Never Kiss an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (32 page)

His hand slid around my legs. Cupping my mound through my panties, he squeezed. My fingers twitched. I hadn't had to fight the urge to slap him, bite him, gouge his fucking eyes out for a long time.

But I did just then, praying he'd be done soon. I suppressed a shudder, holding in everything until he finally pulled his hand away.

“Go shower now, girl. These guys aren't the real patient type. I'll be watching today, keeping you safe, so no worries. You never know what these biker assholes can do.”

Keeping me safe?
It was so sick I wanted to laugh.

Bikers?
Ugh. I remembered the last time I had to service them, the hard, vicious men from the Deadhands MC.

Their VP, Big Vic, was the only man who managed to scare me besides Ricky. The bastard grinned the entire time as he slammed my face into his crotch, hard enough to leave me sore for a couple days. Once, he leaned down and cursed in my ear between his ragged breaths, told me how much he'd like to shoot Ricky in the head and take me away forever.

I feared the day he'd actually come back and do it. The pimp was bad, but there were bigger bastards than him in this world, and that included everyone with a Deadhands' patch on their leather cut.

Ricky hit me with his dead-eyed
what-the-fuck-are-you-waiting-for?
stare.

I gave him another fake little smile, a nod, and then retreated into the bathroom. I heard my cot creek outside as he settled into it, humming lullabies to himself while he flipped his gun in his hands.

Those tunes made me think he had a soul once. The first few times I'd heard them, I thought maybe I could convince him to let me go once he was done with me. Maybe this was just business to him, money, and he didn't really want to hurt me unless he needed to.

Of course, the real Ricky wasn't like that at all. It was the ultimate wishful thinking. I had too many bruises and scars to prove it, too many nightmares that broke the only peace I got from hard labor in this miserable trucker whorehouse.

How many months has it been?
I wondered, leaning into the shower to clean myself, loving the way the hissing shower head temporarily drowned out the horror of my life.

I couldn't figure out how much time had passed since my first day here, and I doubted I ever would. It had to be months, maybe years.

My reflection told the full story. The beautiful, confident, playful girl who used to stare back at me in the mirror turned into a dead-eyed whore with sunken cheeks, one I hated to even acknowledge.

Megan the socialite, the flirt, the dreamer, was dead. Long live the whore.

“Hey, Fresh! Hurry your sweet ass up! Don't bother with the fucking fishnets.” He yelled it so loud I could practically feel the tremor in the tile underneath my feet.

Wincing, I dried myself quickly, and then slipped into a fresh change of clothes he'd laid out the day before. Calling it an outfit would be generous.

The purple lace bra was too damned tight. The Johns who managed to break them open always did me a favor, lending some relief to my poor boobs. Not that it mattered.

He had a near endless supply of the same cheap, suffocating lingerie for all the girls, including me.

“Yo, lady, hurry the fuck up!” This time, he slapped the wall. “I wanna get this show on the road. We don't got no time to dilly-dally, bitch, you hear me?”

“One more minute, Ricky. Almost ready. I promise.”

The nervous bite in his voice made me smile. It never took much to upset him, really, and nothing did more than dealing with the Deadhands MC.

I couldn't completely blame the bastard for being worried. Hell, I wondered if this would be the day they decided to burn this place down and take the girls for themselves, including me. My heart pumped terror every time I remembered Big Vic's big, ugly grin, the nose ring in the middle of his fat face twitching every time he roared some new humiliation.

Bitch! Cunt! Whore!

Ricky called me all the same names as the biker, but he didn't have a tenth of the wicked outlaw's hateful energy when he said them.

Shimmying my panties up one more time, I slid into my heels, and stepped outside. Ricky leaned on the frame leading into the hall, making hushed words with some man I couldn't see.

“Look, buddy, you can have her tongue any way you want. Grab her hair and fuck her 'til she gags. If you haven't heard our Fresh is the best little cocksucker this side of the mountains, then you've been living under a rock. But I need to be there for security.”

