Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (39 page)

This wasn't a man to reason with sober, let alone tripping out of his mind. I reached for the nearest whiskey bottle I could find and shoved it across the counter.

He popped the cap and took a long swig, pouring the crap down his throat like it was cream soda. “You remember who you're working for. I would've blown your girl's brains out if Brass and Blackjack hadn't pussied out. You're here at our mercy. This club doesn't need any parasites when it's fighting for its life. We fucking own you, and your little girl. We can stomp you both like a fucking flea any time we choose.”

He winked, and pointed his free hand at me like a gun. “BANG BANG! You're dead, cunt. Think I'd start on little sissy first, though.” he growled.

Pretty sure my heart stopped then. My fingers trembled as I heard his death threat echoing in my head, the cold, calm closeness to murder. I was still pinching the rag in my burning fingers when he was finally gone.

“Missy.”

I nearly hit the ceiling. I threw the rag on the counter and spun. Angry, shaken, and ready to face trouble. Brass was there on the other side of the bar, one hand braced against the granite.

“How'd it go?” he asked, smooth as an assistant manager checking in on me at some bullshit job.

“Your friend with the thorns on his face just told me how much he'd like to kill Jackie. How the hell do you think?”

Anger roiled his face, a more violent, masculine mirror of mine. “Fuck. Don't listen to that shithead. He's always been a twisted little fuck since the minute I got to Redding. Come on. Let's fucking go.”

He grabbed the rag and cleaner off the counter and held them for me while I quickly pushed dusty bottles back into place. I'd have to pick up on this nightmare job tomorrow.

When our stuff was put away, we left, riding along the bluish fading horizon on his Harley. This time, I practically jabbed my nails into his stomach, trying to hurt him whenever he made a turn.

I never asked for any of this shit. And I definitely wasn't cut out for it – not for dealing with these animals.

It was just my first day on the 'job' – and calling it that was being painfully generous – and I was totally ready to lose it.

Jackie's words stabbed deep in my mind over and over. Slaves. That's exactly what we were, shackled to work with these brutes until we were dead or they finally got tired of us.

And what then? I thought about Serial.

BANG BANG!

I pressed my hands tight around Brass' waist. Rage churned in my veins, so potent I refused to recognize how seductive his stupid sexy abs were beneath my hands.

What if we never came back? Jackie would eventually break, leave the apartment, and run, wouldn't she?

I chewed my lip, seriously considering hurling my fingernails into Brass' eyes, making him wreck the bike before we got off the highway. But killing him and snapping my own neck wouldn't get us out of this. Not without giving my sister more hellish memories that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

I wanted it to be easy with him. Just
once.
I wanted to treat him like one of them, an easy target for my hatred, my pain, my will to survive.

Brass parked the Harley next to the apartment and switched it off. Quickly climbing off, he faced me, ripping off my helmet before I could work off the strap myself.

“Fucking shit, babe. I thought you were gonna tear a hole in my guts the whole ride here. What's eating you?”

I turned away. The painful lump in my throat made it impossible to speak – not without crying, anyway.

“Don't do this, Missy,” he growled, throwing one strong hand on my shoulder. “I need you to either keep it together or let me know what the fuck's going on so I can fix it. If you're upset about Serial, I'll break his fucking nose next time I see him. Brother or no, I'm not gonna let that psycho fuckwit shit all over my old –“

“Don't say it!” I snapped.

He tried to hold on, but I was too quick and his grip too tentative. I ripped myself away, climbing off the bike, throwing my hands into my pockets for the apartment's keys.

He knew better than to follow me inside when I was this upset. Jackie was locked in her room, refusing to respond every time I knocked. I left her a thick sandwich I threw together and a tall water bottle outside her door.

Then I cleaned up and turned in. The stink of cleaner and old smoke came off easy enough, but the putrid reek of bad luck didn't. Practically scrubbed my skin raw, wishing I could wipe away every trace of evil.

But it wasn't all on the outside, was it? Of course not, because that would be too convenient.

The real problem was the corruption inside me, the way Brass had gotten underneath my skin. I had my chance to kill him for Jackie's sake, and I knew there'd be more. Maybe there'd be a dozen chances, and I'd pass them all up, wouldn't I?

