Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (55 page)

Sloppy. Typical. Perfect.

“Get your ass inside,” Crack ordered. “I'll take you to the Prez myself.”

The familiar stink of the clubhouse burned my nose. All the cleaning I'd done when I was first captured hadn't done a damned thing. It smelled like fucking, blood, and alcohol, all mixed together, worse than the feral stink of death.

Crack marched me down a different hallway, one I'd never seen before, past the office and the big room Fang reserved for himself. An old metal storage door at the end waited. He tore it open in one fist, grabbing me with his free hand and shoving me inside.

My knees hit cement. The door slammed behind me.

“Oh my God.” I struggled to stand, shaking my head when I saw her.

Appropriately enough, the room looked like a dungeon. It was bare, spartan, eerily cleaner than the rest of the clubhouse. Nothing inside except a few dirty rags in the corner, and the poor woman slumped in the chair in front of me.

Christa looked worse in person than she did on video. My heart sank to my knees, and I walked toward her cautiously, wondering if she was even conscious.

“Christa? Can you hear me? It's Missy Thomas. I hired you.” The last sentence stuffed a lump in my throat.

She didn't move until I touched her shoulder. She jerked awake, her dirty red hair flopping. Her eyes darted around and she moaned, scared out of her pale skin. And who could blame her?

“What? Missy? What're you doing here?”

I ran my fingers through her hair, trying to be reassuring. “I've come to get you out. I'm taking your place.”

“You're crazy!” she sputtered. Her swollen lips were bad – it sounded like she was talking with food in her mouth. “They'll kill you. Kill us both.”

“No. You have to trust me. Just stay quiet, wait until tonight. I've got a plan.”

Sure. Now, I did. I'd thrown it together at the gas station near the California border, the same place where I tucked the little goodie I picked up at the general store across the street. I hoped like hell I remembered how to pick locks the way daddy taught me.

I refused to say more. There was no point upsetting her, or getting her hopes up. It was hard to judge her mental state too. I had to stay quiet, wait for the devil to come calling, hoping he'd gloat and then walk away until tomorrow.

It must've been an hour or two before the thick door opened. Fang glowered in the hallway, entering alone and leaving his demonic posse behind him.

Christa flinched and whimpered when he walked past. I was sitting in an empty corner, and I stood up. My heart raced on pure instinct, but I wasn't afraid. My focus was all there, and it guided me, let me look the monster right in his black eyes.

“I'm not sure who's stupider,” he growled, pacing me like a lion. “You or the rat I should've killed in front of you before he took out my men. I'm human. I made my mistakes. I handed shit off I should've handled personally to lazy fucks who took their sweet time. They cut their own throats and let you take off with him, you and that kid.”

He sneered when he talked about Jackie. My heart pulsed in triumph. I liked remembering she was somewhere he could never reach her.

“Cut the crap,” I snapped. “You want the video Brass is using to blackmail you and ruin your reputation with your guys, or what?”

He stopped pacing and gave me a hard look. “Of course. I just can't believe they'd send a cunt like you to negotiate.”

“I'm here on my own. A free agent. I went behind my man's back.” It was strange to tell the truth, and it twisted like a sharp knife in my heart. “I wasn't sure if he'd follow through for her.”

I motioned to Christa. “But I can guarantee he'll do it for me. He'll show up, hand it over. And if he doesn't, then I'll make the confession. I'll give you whatever you want on tape, tell you everything I know about how he forged it.”

Fang snorted, shaking his head. “And then what? You think I should just let this pretty red haired thing walk out of here alive so she can tell the cops? You think it's really that easy?”

“You really think she'll talk? I still haven't. I just wanted to take my sister and get on with my life. So does she. That's not something you'll have to worry about for a long, long time.”

He laughed. It was a low, grinding, evil sound.

“Man, you're one fucked up girl. The only reason you never squawked is because your mouth is so full of rat dick you can't say shit. I'm really surprised about the kid, though.” He looked thoughtful. “Don't tell me she's sucking him off too? Seems a little young for that, but that junkie fuck never sat right with me long before he turned rat. Can't put anything past him. Fuck, what I would've given to let him burn back in Montana with the other traitors...”

