Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (19 page)

They didn't know what to do except send me away to a spa in Georgia with orchards a plenty and world class psychologists. Hearing about the savage abuse I'd suffered brought tears and anger at first, but then it brought total paralysis, weak little looks from my mom and dad like I'd been tarnished forever.

They didn't know how to bring me back to life. Hell, neither did I, but this endless interrogation wasn't helping.

“You heard it all the first two times,” I snapped. “What else is there to say? Here, let me break it down for you – I was kidnapped, pimped out for six months of my life, and sold to a man on the black market one state over. I never found out his name. I don't know anything except what Ricky said, and it wasn't much. He couldn't even bother driving me down there himself.”

“Yes, yes, you told us all about the trucker spa. We're well aware it's been a seedy prostitution racket for years.”

Really? Then why the fuck didn't you raid it and close it down?
I thought, chewing my bottom lip.

I swore I could still taste traces of Skin there, the only thing that comforted me. He'd want me to be strong right now. No, he was
counting
on it so I didn't spill the truth about his club and land them all in a world of hurt.

I had to take a few more of this asshole's questions without standing up and running off to my room.

Harlow looked down at his notepad and frowned. “What doesn't add up, Miss Wilder, is why the place is totally closed down. Abandoned. Patrol says it's always been a twenty-four hour operation until now, but when my men showed up last night, there was nobody home. Not a single girl to corroborate your story. And no sign of Richard Proby to boot. It's like he's dropped off the face of the earth.”

“Oh.” I swallowed, putting on my best face to hide the fact that I'd watched the pimp die. “Well, somebody obviously tipped him off. He must've found out about my escape, and knew I'd talk. I don't know where he is, honestly. I've been on the run for weeks, hiding out in the woods.”

“Honey...” Dad's hand tightened on mine, begging me to keep composure.

I ripped my arm away from his and looked at the detective. I didn't need his damned sympathy. I didn't need anything right now except to be left the hell alone to recuperate.

“And that's the part of the story I'd like you to repeat. It seems a lot of details are being glossed over, darling. You told me all about how the pimp beat you, sold you to other men, tried to break you. I believe that part, and I'm very sympathetic.” What bullshit. The look on his face was nothing but a frustrated man doing his job. “What doesn't add up is how you got away from his underlings...”

“I already told you,” I said, looking right into the camera. “It was raining bullets. They stopped for gas, just before we hit the state line. The man in the front seat was fiddling with his gun. I saw my chance and I took it while the other two were using the bathroom. They didn't have the guts to chase me with bystanders around.”

“Yes, the state line, you mentioned that before. So, you're saying you never entered North Carolina at all? And the men charged with transporting you had no affiliation with the Deadhands Motorcycle Club?”

“Absolutely not,” I said.

Damn.
Sweat beaded on my brow. It took all my energy not to shake. Lying like this in front of my father, the law, and God tied my intestines in knots.

If anybody found out, I had a feeling I'd be up for all kinds of perjury, but I didn't care. Anything for Skin. I owed him big time after he'd pulled strings to get me home.

I wasn't saying anything. I wasn't even going to mention the phrase 'motorcycle gang.' I couldn't screw over Skin. That meant leaving the Deadly Pistols and the Deadhands completely out of the equation in my lame ass story.

“I don't know where Ricky hired his men. Maybe they were thugs just like him, or inbred cousins. Who knows. I never saw them much before they picked me up for the trip, and I never saw them again after that night. Lord willing, I never will.”

The detective cocked his head, folded his hands, and leaned forward. “Look, Miss Wilder, we're aware the pimp had connections with the biggest outlaw motorcycle gang several states over. I'm asking you to please take a moment and think. Are you
positive
you never saw anyone like that while you were a prisoner? No patches, no bikes, no dirty business going down with outlaws?”

“I don't know what I saw, to be frank. Most of the men he brought to my room, I was only focused on one part of them, trying not to gag.”

My father winced next to me, and the color drained from his face. My heart sank. I felt bad about that.

My parents were good people, but they weren't emotionally equipped to handle my abuse. There was no worse torture than thinking about his precious baby being reduced to a common whore.

