Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (7 page)

Yeah, the girl in front of me had sucked off too many strangers to count, and the only thing I saw on her lips was a rough desire for freedom. Something about that struck a cord, making me finger the gun near my holster.

Who the hell knew irony could be so sexy?

I kissed her on the forehead and turned, before the urge to walk out and blow the pimp's brains against the wall became too much to resist. The rat bastard stood in the hall, waiting for me like an impatient hall monitor, when I stepped out and gently pushed the door shut behind me.

“Well? Did you enjoy yourself?” The cut on his bottom lip was starting to dry, but he'd have a lot more swelling soon.

Good.
It was the first punch of many the asshole deserved if even half of what she'd told me was true.

I didn't say shit. His scorned ass didn't deserve an answer. I walked right past him, heading for the beat up lobby, and found the rest of my brothers waiting there. Firefly gave me a look like he'd been waiting forever, wondering what the hell I was up to.

I pulled Ricky's gun out of my belt and jerked the clip off, then passed the empty shell to the pimp. “Just making sure you don't do anything stupid before we leave. Thanks for the bullets and the bitches, pimp. Are we ready, boys?”

“Yeah, we got what we came for.” Sixty winked and held up a black leather bag, flexing his arm, causing the flaming dice tattooed all over it to bulge.

I looked at Ricky. The seething look on the pimp's face told me we'd emptied every last penny we could find in this hole.

I nodded, motioned to Sixty and Crawl, and pushed open the door. Firefly lingered behind a second longer, and I heard his gravely voice warning the pimp on our way out.

“You keep this between us now, asshole. The Prez is letting you off light. If it were up to me, I'd charge you interest on top of your licensing fees. Consider yourself lucky, and don't breathe a word about this to the Deads, or you'll be seeing us again real soon. And next time, we'll bring our shovels.”

The pimp swore. He probably pissed himself at the thought of us digging his grave.

The boys laughed as the flimsy door slapped shut. I watched our Sergeant at Arms inside, shoving a shitty looking club card into his hands, the only evidence we'd ever been there.

We didn't worry about him showing our rivals anything. Hell, I hoped he fucked up and did it. Then I'd have all the excuse in the world to kick his ass before I put a bullet in his head.

My brothers smoked and traded bawdy jokes while we waited for Firefly. Just before the Enforcer came stomping out and signaled us to get on our bikes, Crawl ribbed me, flashing his big, bright smile.

“Did you really get head from any of those bitches? Everyone I looked at was too damned greasy and run down for my liking, but shit, if their tongues make up the difference...”

“None of your damned business, brother. You know I don't kiss and tell.”

Sixty snorted. “Aw, shit. That's our Skin – silent and sensitive as a baby. It's okay, bro, if you don't wanna tell us how some chick tripped out on crystal gagged on your dick, I don't need to imagine it. Just hope you wrapped it up, or else you're smart enough to get a shot to make sure that shit doesn't fall off.”

He pointed between my legs. I reached over and elbowed him in the ribs. Both guys were still laughing when Firefly climbed on his bike and whistled, so loud and sharp it nearly burst my damned eardrums.

“Let's get the hell home, boys. No time to dilly-dally. Prez'll want the loot in the vault by sundown. We've got bills to pay. We didn't come here to drink and do stand-up comedy.”

Word. I climbed on my Harley and strapped on my helmet. A few minutes later, we roared into the mountains, satisfied that the club would live to fight another day with the dirty cash infusion.

I couldn't stop thinking about Meg, chained up in that grimy little room. This whole operation was about second chances. The MC deserved another chance, and so did she.

God willing, I'd give her one. And I never let anybody down on my word.

Back at the clubhouse, I crashed in my room with a beer, and lingered there 'til about midnight. I needed the break after I'd hit my laptop and looked her up.

Megan Willow Wilder. Heiress to a multi-fucking-millionaire. One time prom queen. Missing person.

Everything she told me was the honest-to-God truth. I knew it from the dark edge in her voice, the desperation, but hearing it and seeing it on my glowing screen were two different things.

I ranged. I fought the urge to pick my computer up and smash it against the wall, then ride back to Ricky's dump and get her the fuck out all on my own.

