Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (33 page)

Fretting about murder and corruption right now wouldn't keep the state from taking Jackie away when we were homeless. I had to keep my mouth shut and my mind more closed than ever. I had to treat it like a lottery win I could never tell anyone about.

Besides, it was all just temporary. I'd use the fortune to pay the rent and put food in our fridge until I finished school and got myself a job. Then I'd slowly feed the rest into something useful for Jackie's college – something that wouldn't get us busted.

It must've been after three o'clock when I finally fell asleep. If only I had a crystal ball, or stayed awake just an hour or two longer.

I would've seen the hurricane coming, the pitch black storm that always comes in when a girl takes the hand the devil's offered.

An earsplitting scream woke me first, but it was really the door slamming a second later that convinced me I wasn't dreaming.

Jackie!

I threw my blanket off and sat up, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. My hand slid across the smooth wood, and adrenaline dumped in my blood when I realized there was nothing there.

Too dark. I didn't realize the stranger was standing right over me until I tried to bolt up, slamming into his vice-like grip instead. Before I could even scream, his hand was over my mouth. Scratchy stubble prickled my cheek as his lips parted against my ear.

“Don't. You fucking scream, I'll have to put a bullet in your spine.” Cold metal pushed up beneath my shirt, a gun barrel, proof he wasn't making an empty threat.

Not that I'd have doubted it. His tight, sinister embrace stayed locked around my waist as he turned me around and nudged his legs against mine, forcing me to move toward the hall.

“Just go where I tell you, and this'll all be over nice and quick. Nobody has to get hurt.”

I listened. When we got to the basement door, he flung it open and lightened his grip, knowing it was a one way trip downstairs with no hope for escape.

Jackie was already down there against the wall, and so were four more large, brutal men like the one who'd held me. I blinked when I got to the foot of the stairs and took in the bizarre scene. They all wore matching leather vests with GRIZZLIES MC, CALIFORNIA emblazoned up their sides and on their backs.

I'd seen bikers traveling the roads for years, but never anything like these guys. Their jackets looked a lot like the ones veterans wore when they went out riding, but the symbols were all different. Bloody, strange, and very dangerous looking.

The men themselves matched the snarling bears on their leather. Four of them were younger, tattooed, spanning the spectrum from lean and wiry to pure muscle. The guy who'd walked me down the stairs moved where I could see him. He might've been the youngest, but I wasn't really sure.

Scary didn't begin to describe him. He looked at me with his arms folded, piercing green eyes going right through my soul, set in a stern cold face. He exuded a strength and severity that only came naturally – a born badass. A predator completely fixed on me.

An older man with long gray hair seemed to be in charge. He looked at the man holding my sister, another hard faced man with barbed wire ropes tattooed across his face. Jackie's eyes were bulging, shimmering like wide, frantic pools, pulling me in.

I'm sorry,
I hissed in my head, breaking eye contact. One more second and I might've lost it. The only thing worse than being down here at their mercy was showing them I was already weak, broken, helpless.

They had my little sister, my whole world, everything I'd sworn to protect. No, this wasn't the time to freak out and cry. I had to keep it together if we were going to get out of this alive.

“Well? Any sign of the haul upstairs, or do we need to make these bitches sing?” Gray hair reached into his pocket, retrieving a cigarette and a lighter, as casually as if he was at work on a smoke break.

Shit, for all I knew, he probably was.

“Nothing up there, Blackjack.” The man who'd taken me downstairs stepped forward, leaving the basement echoing with his smoky voice, older and more commanding than I'd expected. It hadn't just been the rough whisper flowing into my ear.

“Fuck,” the psycho holding Jackie growled. “I like it the fun way, but I'm not a fan when these bitches scream. Makes my ears ring for days. Can't we gag these cunts first?”

Nobody answered him. The older man narrowed his eyes, looking at his goon, taking a long pull on the cigarette. My head was spinning, making it feel like the ground had softened up, ready to suck me under and bury me alive.

Oh, God.
I knew this had to be about the mystery money the moment those rough hands went around me, but I hadn't really thought we were about to die until he said that.