Of course, he was only hearing about it second hand. I'd lived it.

The nightmare was still alive in my head, coming to me in little flashes. I latched onto them and let my face crack, twisting in agony, looking up as I sniffed back tears.

I had to play the wounded dove card if I wanted to walk out of here sometime today.

“Are we done yet? Haven't you heard enough? I don't get what you want me to say – I barely got away from him with my life. Whatever you're asking me about bikers and bad guys, I don't know about any of that. I was too focused on survival, okay? If these Deadhands were ever there, I never saw a thing.”

Harlow stroked his short, gray beard and leaned back in his chair, studying me. His lips started to move, but before he could say anything, Dad jumped up, making the chair screech across our kitchen floor.

“That's enough, detective. I thought this was going to be short and sweet?” He reached up and flicked his spectacles back into place on his nose. “My daughter hasn't even been home for a full day. She needs to rest. Why don't you come back later this week? I'm confident you'll get more out of her when she's settled in.”

“Sir, I told you from the beginning it's imperative we get all the facts straight while they're fresh,” Harlow snapped.

“And they'll be plenty fresh a few days from now. She might remember more once she's cleared her head. Let me get my girl some help, and you'll be welcome back anytime. Please.”

I watched the men exchange an icy look. Finally, the detective caved, sighing as he reached for his briefcase under the table, and began to gather up his things.

“This flies in the face of procedure, Mister Wilder, but seeing how you're so well respected around these parts, I'll let it slide. Let's set something up for Thursday.”

“Of course,” Dad said simply, resting one hand on my shoulder.

I looked down. For now, I'd dodged another bullet, but the shots were going to keep coming, weren't they? So would the stress.

I didn't have a clue how I'd ever convince my parents to get me the money for Skin and his club. But I had to, if I ever wanted this to end.

If I couldn't keep up my end of the bargain that brought me home, then a few more tense discussions with the FBI and a perjury charge were going to be the least of my worries.

The next few days were a blur. Both my parents fell all over themselves offering me food, tea, and water every afternoon I stumbled downstairs after a fitful sleep. They babbled at me like I was a baby, barely able to feed myself, asking me in hushed whispers if I wanted to see a shrink today.

No. I needed my space. I had to figure out the money question before I did anything else.

Plus, the minute I told them I was fine, they vanished. Mom dove into her exercise in the gym downstairs and soap operas for more hours of the day than I'd ever seen her watching them. Dad's long nights at the office grew longer. Sometimes he didn't show up until almost midnight, creeping in and practically jumping out of his skin when he saw me at the kitchen table, picking at leftovers.

I wondered why I'd come back at all. Sure, they were happy I'd shown up alive and safe, but that was it.

The cracks in the family were deeper than ever, a thousand times more unbridgeable than they'd been when I was just a party girl with a cushy job in the family business. I'd disappointed them then.

But now, taking up space in their home as a former whore in need of serious therapy?

They couldn't handle it, and neither could I. The tense atmosphere roiled my brain, prevented me from thinking about the money my entire future hinged on.

One morning, Mom woke me up early, telling me I had a visitor. I was sure it was that stinking detective again, come to finish what he'd started earlier in the week.

When I saw Becky standing on the doorstep, looking like she hadn't changed a day since our fateful evening skinny dipping in the Smoky Mountains, I had a new shock to deal with.

She flew forward, tackling me before I could make it down the last step to the entryway.

“Oh, girl, I'm so, so sorry!” She smothered me in desperate kisses, the third person in just as many days. “Can I take you out to lunch? Just like old times?”

I managed a weak smile. “Sure. Give me a couple minutes to get my things.”

We didn't talk much in her car. She'd traded in her old Lexus for a hot pink Camaro, something appropriately showy and vibrant for my best friend.

A year ago, I'd have been completely green with jealousy. Hell, I'd have hit up Dad right after the drive, demanding my trust fund, whatever it took to land me a car even better than hers.

But all the flash didn't phase me. I stretched in the comfortable passenger seat, watching the Tennessee valleys roll by us, remembering how marvelous they'd looked on the back of Skin's bike.

