Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (9 page)

“I've had my good eyes on you this whole time, bitch. Fuck, I can see why that bastard in Charlotte paid a pretty penny for you. The pimp said you'd never been fucked before. Is that true?”

He didn't wait for my answer, and I wasn't giving him one. Both his sick hands fondled my breasts, squeezed them so hard I wanted to yelp.

I had to keep my guard up against my instinct to fight. If I made any move to push him, to kick him in the balls, he'd probably kill me.

Christ. Why was it so hard to get back to that numb, detached place I'd found in the storm?

“It'll be our little secret tonight, baby girl. Just you and me. The fuckhead buying you won't know shit about what I do to you tonight. I'll leave you something sweet to remember when his floppy old cock's busy fucking you. I hear he's an impotent piece of shit – likes to rough his girls up and get foot jobs.” He stood up straight, a tremor in his hands, his overgrown mustache twitching. “Never understood that shit. Tonight, little girl, the only shit I'll be doing with your feet is holding them over your head 'til you fucking scream.”

I opened my eyes, ready for the horror.

But he wasn't looking at me. I thought he was about to put his filthy lips on mine, but he stood straight up, listening to the deafening growl outside our door.

Bikes. Lots of them.

“Shit!” he snarled, jerking away from me and reaching for the gun tucked into his belt. “If those boys got themselves in a skirmish with some other smartass fuckers, I swear I'll wring their fucking necks.”

His boot hit the door and it swung open. I screamed when he flew back a second later and hit the ground.

The bastard went down. He hit the floor with a resounding thud and didn't move. It wasn't until I saw the hole in his chest that I realized he'd taken several bullets, and my knees gave out.

I ducked, flattened myself against the ground, as several more shots went off outside. Men swore, talked in hushed voices, and then there were boots on the pavement outside.

At first, I thought the man who stepped through the door was one of the Deadhands' prospects. I whimpered and pinched my eyes shut, only opening them when his hand wrapped around my wrist like a vise.

“Get up, babe. Hope you've got my ring. I swore I'd be back for you.”

No way. It couldn't be!

But it was.

Skin, standing in the flesh, with several men I didn't recognize at his side. They all shared the same patches. It must've been safe, or else he wouldn't be tugging me outside to his bike.

“Come on. Hurry up. We have to get away from this place right fucking now.” He helped me onto his bike and quickly fixed my helmet, throwing his on as he started the engine.

There wasn't time to ask any questions. What happened here was written in the bloody trails left outside from the two dead bodies. All the Deads were...well, dead. And I was safe, plucked from certain hell by this magnificent, mysterious biker man.

We went roaring into the rain, lighter than before. I didn't relish having more freezing mountain water splashed on my back, but it was a small price to pay for sweet freedom.

I clutched my purse between us, and held onto him tight. Skin didn't make me recoil the way that disgusting prospect did. Having my hands on him felt oddly natural.

I squeezed his body, marveling how easily he made me feel safe. Alive. Free.

With Skin's rock hard abs underneath my hands, I didn't need to search for the numb, black void that prevented me from going totally insane. I just leaned on his shoulder and breathed deep, taking slow, gradual breaths, inhaling his scent.

He oozed masculinity. Danger seeped out his veins like fine cologne. His scent conjured goosebumps, caused my heart to skip a few beats, sent thoughts into my head that I hadn't had since the night I screwed around with Crawford, before I was disappointed, abused, destroyed...

What the hell is he doing to me?
I wondered.

My brain didn't want to think too hard. Riding with Skin put me into a trance. The rain tapered off. We rode at least an hour and a half in a heartbeat, back over the mountains, his brothers driving steadily behind us.

Their bikes never wobbled and they didn't shout. None of these men acted crazed or drugged up like the Deadhands, but I wasn't ready to let my guard down for anyone. I'd never seen a clean motorcycle club yet.

Maybe Skin was a rare gem in a cesspool, a man with a heart in a world that wasn't supposed to have one. My eyes traced the edges of the patch on the back of the cut, the skull perched between two guns with smoke curling outta them.

