Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (35 page)

“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 recognized that prickly tone in Blackjack's voice. Shit, if this beauty didn't spill her guts soon, the Enforcer was gonna go ape and squeeze it outta her, just like he promised.

“Well?”

It was his last warning. And she wouldn't talk, pinching her sweet lips together. I watched 'em turn white, hating how they resembled a corpse's mouth as the life drained away.

Blackjack threw his cig down and stubbed it out with one boot. Then he grabbed her, forcing his fingers around her throat. Little sister screamed into Serial's hand, starting to kick and thrash. He swore, growling as he tightened his hold on her.

So, both these girls were fighters. Sisters, maybe, sharing the same wildcat blood.

I took a step closer, hating Blackjack for throwing her up against the laundry machine, one more pinch away from seriously choking her. The chick gasped for air, sputtering as she clawed at his ruthless hand.

“Okay! Just get off me...let me breathe.”

Snarling, Blackjack gave her a little space. When she sat up again, rubbing her neck, her eyes went straight to me. I tensed up. Having those wide perfect eyes glowing so helplessly in front of me just fed the crazy ass protective urge swelling in my chest.

Fuck,
crazy
didn't begin to describe it. Wanting to fight my own brothers for a babe I'd only seen for the first time five minutes ago was certifiably insane.

“It's upstairs. Underneath my bed a suitcase. Pull it out and count everything down to the dollar if you want – it's all there. Go ahead and kill me if I'm lying.”

Blackjack ignored her. He pointed at Splitter and nodded. It was the only signal the brother needed to know he'd better get the fuck up there and verify what she'd said.

“We'll wait,” Blackjack said. “If you're bullshitting me, girl, then I'll finish what I started. I don't give a fuck if the little girl watches either.”

That got another muffled sob in Serial's palm. Poor girl. No bullshit, I honestly felt bad for her. Dragging kids into this shit was always rough.

I wondered who the fuck the kid was – the feisty chick looked too damned young for a daughter. If the girl was hers, then she was officially the hottest MILF I'd ever gawked at in my life.

We waited. After awhile, Splitter came trundling downstairs, a fat duffel bag in hand. He pushed through us, plopped it on the dryer, and flung open the first.

Glorious cash lay inside, stuffed to the seams, rolls upon rolls of crisp hundreds bundled together.

“Must be a full million here, maybe more,” he said, looking up at Blackjack. “Don't think she's bullshitting. It's all here.”

The Enforcer nodded. He walked over, zipped the suitcase, and then passed it to Rabid.

“Let's get this over with,” Serial said, reaching for his gun and stepping in front of the stairs. “Come on, brothers. We'll make this quick and clean for these bitches.”

Serial and Splitter had their guns out in a flash, aimed at the girls. Rabid hesitated. Blackjack stared at me, like he was gauging my reaction.

I hurled myself across the room before anyone could pull the trigger, shoving both hands out like a fucking scarecrow. Trying to cover both girls at the same time wasn't easy.

“Brass? What the fuck are you doing, son?” Blackjack sounded pissed, but amusement flickered in his old eyes.

“We don't have to do this! The chick kept her word...she gave us the fucking money! We got what we came for, right? What's the fucking point of this?”

“You gotta be shitting, brother.” I hated hearing that word from Serial's fucked up mouth. “What do you want to do with these bitches, then? Leave 'em free to run off to daddy's old friends in the police? Sending every dime to the fight with the cartel's already got us strapped. We can't afford bigger bribes to keep pigs' mouths shut. Tell him, Blackjack.”

“Never said they'd get turned loose, asshole,” I growled, trying to make up an alternative on the spot.

If I didn't, these girls were sure as dead, and I'd never find out what those wide soft hips were like naked.

Think, dammit!
Alarms blasted in my head.
You've got about five seconds to start talking and stop the guns.

“Come on, Blackjack. You know this shit's unnecessary. We don't need to start wiping people up like the cartel fucks. They'll keep their mouths shut if we bring 'em with us. The clubhouse is a shithole...we need somebody to clean house. These girls are perfect for that.”