He'd taken me to a world that was rough, mysterious, and often dark. But he'd also shown me a strange kind of beauty, just like he'd shown me that I was still beautiful, even when I'd believed Ricky had stolen it from me forever.

I missed him, goddamn it. Horribly.

Half an hour later, we sat in our favorite cafe in Knoxville, waiting on some big wedge salads with a side of fried okra to share. Just like old times.

Except it wasn't.

The food, the décor, and Becky's sweet little smile were all the same. It was myself I couldn't recognize.

Not when I sipped my iced tea and tasted the sweetness that was almost nauseating, the same stuff I'd drank by the gallon before the pimp. My reflection in the glass looked so plain too. The last time we'd come here, I'd been dolled up in makeup and a fresh perm.

Now? My eyes robbed all the attention from my high cheekbones and pale face, blue whirlpools that stayed dark and endless no matter how hard I tried to put it all behind me.

“I need to come clean about something,” she said suddenly, dropping her fork. “Meg, please don't hate me for this, but I'd be a bad friend if I didn't get it off my chest right away. Remember Craw-daddy?”

Shit, did I? It took me a minute to remember the plain little weasel before I nodded, the last man I'd ever kissed before the train of faceless, filthy animals who used me. Before Skin revived me, stamping his hot lips on mine, the only thing in the last six months that made me feel alive.

“We're kinda an item now.” Becky flashed me an uneasy smile. “Just wanted to get that off my chest right away! I can't keep anything from you. Best friends forever, right?”

I shrugged. “Congratulations. I'm happy for you, Becks. Really.”

I tried my best to be sincere. It must've worked because a second later she grabbed her glass and held it up, offering her cheers.

We clinked and I actually smiled. Hers didn't last long, though. A few seconds later, she was staring at me with her brow furrowed, giving me that look I'd seen from everybody this week, like I'd fall to pieces from the slightest breeze.

“I read all about what happened online. There weren't a lot of details, but God! I can only imagine what you've been through.” She lifted a bite of salad on her fork and chewed it unevenly. “It must've been awful if you really don't give a crap about Crawford and me.”

“It's all in the past,” I told her, taking a long pull from my iced tea, wishing it had Long Island in front of it. “Seriously, don't worry about it. I'm busy getting my life back together. Don't have time for any business with men.”

“Yeah? You're really giving up on the whole hubby hunt?” She eyed me sadly. “I mean, it makes sense. Pretty ironic I ended up where you want to be, right?”

“Whatever, Becks. I've got some serious thinking to do before I ever let a man into my bed, much less my life. Kinda comes with the territory when you've been trashed and abused.”

At first, she nodded eagerly, hanging on every word. I dug into my food, watching the cool, emphatic expression on her face become a curious smirk.

“Wait, who is he?”

The fried okra I was chewing almost fell out of my mouth. I dabbed at it with a napkin, taking my time, before I finally faced my best friend's wicked psychic powers.

“What? Who?”

“The boy who's got you all twisted up! You almost had me fooled for a second.” Smiling, she wagged a finger. “Thank God, Meg. Thank God. I was worried they'd left you traumatized.”

She saw through me like nobody else, not even my own family. I thought about trying to hide it, but there wasn't any burying the heat on my face, the blush that gave everything away beyond all doubt.

“Look at you!” Becky gushed. “Wow, you're really into him, aren't you? Don't tell me, let me guess...it's the man who saved you from – well, you know.”

She couldn't bring herself to talk about the brutal pimp who'd kept me captive. Was it really so obvious?

“It's nothing like that. Honest.” I hesitated, but only for a second. “Okay, fuck it.”

Her mouth dropped when she heard me curse, about to confess to everything. I couldn't hold anything in when the idea hit me. It struck me like a bolt of lightning, so strange and unexpected I wondered if Skin's savage way of thinking had infected me when we kissed.

It wasn't just my best friend sitting across me anymore, looking on with concern. She could help me help
him
, bring me closer to the man who'd given me a second chance, all I wanted when I looked into the gray void of my future.