Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (48 page)

No,
maniacs,
plural. Splitter laughed behind me again, low and nasty, and the four shapes behind my sister stood like statues.

One of the silhouettes had long hair hanging down his shoulders. If it was Blackjack – and it probably was – then Brass had been dead wrong him being a decent man.

Jesus, he'd been wrong about how swift they'd move on us too. Well, right or wrong, it was much too late to be upset about it when there was way more horror in front of me.

God. Realizing the only man who could protect us fucked up this bad hurt worse than the demon shaking his murderous glove in my face.

I looked into his dead eyes and cracked. “Don't do this. Please. I'll tell you anything you want to know...”

“You don't know shit, bitch. Neither does your dumb sister. If we wanted you to talk, we'd have stripped you down and mounted both your asses about five minutes ago. You're here to loosen
his
lips. Don't you get it?” He stared into my eyes like a frustrated teacher looking at a dense pupil. “Everything that happens from this point hinges on the fucking rat telling us what we want to know about his involvement with the Mexican cartel or – more likely – the Prairie Devils MC. We'll find out right here how much he loves you. Maybe he'll talk fast, get himself a merciful death, and do the right thing by us. Or, he'll cry and plead, keeping his rat lips shut while we rip you and the baby girl over there to shreds.”

He turned away, fixing his eyes on Jackie. I wasn't sure whether I should be happy or horrified she was still out. I sniffed hard, blinking back tears when he stopped behind her, gingerly putting the heavy weapon attached to his hand on her shoulder.

“I think I'll start on the little one first. Just on the off chance you were nothing more than an easy fuck to our boy.” Serial turned, sweeping the claw away. Jackie twisted her head and groaned.

Don't wake up...don't wake up...

Please, sis. Don't wake up.

“Rabid!” he barked to one of the men behind him. “Go drag that turd in here. You're used to smelling his shit anyway after all the times you hung around him. Move.”

One of the figures hesitated for a good ten seconds, and then finally moved.

I closed my eyes, praying Jackie wouldn't wake up with that asshole's claw next to her. Even if we somehow got out of this alive, she'd be traumatized for life. It was a small miracle watching dad die and being captured by the Grizzlies hadn't made her comatose by now.

But this would be the final straw. I just knew it.

The sound of feet shuffling made me look up. Rabid and another dead eyed man with long hair were carrying Brass in. My heart bled hate and pain all over again when I saw my man.

They'd bruised his face. Scratched it. His wrists and feet were bound by crude cables.

Growling, Serial stepped away from my sister. He walked behind Brass and pushed him out of the other men's arms. He hit the cement floor hard, making an
oomph
sound barely louder than the rattle of his bones.

“Get up, asshole!” Serial kicked him in the ribs. “Don't think you're gonna make this shit any easier playing possum, you fucking rat. I told the wrecking crew out there
not
to beat you senseless. They took it light. I know you're fucking awake. Look up! Look at me, before I make your girls bleed.”

Brass grunted, leaned down, and spat a long, sticky trail of blood. My fingers went numb. I rocked in my chair, wanting so bad to look away from all this. But ignoring the grisly sight in front of me was even worse than seeing dead on.

He turned, forcing himself up when the trickle was done running out his mouth. If he saw me at his side, or Jackie at the other, he showed no sign of it.

Brass just turned, looking past my sister, right at the trio against the wall. I realized then his mouth was gagged with a thick handkerchief stuck between his teeth and bound around his head.

“I'm gonna take this shit off so you can talk,” Serial said, leaning down and almost pressing his evil lips to Brass' ear. “But first, I'm gonna show you I'm not fucking around here. I'm gonna give you a little preview of what happens when your bitch ass fails to tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

The thug snorted. “You think you hurt me after I went after your slut? Huh? Getting the jump on me and cracking my jaw?” Serial shook his head. “Well, I'm gonna hurt you a hundred times worse before I even lay a fucking finger on you.”

He stood, heading for Jackie again. I realized what was about to happen before he even raised his arm.

“No! Don't fucking do this!” I rocked in the chair as hard as I could, shaking until it almost broke.