“Security.” A low, dark voice repeated the word, dripping sarcasm. “What the fuck do I look like, pimp? Some chump who's going to stand there getting sucked off while you watch?”

“It's not like that, mister. I'm just hanging out to protect my property. Hell, I'll put my eyes on the ground. You pay up, and you can do anything you want to her –“

“And I'm telling you I want some goddamned privacy. Don't make us turn this place upside down more than we already are, asshole.” My jaw dropped as I watched two huge tattooed arms shove Ricky against the wall. “You're a clueless little shit, aren't you, pimp? There's a lot you don't get if you're not following what's going down here today. I fuck the way I want and take whatever I need, and so does every other man in this club. Yeah, yeah, I know you've got Deadhands' protection. Your first mistake was thinking any of us gave a shit the minute we walked in here.”

They scuffled again, spilling their noise into the hallway.

“Hey!” Ricky let out a yelp and desperately grabbed for the man. The biker ripped his gun out of his hands first.

I backed into a corner, my mouth still hanging open, watching as the stranger's hands flung Ricky's handgun around like a toy.

“Play nice. Go mop the toilets or some shit like a good little boy, and maybe you can have this back. Give all the brothers some peace and quiet, stay the fuck outta our way, and you'll walk outta here today without a hole in your head.”

“Skin, you're making a big mistake. I didn't know this was a fucking shakedown. I thought you guys were just here for the regional fees or some shit. We can work this out. Just let me talk to your chief and explain –“

The sickening slap of metal on thin skin cut him off. I pinched my eyes shut, wondering if this was just another bad dream.

No, of course not, I'd never been so lucky. Not since this became my life. Ricky whimpered, staggering in the narrow hallway in a circle, the same way he sometimes did when he got really drunk. Except this time there was pain glowing in his eyes, hurt and terror, something I'd never seen before on his nasty face.

Why does that look make me feel so excited and scared simultaneously?

“Get the fuck outside, Ricky,” the stranger growled. “Stop crying and listen. I don't waste my time saying the same thing twice. Next time you give me any bullshit, pretending you've got everything under control and we're just here for a tea party, I'll break your fucking jaw. You'll lose teeth. Now, outta my damned way.”

Ricky hit the wall again with a loud thud. Other sinister sounding male voices filled the hallway, just as a huge shadow stepped into the doorway.

My heart came to a total stop when I stared at him. It was dark and dingy, the only dull light coming through the blinds, turning my world into a canvass of shadows.

Tall, dark, and handsome didn't begin to describe the giant about to enter my world, and probably my body too.

Shit,
tall
didn't do him a bit of justice.

He was so big he had to duck when he finally stepped through the frame, into my room. Instinct forced me to walk backwards, pressed me against the wall. I froze, running my eyes across his leather vest for telltale signs of the demon red lettering and severed hand symbols the MC always wore.

But he didn't have that at all. His cut looked...cleaner, somehow. I didn't recognize the symbols either. Smoking guns, skulls, and neon yellow one-percent signs plastered his chest, flanking the patch with his name.

I looked and looked, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. This was another club, another man, another dangerous predator ready to rip me to shreds.

The fear and shock broke my protective wall. We locked eyes, and I trembled, saying his name.

“Skin? Seriously?” I instantly regretted the words.

I lost my smart mouth the first few times Ricky slapped me across the face. I couldn't comprehend why it suddenly came back the second I was staring at a man ten times as dark and powerful as my brutal pimp.

He stopped less than a foot away from me, painfully close. His smile distorted the long scar across his cheek. All I could think about while I watched it was how it complimented his warrior look, like he'd just walked into the real world from the Norse legends I read about in college.

His huge, tattooed arm rose up to his chest, and he tapped the name patch with two fingers. “That's what they all call me, babe. Don't wear it out before I fuck you ragged.”

Oh, God.
My brain shut down. I couldn't understand why he was here anymore. Skin was too vicious, too strange, too devilishly good-looking to be in a whorehouse like this one.

I knew I'd just met my ruin.

* * * *

Six Months Ago

B
ecky laughed in the driver's seat, taking the mountain curves way too fast. I was too drunk to care that we might go careening off into the nearest ravine, right through the flimsy guard rails.