God willing, I'd be out of this world soon, and I'd never have to worry about dealing with bikers again. I let the comforting roar of his engine and his warmth wash over me.

I must've dozed, because the trip seemed like it was over in the blink of an eye. Next thing I knew, we were past the state line, rumbling through Newport, on our way toward Knoxville as the sun came up.

Smiling, I leaned into him, just as we pulled into a gas station. As soon as he parked the bike to fill up, I reached into my purse, found his ring, and presented it to him like a soldier receiving a well-earned medal.

“I kept it safe. I just can't believe you kept your promise, Skin. How did you find me?” He gently took the ring.

I watched his strong hands move as he pushed it onto his finger, back in its rightful place. Just then, I swore those hands could've conquered the entire world, could've owned me – and I wouldn't resist.

“Wasn't hard after we caught up with that piece of shit, Ricky,” he rumbled.

My breath caught. Holy shit. Had he killed the pimp?

“Is he...?” I couldn't bring myself to say it.

Imagining Ricky dead excited me, but it was also like having a savage chapter in my life slammed shut. Far too soon for me to process.

“No. This is our home turf. We can't just go around snuffing people out like fire ants. Shit, I'd have loved to finish him myself, but not in front of the other girls there. We didn't have time to hide his fucking carcass either – we had to catch up with you.” His eyes burned with a mad intensity, and he wrapped one arm around my neck, pulling me closer. “We'll deal with him, babe, on our own terms. I promise. He won't walk away free for what he's done to you. I'll make damned sure he never does this to somebody else.”

I'd never heard such dark, bloodthirsty sincerity.

Skin wouldn't disappoint me. I could tell by the tone in his voice. So firm, so decisive, so eager to kill.

I trusted him, and that scared me. He waited by his bike while I ran inside and used the bathroom, wringing the last of the cool rain out of my skirt.

Ugh.
I couldn't wait to get home and change into something clean and dry. For the first time in months, I thought about the reunion with my parents, wondered how many tears would add their wetness to my sopping wet clothes before the day was through.

The other guys didn't say much. They cast friendly, but distant glances my way, and climbed on their bikes with some sodas while Skin started his engine.

We shared a water the rest of the way, the only thing I could force down my throat. The last twenty-four hours' jitters sent an entire swarm of butterflies flapping through my belly. I wondered if I'd even be able to choke down my mom's home cooked food, assuming she hadn't given up on cooking at all since I disappeared.

Six months. Just kill me.

I couldn't believe half a year of my life had been spent in pure hell.

If I was lucky, I'd lose a few more to intensive therapy. I didn't want to think about all the traumas blackening my brain, all the pieces of my young, innocent self the pimp and his asshole clients had stolen away forever.

You're safe. Think about that instead,
I told myself, latching onto it for support.

About halfway through the trip, I leaned close to Skin, relishing his body underneath my hands. “Hey, let me know when you want my home address...I can give it to you anytime. It's not too far off the highway.”

He grunted, but didn't reply. Strange.

He had to have looked me up, I told myself, so maybe he already had it. That made sense. Just another half hour or so, and I'd be home.

If only it were so easy.

The knots in my belly deepened when we turned down a different exit, away from Knoxville proper, nowhere near the fancy estate where my parents lived. Another couple miles, and his bike rumbled down a short, unpaved service road, flanked by an overgrown forest crawling with kudzu vines.

“Um, Skin? I thought you were going to let me off at home? Where are we going?”

Again, silence. My fingers tightened on his stomach until I was clawing him.

No, no, no.

Please. Fuck. Please don't do this.

I trusted you.

I held my eyes shut as long as I could, praying I was wrong about my hero. I couldn't believe he'd lead me into yet another cavern of the hell I thought I'd left behind. But when the bike slowed down and I finally looked up, I couldn't ignore the stone cold truth.

If I had any tears left, they would've come spilling down my face when I saw the beat up looking clubhouse with a massive DEADLY PISTOLS MC logo painted across the wall. Two smoking pistols with a  skull in the center, an emblem of death and destruction if there ever was one.