I shouldn't have waited another minute to blow the pimp's rotten brains out and take her home.

She'd been the number one missing person's case east of Nashville 'til the story got buried with time.

Her parents were as rich as she said – business barons with the cash to offer a quarter million dollar reward for any intel leading to her recovery.

That was a goddamned golden hoard for anybody short on cash. I thought about the reward money, but mostly I thought about her crying, hurting, sucking off nasty motherfuckers for the pimp.

No woman captivated me like she did. It wasn't just my sex starved dick talking either.

I had to bust her out, and I needed help to do it. I'd lean on the greed motive, whatever it took to get my brothers on board, maybe even the Prez himself.

Any talk about money brought Dust out of his hole these days. I expected him to come rapping on my door in a couple hours anyway, and I'd have a late night ahead of me talking to him about the club's bleak financials.

I got up, exited my room, and crushed the beer can into a nearby trashcan next to Dust's office. I heard him in there, shuffling around, agitated and deep in thought.

The rest of the boys were at the bar, minus Joker, who was probably off laying on a bed of needles or something.

Our Veep's road name was the most ironic one in the club. He'd never been anything but a stiff, deadpan, fish-eyed motherfucker from the moment I'd been patched in. Having him out for the evening always eased tension in the clubhouse.

Crawl and Sixty looked up at me as I reached over the bar for a bottle of...what the fuck?

“Smoky Mountain Bronze? What is this shit?” I popped the cap on the half empty bottle, took a long whiff, and instantly recoiled.

“Fuck me. Doesn't smell like any whiskey I know.”

Truthfully, the shit smelled like bootleg, brewed in some empty farmhouse.

Sixty smiled. “Shut up and drink it, brother. It's all right if you mix it with something...fuck do I miss drinking the good stuff straight.”

Bad sign. The bastard was still sober. That's what told me the booze was really sour.

Crawl suppressed a hiccup as I sat between them, reconsidering the shots I'd planned to nurse while we huddled. Screw it, I was better off sober for this talk anyway.

If I wanted Meg out ASAP, then I had to be reasonable. I had to whip them into line and convince them to ride with me on this crazy ass mission underneath the leadership's nose.

“I gotta talk to you guys about something,” I began, lowering my voice and looking back and forth to make sure they were paying attention. “You gave me shit about seeing a whore, and I shrugged it off. Well, truth is, I did see one in the back – but she wasn't a drugged out ice queen like all the others.”

“Shit, I knew you were too damned wound up not to have gotten your dick wet,” Crawl growled, the stink of that cheap whiskey on his breath. He shrugged. “Where are you going with this, brother? We got what we came for. Prez is counting it out right now.”

“Listen good. Both of you.” I paused, ready to put my hands around their throats if I had to. “I didn't fuck her. This girl's no ordinary whore. She's a prisoner. She's a virgin. And that bastard, Ricky, wants to auction her off to the highest bidder.”

Sixty's face twisted and his loud, rowdy laughter burst out. I gave him the death stare.

“Holy fucking shit. Sorry, bro. But you're expecting us to believe you bought this fairy tale?” He snorted, pulling on his goatee in amusement. “Girl must've been hooked on some wild shit. How many teeth was she missing? The more space there is in her mouth, the more she's got in her head, and it sounds like she fed you some fucking crazy off her junk.”

“That's the funny thing about having a brain in your skull – it makes you double-check the facts. Everything this chick said checks out. She's Megan Willow Wilder – some rich kid from Knoxville – and there's a fat reward for bringing her ass to safety.” Both my hands shot up, silencing them before they could give me any more crap. “I know, I know. You're gonna tell me she's not our problem, that she's some rich bitch who probably wound up in the wrong place at the wrong time. You think she's just another whore, feeding me lies. I'm telling you right now I don't give a single fuck. I want this girl
out,
brothers, and I'm counting on your help.”

“You've lost your damned mind, Skin.” Crawl slicked back his dark hair, wearing the same look I'd seen on him the night we killed three dirty drug dealers trying to fuck with our club because we cut their supply route down to Johnson City.

Typical Crawl. My eyes darted to Sixty. He stared down at his glass. The man hated disappointing me because we were so tight, and I could see it in his eyes, gathering his thoughts for a few seconds before he finally looked up.