All because I didn't have a clue how to relate to this
asshole
who should've disgusted me just as much as Serial.

It was fucking sick. And so was I. My pussy betrayed me every time I got close to him, tingling while my nipples hardened, begging to be fucked by King Asshole.

Unfortunately, this asshole saved us. He'd delayed our doom while he continued to drag me back to his sick brothers every fucking day. He was the last little thread that held me together, kept me from lashing out, doing something stupid and getting us all killed.

I shouldn't care. Much less about him. Nothing should've mattered except freeing my sister, even if it cost me my own life.

And I shouldn't have the kinda thoughts I did while riding this bike, imagining what it would be like to run my hands on his stomach without leather and denim between his skin and mine. I shouldn't sweat and shake when his green eyes bathed me in his teal fire, wondering what his glare would look like only inches apart, watching me as I lost my mind on his cock.

Stockholm Syndrome. Wasn't that what they called it when a woman starts admiring her captor? What the hell did they call it when she was way past admiring, aching to run her tongue down his chest, and then even lower?

I wasn't sure, but I sank a little more into its one-way grasp every minute I was around him, and that scared the
shit
out of me.

God, I had a better idea how to handle my slave work with the Grizzlies and the dead eyed killers milling around the clubhouse. Serial's evil words hurt, but they didn't leave me confused, wrecked, disembodied. The hatred between us was a clear wall, keeping him away from my world, and me out of his as long as I watched my step.

I didn't have that luxury in my own fucking home, if I wanted to call this apartment that. I didn't have anything – much less my sanity – while I was forced to live here with
him.

No protection. No safety. Not even the comfort black and white hate provided.

I never heard him come home, as usual. Whenever he finally dragged himself in and crashed on the sofa, I was already long asleep, my red eyes spinning in their nightmares after crying me to sleep.

I
ripped circles through Redding half the fucking night on my bike, feeling the spots on my stomach where her nails almost tore through my clothes.

Why couldn't anything be easy with this girl? Why the fuck couldn't I catch a goddamned break just one time?

I thought my ship was sliding into happy harbor that morning, when she'd settled the hell down, agreeing to work on the one and only path that might set us all free. Then Serial had to stick his fucked up nose into it.

Shit! I should've rode straight to the clubhouse, kicked down the door, and pummeled his ugly face 'til it shattered. Too bad the asshole was the best shot this club had, and the Prez made it crystal fucking clear we'd need a good sniper on the roof if the cartel ever got the balls to attack our clubhouse.

Didn't stop me from wanting to beat him raw. It'd be satisfying for the first sixty seconds, before all the brothers descended on me, beating my ass to death before they dragged the girls away to the warehouse to be slaughtered like animals.

I hadn't been so frustrated since sitting through sis' wedding reception, surrounded by Prairie Pussies. I'd kept it together in Reno without taking a hit. But fuck, my whole body ached for one right now.

At least shooting smack up my veins would've cut my fuming body a break. I couldn't lose the hard-on turning my cock to steel no matter how many miles I rode, fighting to push Missy outta my mind like a madman stuck on OCD.

How fucked up was I for wanting her to scratch through my clothes on that tense ride home? If she would've gone at it a little harder, a little lower, I would've parked the bike on the side of the road and thrown her to the ground.

Tossing her to the earth and ripping off her pants sounded better than a shot of pure fucking heaven right about now. What I wouldn't give to feel her, fuck her, mark her with my teeth...I hadn't even given her a proper brand yet.

No, she wasn't really my old lady, but damn if I didn't want to make her fuck like one.

Just the thought of claiming that pussy as mine, stuffing her up to the hilt with my big dick, was the match that lit me on fire. I raced down the highway like an asshole who'd had one too many, weaving in and out the empty lanes, pushing my engine to its limits.

The cold wind couldn't do shit to calm me down. Nothing would. Nothing except ripping her panties off with my bare hands and sinking into that hot, pink, arrogant slit, fisting her hair and grinding my teeth while I fucked her to the earth's core.