Sweet Ass shot me a vicious look. No gratitude whatsoever. Guess I was gonna fuck myself one way or another and end up on somebody's shitlist, but being on hers was better than seeing her and the kid dead.

“You're outta your fucking gourd, Brass,” Serial growled, tightening his hold on the young one's shoulders. “I'd love to see you bring these bitches back. Fucking love it! Prez would kick your ass right up your throat. You're damned lucky Blackjack's not that stupid.”

I looked over. The older brother wasn't moving. His lips were curled – curiosity or confusion, I couldn't tell which.

Fuck. I wracked my brain at light speed, trying to find something, anything that would save them from ending up underneath the old warehouse like the Mexican and so many more.

Then it hit me. A crazy, stupid idea so outta bounds it just might work. Effective or not, I was about to make myself a fucking laughing stock to every brother in Redding, and maybe beyond.

Whatever. I'd be glad to have the humiliation if it saved these chicks from holes in their heads.

“You can't snuff her out,” I said, reaching for Sweet Ass and throwing my arm around her. “This is my old lady. Right here, right now, I'm claiming her.”

She flinched when I said the c-word. If those eyes were stormy honey colored oceans before, now they were full of tsunamis, spinning with hate and confusion and disbelief.

I pointed. “Don't touch the little girl neither. She's family. You fuck with my old lady's blood, you fuck with me. I'm dead serious.”

Splitter lowered his gun, busting a gut. His nose ring swung as he let it pour out, the only brother laughing at my pure insanity.

Rabid looked at me like I'd lost my fucking mind. Serial snorted, waving his gun at his side. Whatever, at least he'd lowered it – but only for a second.

Next thing I knew, the fucker had it up again, this time pointed at me. “So much for being clean. You must be back on that shit if you're seriously doing this, Brass, you junkie asshole. Just give the order, Blackjack. I'll put this asshole outta his misery so we can –“

“Put the damned gun down,” Blackjack growled, taking a heavy step forward. “The brother's right. Crazy and stupid as this is, I'm gonna allow it. We got what we came for, and we've gotten ourselves a good laugh too. There's no need for a massacre. Yeah, sure, that'd be the neat and clean way, but this fucking club's been stuck on that track for too damned long. We're trying something different.”

Serial's jaw dropped. Dunno how I held onto mine. My arm squeezed the chick I'd claimed, pulling her closer, burying her face in my chest so she wouldn't have to look at my brothers anymore.

“I'm gonna give you a week to find a place for these girls,” Blackjack continued. “They can't stay at the clubhouse forever. Serial's right, Fang'll tear everybody involved to shreds if we pile this kinda shit on his plate with everything else he's dealing with. Now that you've claimed them, they're
you're
problem, Brass. If they start to become a problem for the club again, then I won't hesitate to finish the cleanup we started here today. Got it?”

I looked at him and nodded. Guns were holstered.

I couldn't fucking believe it worked. Hell, I couldn't believe how Blackjack just turned into more of a fucking mystery than he already was. And I
really
couldn't get it through my skull that I now had two strange women on my hands, and I didn't know shit about how to handle them.

“Let's move,” Blackjack growled, aiming his hard stare at everybody else. “Get the cash loaded so we can get the fuck outta this dump. Smells like the place where my old man died...”

“You got a name, or what?” I said, helping her onto my bike.

“It's Melissa, but everybody calls me Missy.” She eyed me warily. “What's happening to us? What does it mean to be claimed?”

I coughed, looking for a spare helmet. Fuck, it'd been too long since I had a passenger on my ride, let alone an hourglass with such a tight sweet body.

“Means you're under my protection now, babe. I'm gonna help you get outta this shit, but you gotta work with me. We'll link up with your girl when we get to the clubhouse. She'll be all right riding with Blackjack.”

Convenient answer. No way was I explaining all the honors and obligations of an old lady 'til I had to.

“Him?” She bared her teeth, pointing to the Enforcer securing the kid to his bike. “He almost fucking killed us!”

“Yeah, he did. But he changed his mind, didn't he?” I winked. “Nice to hear a firecracker go off between those teeth. Keep that shit coming. You'll fit in fine with where we're going. Put this on.”