Fang showed his teeth. I wasn't scared, I was too busy being pissed instead.

Rage curdled my veins. I couldn't believe what he was saying – what he was accusing Brass of being.

It took everything I could manage not to throw myself at his face and gouge out his eyeballs with my fingernails. Fang stepped back, taking a good, long, leering look at me. I barely stopped the cold shiver dancing up my spine before it took over.

“Nothing to say to that?” He asked. “Smart girl. I give you a lucky little star for doing one thing right. As for the rest of this shit, coming here and thinking I'd give you a damned thing...”

He crossed the room to the middle, stopping behind Christa. In a flash, he pulled his knife from his belt, tugging her hair while he held it to her throat.

“No! You fucking promised! Seventy-two hours aren't up. Me coming here shouldn't change that...”

He looked back at me and winked. The redhead groaned, shaking underneath his knife, her eyes spinning wildly. I could practically see her life flashing in the wide black pupils.

There was a long, tense moment where I thought he was going to do it. I thought he'd cut her throat, ruin everything I came here to do, driving me insane as a nice little bonus. I held my breath, all I could do to stop the anger from throwing me at him like a human bullet.

“You know what? Fuck it.” He stepped back, leaving Christa to fall back on her chair of misery. “It'll be a lot more fun dismembering this bitch in front of you. I'll be sure the Pussies and your old man get it all on tape. It'll be a sweet fucking preview of what's coming to you if they don't get their asses here in – what? – we must be down to about fifty hours. Okay, whore. We'll stick to the original deadline. I'm a man of my word.”

Hot, angry, stale oxygen pumped in my lungs. I watched him give me a nasty grin and then grab the door, joining his men outside.

I walked over to Christa and held her until she stopped fretting. It took a long time. Feeling her calm and soften in my arms helped me keep time, a long count of minutes and hours. It was the longest I'd ever kept count in my head, keeping it going long past what had to be midnight.

Just hold on, Christa. Hold on. You'll be free before dawn, or I'll die trying.

I felt bad for slapping her. But it was all I could do to get her up, make sure she was able to stand. I made Christa walk back and forth, wall-to-wall, several times. If they'd fucked up her legs some way, then everything would go to shit.

No, she could walk. The woman was just tired, dizzy, broken. I'd lead her out, slow and steady, as soon as I got the door open.

It was finally time. I pulled the locksmith kit out of my pocket, one of those cheap Houdini things. The thick storage door was definitely going to be tougher than the crappy little room they'd held me in, but I had to try.

It slid into the lock and sank deep. I twisted it, pressing on the handle, praying it wouldn't make too much noise and attract unwanted attention.

Christa watched behind me. Having her eyes on me was like feeling God watching, or maybe daddy eyeing me from above, desperate to see if I pulled this off.

Shit, shit. It was much harder than anything I expected. No matter how I pushed, jiggled, or swept it around in there, I couldn't seem to –

Click.

The thunk echoed loudly. I tested the handle and almost jumped up and shouted with joy when I felt it slide all the way, forcing the door to give way and creak open. There was no time for celebration.

I grabbed Christa and led her out, dragging her toward the back exit as quickly as I could. Running into one evil faced bastard could ruin us, but I'd done my part. Everything came down to luck now, and I prayed as we stepped outside, working our way around the huge garages, toward the gate.

If there was a separate exit that wasn't fenced off, I didn't know it. I had to work fast on what little I knew about this place. Christa groaned a few times when I tried to make her move faster, but she handled it better than I expected – better than a woman who'd just been damaged should.

I thought the lights on the clubhouse were motion detectors, but they never came on. Luck smiled at us in the darkness, urging us closer, straight toward the manual switch embedded in cement several feet away from the big gate. This one was more primitive than what the Devils had at their place – I'd watched men simply tap the big button on several occasions. There was no code to exit.

It was my turn to do the same. Christa stood in front of the bars, just like I told her, staring at me in the darkness as I tapped the dirty plastic key.

The gate chugged open.