Gray hair turned to face me, scowling. “You heard the man, love. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I, for one, don't like spilling blood when there's no good reason, but some of the brothers feel differently. Now, we know your loot's not where it was supposed to be – found this shit all torn up myself.”

Blowing his smoke, he pointed at the mess on the ground. I could've choked myself for being too stupid to clean up the mess earlier.

“You've got it somewhere. It couldn't have gotten far,” he said, striding forward. “Look we both know me and my boys are gonna find it. Only question left is – are you gonna make this scavenger hunt easy-peasy-punkin-squeezy? Or are you gonna make all our fucking ears ring while we choke it out of you?”

I didn't answer. My eyes floated above his shoulder, fixing on the man across from me, stoic green eyes.

“Well?” The older asshole was getting impatient.

Strange. If Green Eyes wasn't so busy hanging out with these creeps and taking hostages, he would've been handsome. No, downright sexy was a better word.

My weeping, broken brain was still fixed on the stupid idea when Gray Hair grunted, pulled the light out of his mouth, and reached for my throat.

Hours Earlier

F
uck!

Twinkie's mouth on my dick woke me up. Didn't have a clue how long she'd been sucking, but I was ready to blow. Growling, I opened my eyes and shoved one hand behind her ass, reaching for the wet, pink silk I'd fucked and filled before I crashed out around noon.

Soon as she saw I was awake, the slut began to purr. She did this desperate, throaty thing that vibrated through her cheeks, a special twist that always sent hot pulses straight to my balls. No joke – her trademark finish was like having the world's greatest vacuum hooked to my cock.

I found her clit and pinched it 'til she moaned. Bitch never skipped a beat, furiously bobbing her head up and down.

Too much. Too goddamned early.

“You better swallow every fucking drop. Don't want none of that shit leaking where it don't belong when we're done. Ah...shit. Ah – fuck!”

Her tongue went full fan on my dick. I stuffed it as far as she could take down her throat and let loose, grinding my hand between her legs like a madman, feeling her pussy gush while my load filled her mouth.

Fuck, she was good. But not half as awesome as a hit of the shit that still filled my dreams while I was out.

It took months to get clean, get my head straight, remember there was more to being a full patch member of the Grizzlies Motorcycle Club than easy smack and endless pussy. Thank fuck for Fang and the brothers, especially Blackjack. If it wasn't for our Enforcer taking me under his wing since I got to Redding, it would've been all too easy to fall back into old habits.

My balls pulsed and shot pure sweet fire to my head. The fire lashed through me as it left my dick in waves.

Too bad my fucked up brain hadn't stopped missing the orgasm on steroids good smack used to give me. Now, this was the best I could do, fucking every pussy, ass, and mouth I could find, hoping it'd give me one one-thousandth of the ecstasy I got from pouring that crap in my veins.

“Mmmm,” Twinkie purred, wiping her mouth. “Was this the kinda wake up call you were hoping for, baby? I know what you like, old man...”

I blinked, reaching underneath the bed for my pants. “I'm not your baby, Twink, and you're sure as fuck not my old lady. Get yourself a glass of water and get the fuck out.”

She pouted. I grunted, throwing on my boxers and wriggling into my jeans as she headed for my cramped bathroom. The slut really wanted to latch herself onto somebody in the club – she'd be back between my sheets tomorrow if I wanted her.

Same old song and dance. One thing was for sure – sucking and fucking took the edge off old addictions. The girl was medicine to me, and nothing more, same as all the easy pussy who swarmed around this clubhouse like moths drawn to big, tattooed, foul mouthed flames.

If the girls realized half the world of shit this club was facing, I didn't think they'd be so bold. Shit was getting serious. I almost dreaded having to throw on my cut and get my ass out there.

Fang's iron fist clenched tighter every day. Hadn't taken me long to figure out how he'd gotten to be national Prez. Brains and brutality were the ticket, but lately, the shit he ordered was beyond the pale. I was damned lucky they'd let me take a ride to Reno a few weeks ago for my sis' wedding.

Technically, the club was on lockdown. We were at war, a savage war we were losing to the Mexican boys pouring across the border, kicking us in the nuts when we least suspected it.