I couldn't cry anymore. I couldn't even breathe. I couldn't handle the truth ripping through me like daggers.

Skin wasn't what I thought.

My savior was just one more demon who was probably going to subject me to new tortures I couldn't imagine. The hero died that day. It didn't matter anymore that he'd been so kind, that he looked so handsome he'd thrown off all my instincts.

I hated him for betraying me, and his monstrous club too.

T
his wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Fuck.

Soon as I got her inside, Meg stopped talking. She wouldn't even look at me.

And who the hell could blame her? I'd stabbed her in the back and twisted it deep, the price of getting my boys on board to help save her life.

I couldn't have taken out all three motherfuckers alone in that dingy parking lot. Crawl and Sixty did it for me as much as the reward money I'd promised the club. Now, the only way I could keep myself from letting them down was by letting this gorgeous, damaged, blue eyed babe down so hard I feared she'd break.

I put her in my room and locked the door, walking away with the heaviest rock in the world sitting on my goddamned shoulders. Guilt was always an absolute bitch, the shit hanging over me now made me wanna drive off the nearest cliff.

Whatever, this wasn't the end. Not by far. I'd get her home sooner or later, just as soon as my brothers were satisfied.

There was no Option B.

Meg couldn't just jump off at her parents' house. They'd never pay up the quarter million to an outlaw MC. I had to make 'em, one way or another.

Hell, I had to convince
her,
get her to help me string her folks along 'til the cash was in my hands, heading for the Prez's office like tribute.

It was only a matter of time 'til the others found out. The Prez would fly into a rage when he learned we'd killed three Deads across the state line. Shit, we'd be lucky if it wasn't already hitting the news.

And if just one person at that piss stained motel saw us, remembered our patches, or maybe just enough to give a sketch to the cops...

Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I wanted to put my fist through the nearest wall.

Instead, I headed for the bar, where my brothers who'd been along for the ride were already drinking. I looked at the clock.

It wasn't even eight in the morning. Christ.

Didn't stop me from ripping the cheap booze outta Sixty's hand and sloshing the rest of it in a tall glass. He grumbled, cursed, and protested while I poured the vile brew down my throat, hoping the napalm fire in my guts would temporarily wash away the crushing disappointment waiting for me in my room.

“Easy, jackass. It's been a long night,” Crawl said, his eyes narrowed. “You running after the bottle because she's being a bitch, or what? Don't tell me she ain't even grateful?”

They both glared, demanding an answer. I shrugged and pounded my glass on the counter, turning around before I could say anything.

“I appreciate you boys having my back today, brothers. Really. I'll deal with her. I only need a day or two. Your job's done. Leave the rest to me.”

“You can say that again, bro,” Sixty said. “Remember the agreement – once the Prez or Veep find out about what went down, we're like ghosts. This shit was all you. We'll leave it to you, so long as you leave us the fuck out of it.”

I nodded. Fair was fair, and I'd keep my word. I'd keep it with her, too, as soon as I managed to get her on board with getting her sweet ass home faster.

Too bad that was gonna be a helluva conundrum unless her loaded fucking parents decided to unload some money in our club coffers.

There had to be a middle way to do this. We had to get her home, get Dust the money we needed to hang on, and stop the full force of the FBI or the Deadhands from raining hell down on us.

There wasn't any sugar coating this shit. I'd thrown the club into chaos over a strange woman who'd twisted my dick in more knots than any woman should. Worse, I'd never even fuck her on top of it – not unless I wanted to land my sorry ass in a deeper pit.

The whiskey hit while I was out back, taking in all the fresh mountain air, the true drug I needed before I went inside to deal with her. I staggered inside, one hand on my guts, cursing myself for drinking so much of that cheap bootleg swill.

Fire tore through me, pleasurable and painful. I fumbled with my key in the lock for what seemed like five or ten minutes before I finally crashed inside, kicking it shut behind me.

She was huddled in the corner. The girl looked up like I'd just burst through the wall, her mouth hanging open.

The kindness in those blue eyes I'd always seen before evaporated. Now, those pearly blues shone nothing but hate, disgust, fear.