes.
When you're so shocked, so broken, so completely sick at heart, the ego dies in every breath, and mine died fast.
My pimp kept me chained up like a dog when I wasn't being used.
Fresh,
he called me, the only name I responded to because Megan was so far away.
Megan was my name in another life. Megan was what they called me when I smiled and laughed, before I spent every waking minute in a nightmare.
“Fresh, baby, wake the fuck up.” Ricky grabbed me by the hair and pulled me off my cot, breaking a beautiful sleep where I almost believed I wasn't trapped in this hellhole. “You've got business.”
He grinned, showing his dirty teeth. Maybe I couldn't settle on a name or identity anymore, but I knew his.
Ricky the bastard was my judge, jury, and executioner for every day I managed to stay alive in this place.
“Okay, Ricky. Just give me a minute.”
He nodded, satisfied, and then pulled the tarnished key out of his jeans. His coarse hands grazed my throat as he unlocked my collar. It was always too tight. I reached up and rubbed the tender, raw impression left by that damned collar like I always did.
Another day. Another John. Another chapter as Fresh, rather than Megan.
“The crew coming in means business for you and Bell,” he growled, shoving a small plastic bin of soap, shampoo, and a towel in my face. “Get cleaned up. We're a little light today. Cherry Anne says she's sick, and I'm looking for you and Bell to pick up the slack. These guys aren't our regular big rig cocks. They're tough, mean, and they like to fuck
hard.
You'd better be ready to work for every red cent.”
“Always, Ricky. Always.”
I flashed him that soft, dead look that always seemed to make him shut up. I learned a long time ago not to negotiate, not to even speak to this man in anything resembling complete sentences. Saying more than I needed to got me into trouble, and sometimes planted nasty ideas in his brain, too.
He'd used me before, and it was always worse than the other Johns. The faceless men who came and went, paying for sex, rarely put any emotion into it. But when Ricky pushed my mouth over his cock, the pimp reminded me who held all the power here, and that I'd be his slave until the day he decided to sell me off to someone else.
Holding my breath, I squeezed the towel, almost ready to turn and head for the small bathroom attached to my room. I winced when I felt his fingers on my skin.
The pimp chuckled, running a fat hand all the way down my back, stopping in my inner thigh. He liked to pinch, and this time, he did it hard. I closed my eyes and let out a whimper.
“Fucking whore. You're the best one here, and you know it, don't you?” His dark eyes beamed down on mine, proud, sick, and demanding. “You're goddamned lucky I only let these boys have one hole. You'd think I was giving them the moon when they throw money at me for your hot little mouth. I can't wait to see what the rest of you earns someday soon. We're close to a buyer, baby. I just know it. I've got a couple bites.”
His hand slid around my legs. Cupping my mound through my panties, he squeezed. My fingers twitched. I hadn't had to fight the urge to slap him, bite him, gouge his fucking eyes out for a long time.
But I did just then, praying he'd be done soon. I suppressed a shudder, holding in everything until he finally pulled his hand away.
“Go shower now, girl. These guys aren't the real patient type. I'll be watching today, keeping you safe, so no worries. You never know what these biker assholes can do.”
Keeping me safe?
It was so sick I wanted to laugh.
Bikers?
Ugh. I remembered the last time I had to service them, the hard, vicious men from the Deadhands MC.
Their VP, Big Vic, was the only man who managed to scare me besides Ricky. The bastard grinned the entire time as he slammed my face into his crotch, hard enough to leave me sore for a couple days. Once, he leaned down and cursed in my ear between his ragged breaths, told me how much he'd like to shoot Ricky in the head and take me away forever.
I feared the day he'd actually come back and do it. The pimp was bad, but there were bigger bastards than him in this world, and that included everyone with a Deadhands' patch on their leather cut.
Ricky hit me with his dead-eyed
what-the-fuck-are-you-waiting-for?
stare.
I gave him another fake little smile, a nod, and then retreated into the bathroom. I heard my cot creek outside as he settled into it, humming lullabies to himself while he flipped his gun in his hands.
Those tunes made me think he had a soul once. The first few times I'd heard them, I thought maybe I could convince him to let me go once he was done with me. Maybe this was just business to him, money, and he didn't really want to hurt me unless he needed to.