Is this what it feels like when someone's losing their mind?
I wondered.

The answer was right in front of me, vicious and blood red: if he put a single scratch on Jackie's innocent skin and woke her up, I'd never be whole again. Every cut, every scratch, every wound on her was a thousand times worse than anything he could do to my own skin.

I couldn't hear myself think. My brain slipped away as he lingered over my sister, taking his sweet time, wiggling his fingers in that fucked up Freddy Krueger thing on his hand.

There was another sound. A harsher, angrier, masculine growl, deep as thunder and just as dangerous.

I realized it was Brass rumbling through his gag. His whole body shook like he had a current running through him. I couldn't see what he was looking at, but it looked like he was gazing through Serial and Jackie, straight to the other men against the wall, grinding his throat like a motorcycle engine running on pure hate, betrayal, sadness.

“Come on, Serial. Get on with it,” Blackjack said from his post against the wall. “You're a fucking coward, you know.”

Serial stopped. The freak turned his barbed wire tattooed face toward the wall as his superior stepped forward, his gray hair bobbing on his shoulders.

“What did you say to me, old man?” he snorted. “You think you got some big fat balls in your flabby sac just because you pissed in the Prez's face? You're not strong. You're not brave. You're the only fuckhead stupid enough to vote with this rat, and I can't fucking wait 'til Fang lets me take Enforcer and puts your weak ass out to pasture.”

Blackjack stepped into the light, and Brass' head followed every move he made. I couldn't see my lover's eyes, but I knew they'd be horrible, like watching a curse starting to wreck havoc.

“I said you're a coward, Serial. You'd rather torture his women instead of face the fist that pounded you in the face. A real man only enjoys spilling blood when he's evenly matched and when it's damned well justified. This shit here...” Blackjack shook his head.

Brass let out another roar through his gag. I could see his hands twitching, tied behind his back, slowly ripping at the cord. His fingers were bloody, but it really looked like he might get it off.

No. This is stupid. You can't get your hopes up.

Brace for the worst, girl. Brace for hell.

I turned my brain off and watched Serial stare at the old man with pure venom. In a blink, he swirled, stepping to Jackie and jerking her head up by the hair. The big razor-toothed dagger attached to the glove was poised right across her throat.

My eyes wouldn't work anymore. Everything was fading, turning white, like a heavy fog was descending over the room. Of course, I knew it was all in my head, my brain blotting out something it couldn't comprehend and remain sane.

“A coward?” Serial snorted again. “That's the best piss you can come up with, old fart? Would a coward do this?”

His fingers twitched through the glove.
Oh, God.
I knew he was getting ready to cut her throat, maybe kill her on the spot, and I started to squirm, forcing my vision to work again.

“No,” Blackjack said coldly. “I expect you to scream like the miserable disgrace to this club you are when you're laid out on the floor. Rabid!”

Two gunshots rang out like thunder bolts. I never knew who drew first and fired. Brass howled through his gag, his body writhing in frustration or relief – I couldn't tell which.

Serial roared, collapsing on the floor, away from Jackie. He screamed and screamed as blood pooled out the hole in his back. His hands twitched and he struggled on the ground, but he couldn't seem to get back up.

Against the wall, the long haired man who'd helped carry Brass in hit the floor, a hole in his head. He was dead before he hit the concrete. Rabid pointed his gun at the other two against the wall.

“Drop your fucking weapons, brothers. I'm not gonna tell you again!”

The two men reached to their waists and the metal clacked on the floor. One kick and they slid it over to Rabid, who caught up with Serial on the floor, standing over him.

Blackjack turned to me and gave a little nod. Then he walked over to Brass. Pulling out a knife and kneeling, he sliced the cords binding his wrists. He cut the gag next, moving to his boots last.

“Jesus, son. It's a good thing I didn't wait a second longer. You'd have rubbed your hands too raw to deal with –“

Brass didn't wait for him to finish. As soon as Blackjack finished with the bindings holding his boots, he bolted up, amazingly fast for a man who'd just taken a beating.

