Never Kiss an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (38 page)

“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.

Whatever they'd said and done to Ricky wasn't just an act, though. The pimp didn't bother me all night. They'd hurt him, rattled him, bad.

I'd expected him to be pissed off and take it out on me. I was ready to drop to my knees and suck him off so he wouldn't hit me again. But the bastard never came, never even knocked on my door that night, too busy shuffling around with an icepack pressed to his jaw.

When I heard his truck rumble and drive off in the parking lot, I knew I was safe.

Safe to sleep. Safe to live another day. Safe to believe that maybe, just maybe, I'd find my way out of this living nightmare, if only Skin was as good as his word.

* * * *

“W
ake the fuck up, bitch.” Ricky's sharp hand impacting my face woke me up before his cruel voice.

“What the hell?” I bolted up, scurrying into the corner, as far as the chain would let me, covering the sting on my cheek.

His lips smiled, but his dark eyes shined with explosive rage. “You're a lucky girl. It's your big day, and believe me when I say I'm a little sad I can't rough you up and feel those lips wrapped around my cock one more time.”

I shook my head, wondering what he meant.

“You've got yourself a buyer.”

My heart sank. I felt the color draining from my face. My eyes flicked instinctively to the drawer, where I hid my secret, my hope, all smashed to pieces in those five terrible words.

Skin couldn't save me now. His ring wouldn't comfort me. Not when I was ready to be carted off to hell's lowest tier.

“Get your little ass in the shower and freshen up. My buyer's guy just dropped off my advance, and I'm counting the dollars. I'll get the rest once you're safely at his place.” Ricky paused, and then brought his hands together in a resounding clap, so fierce I jumped. “Come on! Move, bitch.”

I did, just to get him out of my sight.

A minute later, the cold shower poured over my shoulders, freezing the hot tears raining down my cheeks. The chance encounter with the Pistols yesterday was like a sick joke.

For one brief night, I'd had hope. I shouldn't have counted on it. Should've known it would be taken away like this, and the only direction my life would ever go was down, down, down.

I lingered in the shower as long as I could, until I heard his fist pounding on the door. I mouthed something angry and flippant back. I didn't care anymore.

Maybe I could finally give the pimp a few barbs before he shipped me away.

He wouldn't hurt me now. Not seriously. I couldn't show up at the new man's place beat up and bruised.

I toweled myself off and slipped into a cheap white skirt and tank top. The skirt was slightly better than the crap he normally gave us to wear. Too bad the color made me think about the elegant summer dress decaying in my closet, the thing I'd have to leave behind today forever, the last piece of my old, happy life.

“Your purse is on the bed, Fresh. Pack your shit up. I threw in a bag of pretzels to hold you over. Sounds like it's gonna be a long ride to Charlotte for you, but you'll have friends to keep you company.”

Pushing past him, I dug into my purse, ripped the shitty snack bag out, and threw it on the floor at his feet.

“I don't want your fucking sympathy, Ricky. You know what the best part about today is? I'll never have to see you or your crusty, yellow balls again.”

For a second, he stared at the bag, his eyes bulging. I watched him lift a boot and slam it down, crunching everything to smithereens.

He pointed a shaking finger at me. “Don't get smart with me, you vicious cunt!”

“Why? Are you going to beat me up again? Maybe shove your puny cock down my throat?” I started shaking as I said the words, but they felt so good, so empowering, even if I was risking the idiot flying into a fit of range and blowing his deal just to hurt me.

I had to fight. I had to distract him. I eyed my nightstand, and knew I couldn't walk out of here without taking the only thing anyone had given me that ever mattered – even if it couldn't save me anymore.

“You think you're pretty smart, don't you, girl?” He stepped forward and chuckled. I could smell the stink of whiskey on his breath, probably an early celebration over the sale. “The bastard who bought you is a friend to the Deads, and he's a pretty sick, rich motherfucker from everything I hear. Give it a couple weeks. You'll
wish
to high heaven you were dealing with me again. I really treated you nice, Megan. The least you could give me is a sweet goodbye.”

Hearing my real name on his lips made me cringe.

The demon eyed my breasts, the cleavage peaking out of my tank top. I couldn't control it.

I lunged forward and spat in his face. He stood there, stunned, before slowly raising a hand and wiping away the mist I'd spattered over his nose and eyes.

“You're goddamned lucky you're down to your last hour here,” he growled. “I'll let you throw a fucking tantrum and leave you to settle the hell down for a couple minutes. I'm Mister Nice guy compared to what your new owner's gonna do.”

He kept saying that, and I didn't care. Not one bit.

“Oh, and don't try any of this shit on the boys I hired to transport you. They won't take kindly to it like I will.”

I slumped on the bed and watched him step out, slamming the door behind him. Thank God.

The second I was by myself, I ripped the drawer open and gathered up the trinkets inside. Some lipstick, a small mirror, a half empty packet of birth control pills.

I'd gotten it by trading the loose change Ricky sometimes missed to the other whores for a steady supply. I took them religiously, my only defense to make sure I'd be protected from some monster's kid if Ricky ever went back on his word about blowjobs only, or if he couldn't control one of the Johns.

I picked up Skin's ring and held it up for a moment, admiring the heavy, elegantly engraved metal. I knew it was hopeless, but it didn't feel that way when I held it.

The ring took me away from this. It gave me faith, hope, an alternative to the new impending doom breathing down my throat.

My mind went to stupid places. I couldn't stop thinking that maybe somehow, someway, he'd find me again. The ring would draw him like something out of a fairy tale, and I'd never be alone forever, just as long as I held onto this precious thing he'd given me for comfort. I'd give it back to him one day, just like I promised, and he'd give me a second chance.

I slipped it onto my finger. Way too big. But it didn't matter, I clasped it to my chest anyway, remembering the unmistakable touch of the only man who'd treated me kindly since I'd shown up here.

With a sigh, I pulled it off and stuffed it into my purse, shoving it in a little side compartment where I hoped nobody would find it.

Maybe my new owner would be as sloppy as Ricky, especially when he let his lust or rage take over. I'd learned a thing or two about working men over when I could, but I hadn't figured out how to use my charms to buy my freedom.

Someday,
I promised myself. I zoned out for what must've been a half hour, clutching my purse when the door burst open.