Didn't she understand her life and death was in my fucking hands? Christ, I wanted to drive it home, drive it
deep,
drive it hard and rough 'til she lost control and gushed all over my dick.

If she was gonna keep screaming and snarling in my face, then I wanted to give her a damned good reason to.

My balls were still on fire on the way back, hoping enough time had passed to put her down for the night so I could collapse on the couch like a zombie. I was afraid for what I'd do if I saw her again in this state.

My hands and my cock were done listening to my head for the night. They wanted to send a message one way or another, something she'd never forget, something to tell her this old lady shit wasn't a fucking game.

I stopped off at the liquor store for a six pack and barreled back to the apartment. Place was mercifully empty when I got inside. I chugged the brews fast, letting cheap carbonation and alcohol burn my throat, waiting 'til the booze punched me in the stomach and put me down for the night.

I never asked for any of this shit. I was coming apart a little more day by day, caught between my club and this beautiful chick with the bratty sister, without any room for mistakes that would end in us being buried together.

At some point, I passed out, wondering if I'd wake up and find out it was all a bad dream. But then, I would've had to wake up about five years earlier, about the time my life went to shit.

Missy wouldn't even talk to me the next day. We rode to the clubhouse in stone cold silence for another fun filled day ahead. I'd be hearing about the latest cartel raids while she worked her ass off trying to clean this shithole up and earn the brothers' trust.

I kept an eye out for her in between checking in with Blackjack and Crack. It was no small relief to have them riding my ass about cartel business instead of the girls.

Blackjack was in the garage, probably on his tenth smoke that morning. “Three shipments hit last night on the run to San Diego. Fucked beyond all recognition. That's it, boys. The club won't be making any more hops too close to the border 'til we're confident we own the roads south again.”

“Fuck!” Crack smashed his fists together. “Did you tell the Prez yet?”

“Nope.” Blackjack winked. “That's your job, VP. Don't need to tell you morale's in the shitter too. If Fang finds out, he'll blow the fucking roof off and cancel Lipstick Night tomorrow. And that's if he doesn't send our asses charging into Mexico to get cut to pieces.”

The VP growled, giving me the evil eye. “This is all your bitch's dead daddy's fault, Brass. I fucked up letting you haul those cunts outta here, I swear to fucking God...”

He stepped up. Crack was a total hothead, always waving his dick, remembering the days when he used to be the Prez in Redding before Fang spoiled his fun. I didn't move a muscle, bowing up 'til I was at least a good inch taller than the VP.

“It's not their fault,” I said coldly. “Cancer man was the rat. You've got nothing to the contrary because it doesn't fucking exist. With all due respect, you gotta let this go, Veep. I'll keep them outta our hair, make sure they never talk. Shit, if anybody could bring the dead man back to life and put a bullet in his skull for the shit he's done to this club, I'd be the first in line.”

An obvious lie. I didn't know what the hell to do with anything involving Missy anymore. She made my dick throb in my pants so fucking hard it sucked the blood outta my head. Too hard to think. Maybe so damned hard it pulled the blinders off too, because I was really starting to wonder about the moves my brothers were making.

And doubting my own fucking club was never a good thing.

Crack eased back a single step. He still looked like he was ready to wheel around and send his fist into my jaw anytime. I scraped my boot on the concrete, looking at Rabid next to me.

“The boy's right,” Blackjack said, pushing his big beefy body between the Veep and I. “You wanna punch someone in the mouth, I'm right here. It was my call to give the girls a chance instead of burying them. I don't regret making it – especially not when he made such a convincing show out of claiming the older one. Tell me, Brass. Was it worth it, son? You managed to fuck some respect into that pussy yet, or is she still icing down your nuts?”

Rabid coughed, suppressing a laugh. I looked at the ground and refused to answer the old man. Blackjack was a fuck, but he stuck up for me in his own way, diffusing a situation that easily could've gone sour with the Veep.

Crack was halfway across the garage and almost in the clubhouse when he spun around, pointing at the three of us. “Don't breathe a word about the raid for a couple days. I'll tell the Prez then. No fucking way am I gonna be the asshole who spills his guts and gets Lipstick Night canceled.”