Never Kiss an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (40 page)

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.

Fuck me. I'd given her enough shocks today, but what was one more?

Maybe the crude whiskey had more booze in it than I realized, or it was some sick combination of the long trip, the shootout, and taking this girl hostage. Whatever the fuck it was, I couldn't stand up.

She whimpered as I collapsed, crashing to the ground next to her.

* * * *

A
boot to the ribs woke me up. I jerked awake and rolled, my head pounding, using the adrenaline surge to slough off the hangover and reach for the switchblade I always kept on me.

Who the fuck was kicking me in my own damned room? If anybody wanted to come after me or Meg, I'd shred them wide open before they got in a second blow. I bolted up.

By the time I opened my eyes, I was crouched on one knee, my blade ready to disembowel the Prez.

“Shit!” I lowered it, ready to kick my own ass for my mistake.

He booted me again.

This time, I didn't fight. I fucking deserved it. Every swift, brutal, rib bruising crack.

“You stupid sonofabitch,” Dust growled, motioning to Joker at his side. “Get him on the bed. Let's decide whether he deserves a chance to spill his guts about what the hell's going on before we gut him for real.”

“Shit, come on! You've gotta listen to me, she's not what she looks like. I brought her here for a good reason, Prez, honest-to-God, I did!”

He wasn't listening. Not while the bulldog faced Veep raised me up and slammed me on my crappy bed. I heard Meg let out a scream behind them, cowering in the same corner where I'd left her.

I hated myself for putting her through
more
fucking violence after I'd tried to deliver her from it. Of course, my brothers would never hurt her.

None of us were black hearted bastards like the Deads. But they wouldn't hesitate to beat my ass to a bloody pulp in front of her if that's what they decided I deserved.

The Prez leered over me, his gray eyes searching, wrapping his hand around my throat. He squeezed so hard my windpipe pinched shut. I couldn't breathe. Rage creased his face, and the black stubble on his chin made him like a cactus sent to tear the life outta me.

“I practically had to rip this place apart to find out what the fuck happened. I promised the brothers I'd give you one chance, and one chance
only
, to talk. In my office.
Now.
” His hand pulled away and I jerked on the bed.

Sweet release. I inhaled so hard it started a coughing fit when he finally released me. Joker tore me up before I could get air back into my system. They weren't fucking around as they hauled me out of the room.

We marched past Firefly, who just looked at me and shook his big head.
You poor, miserable bastard.

His expression said it all.

“Keep an eye on this whore,” the Prez growled to him on the way out. “I don't know this chick from Eve, and there's no telling what she'll do. We don't need anymore goddamned problems, especially if she's a Deads' slut.”

The Enforcer nodded. I looked past him, locking eyes with Meg for about two seconds. She was still staring at me as the Veep dragged me out, daggers and disappointment in her eyes.

Sixty, Crawl, and the prospects wisely kept their distance from the ruckus in the back. I was all alone when Dust kicked his door open. Joker dragged me in, hurling me into the chair across from Dust's beat up desk.

The Veep marched over to the door and stood guard while I sat up, coming face-to-face with my very pissed off Prez. I folded my arms, matching the intensity.

He wanted to skewer me, and I didn't blame him. But he didn't know shit. I'd tell him everything, explain why I put my ass on the line for this woman – or at least give him one good reason for involving the entire club.

“I never expected this from
you,
” Dust began, sinking down into his seat. “You're supposed to be our brains, at least when it comes to numbers. For fuck's sake –
three
motherfuckers you put in coffins today. Three! And I want to believe there's a damned good reason behind it.”

“That's what I want to get to, Prez, if you'll just let me explain –“

“No.” He held up a hand lined with thick, brutal looking rings on every finger “Not yet. How'd you manage it? You've never dropped that many bastards on your own. Something tells me Sixty and Crawl were in on this too.”

Shit.
I put all my energy into not letting my eyes wander from his iron stare. He was probing me, trying to decide if he ought to put the other two into the fire with me.

I couldn't let that happen. Not when I'd served them an IOU in blood.

“They're innocent. This is all on me, Prez. It wasn't as hard as you'd think. I shook down the pimp for intel, same fucking place where I met the girl. He's the one who sold her, passed her along to the Deads for transport to some fuck past Charlotte who bought the rights to her pussy. I went after them, and hit 'em just in time. Found them at a shitty motel. They were drunk, blazed outta their minds, not in any condition to fight. I'm surprised they didn't wreck their bikes on the drive down there. I'm not gonna pretend to be the meanest fighter in this club, but it was like shooting fish in a barrel. No lie.”

Joker snorted over in the corner. “You really expect us to believe you're a cowboy, Skin? My little sister couldn't have piled up a bigger load of bullshit.”

He actually sounded pissed. Surprising for the man who never let his guard down, hardly ever cracked his tight-wound, rock solid exterior, whether he was in the thick of battle, or dragging some whore to bed for the night in better times.

“He's right,” Dust said sharply. “I don't buy it, and that means you're in deep shit. So are your friends.”

“Go ahead and put them against the wall too!” I snarled. “Take out the three guys you need to call this MC a proper club. Shit, strip our patches and bury us in a ditch if you think we're all turning rat or defying orders. Prez, if you think I put this club in danger for nothing more than wanting to get my dick wet, you're dead wrong!”

“That's exactly what I think.” Dust leaned back in his chair, cracking his knuckles. “You've always been soft, Skinny boy. That's why I kept you off the big runs, so you could be in the office, managing business. You're not a front-line fighter unless we're in deep shit. You're our support, our rock, too damned smart to wind up like your old man.”

I clenched my jaw when he mentioned Dad. Fucking shit, that cut deep.

Bad enough to hear him acting like I was a goddamned secretary, let alone pretend he was doing me some big fucking favor.

“I've been in a dozen firefights and I've spilled my share of blood for this pistol, Prez. Don't tell me you've forgotten? I was thinking about every single brother here when I decided to haul her home, put my ass on the line. I was doing my job, thinking about the numbers, the lifeblood of this club.” I paused, leaned forward, and spread my hands on his desk. “You think it's pussy that keeps me up all night? You're wrong. I know what keeps you up, though. You're wondering if we'll have enough in the vault next week to pay the boys their cut so they can keep themselves fed and fuel their bikes.”