He lunged, landed on Serial, snarling like a wild cougar. The psycho couldn't put up much of a fight. Brass ripped the Mauler off his hand and quickly pushed his own fingers into it, holding it over Serial's face for one agonizing second.

“No, Brass! No, brother...”

With his free hand, Brass ripped him up, bashing his forehead on Serial's before letting his head slump again. “Don't you ever fucking call me that again. You were never my brother, and you never will be. Not even in hell...”

I looked away as he tore into the psychopath's face. Serial only shrieked for about a minute before his cries became gurgling rasps. Then there was nothing at all.

I opened my eyes, first checking to make sure Jackie was still out. Thank God for small favors, because she was.

Blackjack stood over my man and extended a hand. Brass ripped off the blood covered Mauler glove and let it fall on Serial's corpse.

“Why, brother?” Brass asked, taking his hand and standing on his feet again.

“Because I'm tired of watching my club turn into a sadistic freak show under Fang. I've made my choice. Let's kick his ass off the throne. We already tried the democratic way, and it didn't work. It never does when brothers are shaking in their boots while they vote. Here.”

The older man reached into his pocket and handed Brass something. It must've been a set of keys by the way they jingled.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Blackjack growled. “Take the girls somewhere safe. Use my truck. Head north to Oregon – Klamath – and don't do anything 'til you hear more from me. Rabid and I are gonna stay behind and clean this mess up while we figure out who we can trust.”

Brass looked back at me, his eyes wide. He was full killer then, his face spattered with dead Serial's blood, and it was all over his cut, his jeans, and his shirt too. He stopped, giving Blackjack a big hug, pounding his back until the old man fought him off.

“Go. We've got surprise on our side. Now we just need time.”

Brass ran to me. I shook when he wrapped his arms around me, loosening my restraints with the knife in his hand. As soon as I was free, he passed me the switchblade and I ran to Jackie, getting her untied and then lifting her into my arms.

I checked her pulse and breathing. Normal.

“Brass?” I turned.

He was right behind me, waiting in all his blood flecked glory. “You heard the man. We gotta fucking go. No time to stop at the apartment or anywhere else. You got her?”

I nodded. Brass made one more stop near the door, giving Rabid a manly slap on the shoulder.

“Told you I had your back, brother. Me and Blackjack both, soon as we found out what was coming tonight.”

Brass nodded at the lean, muscular man, the way a man can only look at a true brother. I understood then: these guys
were
family after all. And if the last few weeks taught me anything, it's that there's nothing like embracing family when you don't know if you'll see them alive again.

Jackie was a heavy load in my arms. She'd grown since the last time I ever moved her, years ago at this point. When Brass turned, he saw me struggling, and reached out. I passed her into his strong arms, and we were off.

The place they'd been holding us was huge. It looked like an old abandoned factory, or maybe a shipping center. Rusted metal and cracked cement were everywhere.

I saw the truck parked between a gaggle of bikes. We headed right for it, and Brass handed me the keys to open the door. He passed Jackie back to me when I was in my seat. She barely fit on my lap in the truck.

The dream-like coma my brain was in while I was on that chair started lifting. I looked at him and blinked, feeling the life come back into my tongue.

“Jesus, Brass. Can you believe what just –“

“Don't talk yet, babe. Not 'til we're on the road heading for the state line.”

He pushed the key into the ignition. The truck growled to life, and Jackie twitched in my arms as he peeled a tight circle, aiming for an old gate.

Shit.
My sister's eyes lit up and she shook her head, trying to comprehend what she was seeing.

“Hold onto her tight!” Brass growled. “We're gonna hit a little bump when we go over.”

I backed up in my seat and clutched Jackie tight, burying her face in my chest. Bump was an understatement. The truck bounced in the air as it flattened the chain link fence, bounding over a depression in the ground, then tearing through the tall overgrown grass outside for several feet before we hit the road.

Jackie clawed at me like a scared kitten. “Missy? What the fuck?!”

“Shhh. Easy, sis. We're almost home.”

The warehouse – factory? – whatever the hell it was, the place was just a small dot by the time she finally got herself seated between us. My little sister's eyes were bugged out, looking between me and Brass.