Of course, the real Ricky wasn't like that at all. It was the ultimate wishful thinking. I had too many bruises and scars to prove it, too many nightmares that broke the only peace I got from hard labor in this miserable trucker whorehouse.
How many months has it been?
I wondered, leaning into the shower to clean myself, loving the way the hissing shower head temporarily drowned out the horror of my life.
I couldn't figure out how much time had passed since my first day here, and I doubted I ever would. It had to be months, maybe years.
My reflection told the full story. The beautiful, confident, playful girl who used to stare back at me in the mirror turned into a dead-eyed whore with sunken cheeks, one I hated to even acknowledge.
Megan the socialite, the flirt, the dreamer, was dead. Long live the whore.
“Hey, Fresh! Hurry your sweet ass up! Don't bother with the fucking fishnets.” He yelled it so loud I could practically feel the tremor in the tile underneath my feet.
Wincing, I dried myself quickly, and then slipped into a fresh change of clothes he'd laid out the day before. Calling it an outfit would be generous.
The purple lace bra was too damned tight. The Johns who managed to break them open always did me a favor, lending some relief to my poor boobs. Not that it mattered.
He had a near endless supply of the same cheap, suffocating lingerie for all the girls, including me.
“Yo, lady, hurry the fuck up!” This time, he slapped the wall. “I wanna get this show on the road. We don't got no time to dilly-dally, bitch, you hear me?”
“One more minute, Ricky. Almost ready. I promise.”
The nervous bite in his voice made me smile. It never took much to upset him, really, and nothing did more than dealing with the Deadhands MC.
I couldn't completely blame the bastard for being worried. Hell, I wondered if this would be the day they decided to burn this place down and take the girls for themselves, including me. My heart pumped terror every time I remembered Big Vic's big, ugly grin, the nose ring in the middle of his fat face twitching every time he roared some new humiliation.
Bitch! Cunt! Whore!
Ricky called me all the same names as the biker, but he didn't have a tenth of the wicked outlaw's hateful energy when he said them.
Shimmying my panties up one more time, I slid into my heels, and stepped outside. Ricky leaned on the frame leading into the hall, making hushed words with some man I couldn't see.
“Look, buddy, you can have her tongue any way you want. Grab her hair and fuck her 'til she gags. If you haven't heard our Fresh is the best little cocksucker this side of the mountains, then you've been living under a rock. But I need to be there for security.”
“Security.” A low, dark voice repeated the word, dripping sarcasm. “What the fuck do I look like, pimp? Some chump who's going to stand there getting sucked off while you watch?”
“It's not like that, mister. I'm just hanging out to protect my property. Hell, I'll put my eyes on the ground. You pay up, and you can do anything you want to her –“
“And I'm telling you I want some goddamned privacy. Don't make us turn this place upside down more than we already are, asshole.” My jaw dropped as I watched two huge tattooed arms shove Ricky against the wall. “You're a clueless little shit, aren't you, pimp? There's a lot you don't get if you're not following what's going down here today. I fuck the way I want and take whatever I need, and so does every other man in this club. Yeah, yeah, I know you've got Deadhands' protection. Your first mistake was thinking any of us gave a shit the minute we walked in here.”
They scuffled again, spilling their noise into the hallway.
“Hey!” Ricky let out a yelp and desperately grabbed for the man. The biker ripped his gun out of his hands first.
I backed into a corner, my mouth still hanging open, watching as the stranger's hands flung Ricky's handgun around like a toy.
“Play nice. Go mop the toilets or some shit like a good little boy, and maybe you can have this back. Give all the brothers some peace and quiet, stay the fuck outta our way, and you'll walk outta here today without a hole in your head.”
“Skin, you're making a big mistake. I didn't know this was a fucking shakedown. I thought you guys were just here for the regional fees or some shit. We can work this out. Just let me talk to your chief and explain –“
The sickening slap of metal on thin skin cut him off. I pinched my eyes shut, wondering if this was just another bad dream.
No, of course not, I'd never been so lucky. Not since this became my life. Ricky whimpered, staggering in the narrow hallway in a circle, the same way he sometimes did when he got really drunk. Except this time there was pain glowing in his eyes, hurt and terror, something I'd never seen before on his nasty face.