She hit the pavement as soon as the gate gave her enough room. Joy pulsed through me watching her survival instinct kick in, the hellish urge to run like nothing else. I stood there stupidly for a couple seconds, and then it was my turn. I ran toward the open gate and slowed when I saw my shadow.

What the hell was it doing there in the night? Crap!

The floodlights were on. I got two steps outside before I heard boots thundering behind me. Christa was halfway across the road. She looked back and screamed, right as several men tackled me to the ground.

“Go! Don't fucking stop!” I yelled. “Keep going! Keep –“

A brute hand grabbed the back of my head and slammed me into the pavement, face first. I tasted blood and I couldn't speak. I looked up, seeing headlights. A vehicle was slowing next to Christa and I thought it was them.

But the man inside driving looked like Rabid. Someone screamed
go, go, go
before the gunshots exploded over my head.

The truck took off, roaring into the night. She was gone . I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or horrified, but I'd done my job. Christa escaped.

I closed my eyes and let them lay into me. I didn't bother wasting energy fighting as they held my arms and legs, carrying me inside like a sick animal. I closed my eyes just as the gate growled shut in the distance. Before I opened them, the stink of the clubhouse interior hit me again.

“You're dead now, bitch. Dead! Do you fucking understand?” A man roared in my face and pushed his cruel fingers around my chin.

It hurt. But I didn't look at him until they hurled me back inside the room. I crashed right into the chair where Christa had been, rolling over my tender new bruises until the wall stopped me.

The door slammed shut like a tomb. I felt for my wallet and the lockpick I'd shoved into my pocket on the way out with Christa. It was gone in the mess. The assholes holding me were as sloppy as they were savage. Even they wouldn't fuck up twice.

It didn't bother me that it was gone. If I still had it, they'd never leave that door unattended again. Not before somebody on one side or the other was dead.

The killer who screamed in my face was probably right. The relief I expected from helping Christa refused to relax my chest, replaced with another sadness.

I didn't care about dying if that was the price of helping her go free. But when I thought about how Jackie or Brass would react to my dead body if they saw it, the pain drove deep, a new dagger I had no way to pull out.

God! God damn it.

If only I hadn't frozen, if I'd been a few seconds faster...

The crappy room finally felt like a prison for the first time. The realization bit harsh, bitter, and merciless, gnawing on my head and my heart.

There was no getting out of this. No peace until death. If they killed me quicker and easier than Christa – and I knew they wouldn't – Brass would burn. So would my poor sister.

Yes, I'd saved the teacher. But now I'd damned myself and everybody stupid enough to ever love me.

Hours Earlier

“H
old him down, dammit! Just don't break his fucking wrists.”

The whole world went red the instant Shelly told me what happened over the phone. I flipped my shit at the Devils' clubhouse, hopped in my truck, and tried to plow right through their gate. The bastards caught up to me when I wouldn't tell them why I was ready to go, why I had to blow town right that fucking instant.

Missy. My Missy.

My woman, losing her fucking mind and heading to Redding alone. Scared. Determined. And definitely no match for Fang, the fuck I swore I'd kill with my own bare hands.

He was gonna die, that much was sure, long before we even headed up to Devils' territory. But now the only question was whether I'd get my hands on his fat neck before he seriously fucked up my old lady.

It took all three senior officers in their club to drag me back inside. I was about to ram my truck right through their fucking gate, but they were quick. Shot out my tires and ran to my door, ripping it open, pulling me out, throwing me to the ground.

I fought them all, kicking and screaming like a mad man. Even colossal Tank strained to hold me down, pushing me to the ground with all his might, snarling like a wolverine as he kneed me in the spine and grabbed at my hands.

Fuck. The asshole finally managed to get a strong hold on me and I couldn't move. Stinger and one-eyed Moose stepped away cautiously, leaving me face-to-face with Blaze. The Devils' Prez grabbed me by the forehead and turned my head up, forcing me to look at him.

“Saffron just spilled the fucking beans,” he growled. “My old lady got her goddamned truck jacked by yours, but you don't see me going nuclear. Damn it, boy, settle the fuck down.”