I pushed the helmet onto her head, trying to tuck her hair underneath it. She got pissed real fast and batted my fingers away, fixing the strap herself.

“You ever been on one of these before?” I asked, taking my place up front.

“No. I'll figure it out. I'm more worried about Jackie, my sister...”

I tried to hide the big whoosh of relief soaring through my chest. No, not a MILF after all, and thank fuck for that. My cock wouldn't have blinked at her having a kid, but fuck if it didn't make things easier. Dealing with a kid sister as part of the package was a whole lot easier than a daughter.

“She'll be okay. He's not a bad guy all the time. Blackjack always keeps his word. He'll take care of her, same way I'm gonna make sure you get home in one piece. Hold on tight 'cause we're about to roll.”

Reaching behind me, I found her hands and pulled them around me. One rough tug. The girl only resisted a little bit. Soon as I started my engine and the bike jerked, I became her whole world, the only thing between her flying off onto the road.

I grinned to myself. Never fucking failed. These rides always brought the lucky gals closer to the brothers. It took me a second to remember she wasn't choosing it, though, because I'd made her choice for her.

All Missy – beautiful fucking name – could do was lock her hands around me and bear it as we ripped down Redding's streets. Fuck if I didn't enjoy it, even if I'd taken her like a total barbarian.

Her hands pressed tighter around my waist each time I followed my brothers around the corners. I kept it together, but my greedy cock didn't. He was making me come apart a little more by the second, shooting lightning to my brain, making me imagine what her pretty fingers would feel like around my dick, or maybe clawing at my shoulders while I got between her legs and throttled her a hundred times harder than anything she'd feel on this easy cruise through town.

By the time we were a couple blocks from the clubhouse, she'd adjusted. Missy found her balance, loosening the death grip she had at first, just holding her hands on me like they were always meant to be there.

Why the hell did it feel so natural? My brothers and I had already done too much evil shit to her and little sis for it to feel this
good.

Fuck it. I shook my head, keeping my eyes on the road, following Blackjack and Serial to the gate. Worrying about the rights and wrongs constantly was for fuckheads like the Prairie Pussies. In this club, a man took action. If he saw something good for himself or good for the club, then he didn't wait around to ask questions or ponder the ethics. That shit was for civilian eggheads teaching philosophy.

Taking what I wanted when I wanted was the surest way I'd found to set a man free.

I slowed down and stopped while we waited for the gate to open. A few more minutes and we were in, back in the fortress. I killed my engine inside the hanger-sized garage attached to the clubhouse and started to help Missy unload.

“Where's Jackie?” she asked, without so much as a thank you.

I grunted, pointing as I took her helmet. Blackjack already had the kid off the bike and she ran toward us, throwing her skinny arms around Missy's smooth neck. They hugged for what seemed like ages.

Blackjack watched us from a distance before heading inside, shooting me a warning look.
Keep this shit under control, asshole, or I'll finish what we started in the basement. You know I keep my word.

He didn't need to say it to read him loud and clear. When the girls were finally done sobbing all over each other, I laid a hand on Missy's shoulder. Predictably, she shook it off right away. Least I'd gotten her attention.

“Let's go inside. I got a room for you ladies. We can figure out something more permanent later, but it'll be a place to flop for now.”

I waited to make sure they weren't going to fuck me over. After another one of those doe-eyed stares, Missy followed, holding Jackie by the hand.

The teenager wrinkled her nose as soon as we were inside. “Stinks worse than the house in here!”

Missy gave her arm a jerk. I turned around in time to see her uneasy smile.

“She's right. This place isn't always like this. It's been...hectic lately.” I left it at that.

Explaining the ins and outs of the cartel swarming us like angry fucking wasps, killing good men, wasn't my job. It wasn't her fucking business anyway. Of course, I knew she'd be asking me why we'd taken her inheritance and made her prisoner in the first place soon.

I unlocked my room and stepped inside, grateful not to run into any brothers. Hoped like fuck Twinkie or some other bitch hadn't found her way back into my place while we were gone. I stepped in ahead of the girls, scanning it over, glad when I saw it was just the way I left it.

“Have a seat. I got some clean sheets somewhere...”