Tonight was ours. We were out to conquer a new set of boys like we always did and drink ourselves stupid.

If only those damned heels would've stopped digging into my ankles...

“You fighting with your shoes again, girl?” my best friend said with a laugh. “You try way too hard when you flirt!”

“Whatever, it's not like they'll be staying on for long anyway,” I said. “Crawford's been texting me all week. Pretty funny, really. I thought the son of the biggest real estate mogul in Knoxville would be knee-deep in pussy...he seems kinda desperate.”

“Oh, please, they're all like that. Awkward rich boys.” Becky spun the wheel in her hands. My stomach lurched as we took the next hard turn.

“Hey, at least he's cute. If he isn't a total dud tonight, maybe we'll be onto something.”

“
Pssht.
We're too young to go hubby hunting, and you know it! This party's going to be packed with hot guys, Meg. Don't get in too deep having the hots for Craw-daddy. He wants in your panties and he's a heart breaker.”

I rolled my eyes. She'd always been the perfect foil for all my wild intentions, and sometimes a bigger party slut than me.

Too bad. Becky wouldn't put the brakes on my fun tonight, and I wasn't buying her carefree attitude for once.

Lately, I'd been thinking a lot about growing up. Something about being twenty-two without a man, maybe, or else the fact that Daddy was getting more frustrated with me by the day, having me around the house.

I barely went to the Wilder Corp offices, even though I had an internship there through his strings. What did it matter? I had the same sweet trust fund that had gotten me through college. My salary rolled in like clockwork, whether I went in and answered a few phones each week, or slept off my latest hangover.

I'd plowed through college last spring and walked out with my Communications degree. Good for setting me up as the public face of Daddy's company after he decided to retire. And honestly, as long as I had my fun and landed a good husband, I didn't really care.

I was born a Wilder, and that meant living life on easy mode. I had the money and the name to be whoever I wanted.

It wasn't a sin to be figuring that out in my early twenties, right?

Sure, the future mattered, but I didn't have to think too hard. I didn't have to settle tonight. I just wanted to
explore,
have some fun with Crawford, and see if he was more than fuck buddy material.

I'd drink with Becky and the guys. Then we'd have the best skinny dip of our young lives, cooling off in the private mountain pools, the perfect way to end a long, muggy September day.

The next mountain bend twisted my ankle as I dug my heel into the car's floor for support.
Fuck.

Hiccuping, I reached down, fixing my strap. Becky laughed harder, snickering the whole time.

“You know, Meg, you could use some of that big family fortune to go to Nashville and have some fancy-schmacy designer there make you heels worth walking on. Last summer, when I went, I found this awesome little place where...“

Blah, blah, blah.
I zoned out, too drunk and eager for fun to care about Becky lecturing me on fashion. My core tingled, excited for the night to come.

I lived for the chase, the first time with someone new. I'd never found anything better than taking on a new man, feeling his face and his hands all over my pussy. Despite my wild streak, I'd stayed a good girl.

I wouldn't give any man my cherry until he put a ring on my finger. I'd fuck him every other way, and feel his tongue all over me, but I wouldn't give
that
up.

Time was on my side, after all. I didn't care if I needed to suck off half of Eastern Tennessee before I found a man worthy of claiming me as his wife.

Becky was still blathering on about some fashion crap while I nodded and purred agreement. The car pulled onto Crawford family land, and we spied about a dozen other vehicles lined up on the side of the mountain.

For a second, I worried Becky was too trashed to parallel park without plowing into someone, but she managed. She always did.

As soon as the emergency brake was on, I popped my door, and staggered out, straightening my white summer dress. The slope leading up to the little party hut next to the mountain pools was hell on my legs, but I appreciated the warm-up.

I'd need it for all the fun I knew we'd have tonight. There'd be flirting, necking, and maybe finding a little love.

It was just another carefree Smoky Mountain night, the kind I lived for. What could possibly go wrong?

* * * *

“C
rawford, I don't know...”