“Crawl's right. This isn't our damned problem. Hell, this club's got one too many on its plate. We're trying to un-fuck ourselves and get back to the times where we could have a little fun, remember? Don't see how playing hero to pull this whore outta the fire's gonna change that. She ain't club business, and there's no reason to make her any.”

“I'm not doing this for charity,” I snapped, jerking their drinks away from them and standing up.

Both men shouted, ready to fight. I had a point to make.

“Come on, guys, we don't wear this patch because we're here to fuck and booze, or even to stack up cash. It used to mean something, back before the old timers got lazy and then passed the torch. You think my old man would've even let a snake like Ricky operate in this territory?”

“Doesn't matter, bro. Things change. We've barely got the funds to keep our own asses sheltered and fed. We can't go gallivanting off after girls.”

Crawl smiled. “I'd wax Ricky in a heartbeat. Piece of shit deserves it. Trouble is, he's in with the Deads, and if he doesn't go whining to them about our little visit today, I'll be surprised. He'll wind up dead sooner or later anyway – what the fuck's the hurry? It's not worth going behind Dust and Joker. Even if we wanted to help you bust this chick who's got your dick in a knot outta her hellhole, we'd all get whipped raw for going behind their backs. You know that.”

“Not if we give the Prez what he wants most, and what this club desperately needs. I mentioned the reward for taking this chick home to her loving parents. A quarter million, easy.” I looked at both men, watching the defiant expressions on their faces melt. “You don't have to crunch the numbers all fucking day like me to have some idea what that kinda money'll do for us. Far more than knocking off a few thousand from these trucker spas.”

That shut them up. My brothers both looked past me, considering.

“It's still too dangerous without the Prez's approval,” Crawl said finally. “You want the three of us to go alone, you'll be making a big mistake. What if we run into the Deads? Fuckers always outnumber us if they come full force. We'll wind up prisoners ourselves, maybe worse.”

“Not if we go tomorrow. We won't waste any time pulling her out. Let's talk about how we wanna handle Ricky. Hell, the greedy bastard probably hasn't even told the Deads about his hostage because he'll want to keep all the proceeds to himself when he sells her. She's just another whore to them. Nobody'll come looking.”

Sixty sucked in his cheeks like he was chewing tobacco. I watched him shuffle several steps to the bar, reach behind the counter, and return with a ratty old notepad.

“We do this for you, brother, you owe us big.”

“Of course I do.” I walked up and slapped him on the shoulder, motioning for Crawl to join us. “You think I'd ever let any of you guys down? Fuck, we earned our bottom rockers just months apart. You two kept me sane when Dad left us. You're brothers to me in every sense of the word, and that's never gonna change. I'm just asking for one last favor – the only one I'll ever be asking you for.”

Fuck, what am I saying?
I seriously wondered as I watched Sixty tear two pages from the notebook, looking into my eyes.

Meg touched something deeper in me than I liked to admit. I'd never dived into this hero crap before. I didn't know shit about her, and I sure as fuck shouldn't care about anything besides the reward money.

But I did. When she looked at me with those sad, blue, puppy dog eyes, I saw someone who didn't belong, someone who needed my help. And no, it didn't help that she was the most beautiful pussy I'd seen in months, everything I dreamed about laying flat and pounding into the nearest surface.

“We're gonna make you keep your word on that,” Crawl said, caving at last. He knew exactly what Sixty had in mind, and so did I.

I reached to my belt, and pulled out the switchblade we only used for slicing shit up and close combat. They both watched closely while I pressed the blade to my pointer finger and cut a neat line through my fingertip.

I soaked each sheet of paper in blood, scrawling the letters I.O.U. as neatly as I could.

I had their backs forever, and they had mine. Now, all I needed to do was find out if Meg was really worth all the trouble.

I
couldn't stop looking at Skin's ring. I held it in my hand until I nearly fell asleep, remembering to tuck it into the little drawer on my nightstand at the last second.

He said he'd save me. I wanted to believe him. For all I knew, the heavy, deadly looking ring with the claw holding onto the pistol might be nothing more than a gimmick.