Dunno how I kept it together watching Shelly tie the knot with Blaze, Prez of the Prairie Pussies up in Montana, no less. I would've loved to draw knives and have it out with those assholes. Would've loved to slice the throat of any sneak cartel fuck who came after me too. But I owed sis a hug, a kiss, and my congratulations hissed through clenched teeth.

Celebrating her happiness meant something – even if she found it marrying a total dick from an MC we'd been fighting with not so long ago.

“Brass!” A loud knock at the door followed the booming voice. “Better shake your ass, bro. Crack's rounding up the guys for church and he's gonna be pissed if you're late again.”

Fuck. I told Rabid I'd be out in a minute, soon as the slut was finished pissing behind the door.

Twinkie and the rest of the girls weren't just into riding dick, hoping to land an old man. A couple got caught early this year sneaking cash and valuables outta brothers' rooms. Yeah, they had their asses kicked to the curb – sometimes literally – whenever they were caught. But fuck if I was taking the chance leaving this girl alone with my meager belongings.

The little blonde came striding out a second later, straightening her thong. I scooped her clothes together and threw them at her.

“Get your shit on and hurry the fuck up. I need to get outta here, and you better be gone first. Club business.”

She nodded. I folded my arms, watching her cover up her tits and ass. My dick stirred, insatiable as ever. Must've been all this stress.

I gave her one more swat on the way out. She giggled, a high whiny sound that made me wanna swing her around, slam her on the bed, and fuck her all over again.

The clubhouse smelled like shit when I got outside, locking the door behind me. Damned prospects were slacking on the fucking job. Too damned distracted with the cartel drama, just like the rest of us. Cans and broken glass crunched underneath my feet, burned joints and bags of chips, needles and used condoms.

Pretty fucking amazing Fang got anything done at all in this dump. But the Prez barely left his office anymore. He was way too busy screaming at our boys in other states and melting down when the latest disaster came through the phone. Otherwise, he was riding our asses like a maniac, demanding results nobody could deliver.

The cartel was kicking our ass in SoCal. The Mexicans were creeping north, slowly and surely. No sooner than I got back from Reno, the place was crawling with rumors about hit men in town, gunning to cut our throats in our sleep and decapitate our whole fucking club by taking out its head.

We'd already surrendered Sacramento, home to the original mother charter. Fang had no choice but to retreat north to Redding with his crew. Regroup, scheme, and hit them back – that had to be the plan – except we hadn't quite gotten to the hitting part.

A big hand slapped my shoulder. “Looks like we're gonna beat Serial and Splitter after all. Let's leave those fucks to get the evil eye.”

I grinned at Rabid and followed him into the big meeting room. The officers were all lined up at the head of the table, and more than a dozen brothers milled around at the other end.

Crack, our VP, looked more pissed off than ever when he was sober, his dark eyes glaring in his bald head. He'd been demoted after wearing the Prez title in Redding for years. Everybody was subordinate to Fang as soon as he came up from Sacramento, including the man who's charter was unlucky enough to host the Grizzlies' biggest bear.

Then there was Blackjack, our Sergeant-at-Arms. His long gray hair sat unevenly on his shoulders, the only other man here except for me and Fang who didn't indulge in anything harder than Jack and old fashioned cigs. He looked like a mean ass wizard and occasionally pulled off black magic like one too. He'd saved my ass more times than I could count when we were outgunned.

Then there was Fang himself. A big, weathered badass with a square head and a drill sergeant's haircut gone gray. The front of his cut had more patches than a four star general.

Rabid and I took the last couple seats and waited for the other brothers to file in. Sure enough, the Prez beamed raw hate at the stragglers, several of our guys plus a few transplants from the defunct Sacramento charter.

Bang!
The petrified bear claw he used for a gavel hit the table, putting one more dent in the old cedar wood.

“All right, you lazy fucks, listen up. I don't have the time and motivation to rip your assholes to shreds today for dragging your junkie asses in here ten minutes overdue. I'm feeling generous today. Crack and a couple brothers finally brought us some good news.”

Veep nodded. “Caught the little prick heading for the highway late last night. The sentry patrols we got circulating through town did their job. No mistaking the cartel ink on his brown skin. Can't do more than beg in English neither. We got ourselves a hummingbird from south of the border, and it's up to us to make him sing.”