Never Kiss an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (43 page)

“Skin, give it back! I promise I'll read you everything. I'm having a hard time...”

“Yeah, no shit,” I said, my eyes scanning what she'd written. “Letter to the press...anonymous call from a truck stop...dropping you at the Knoxville police in nothing but a sheet and a note stuck to your back.”

I looked up as she grinned uncertainly. “Come on, baby. You're a smart girl. I know you can do better than this. What else have you got?”

“That's it,” she said, blushing.

Bullshit. The way she jumped up from the bed and started tearing at my hands when I flipped a few more pages said otherwise. I pushed her away easily and turned my back, only stopping when I flipped another page and saw my own face staring back in dark ink.

Shit.
It was good for an amateur. She'd done me realistic, capturing my intense eyes and all the little details on my mug in all its glory. She'd even gotten the scar going down my cheek, the long gray line I'd taken in a knife fight several years ago with another drunken punk one fine night.

“Fuck me. What the hell is this?” I spun around, confronting her.

She looked like she wanted to sink to the floor. “I got bored. I used to sketch sometimes. It was a good way to pass the time at Ricky's place, and during long, boring lectures when I was in college. There isn't much to draw around here...so I did you.”

I snorted. She looked on in horror as I grabbed the page carefully and tore it out of her notebook, then a few more pages I threw at her as I folded up the drawing and stuffed it into my pocket.

“This is all you get. No more distractions. I need ideas, babe, and you're the one who knows your family better than we do. Let's get this thing done so you can go home.” I watched her nod weakly. “Relax. I ain't gonna throw you over my knee and spank your ass red or anything. Let's keep this professional.”

“Professional?” she repeated, a sharp edge entering her voice. “If that's what you want to call keeping me here against my will and asking for these stupid ideas on the fly – okay. Sure, I can do
professional.
”

Her sass pissed me the fuck off. Why couldn't she see I was actually trying to help her, trying to save both our asses from this quagmire I'd chosen to get us into by saving her from the Deads?

“Look, you're gonna do this for me, Megan. This isn't a negotiation.” I gave her my coldest look, forgetting about her wounded state. “I've got shit to do for the club. I'll bring you a burrito, and leave you alone to think so you can get some ink on paper.”

Her blue eyes flashed fire. Hate. I watched her bottom lip sink into her mouth, like drawing blood was the only thing keeping her from going at my face with her sharp little nails.

I turned around and walked the fuck out. Got a couple steps down the hallway before I heard her slam into the door.

Beating, punching, kicking, screaming.

She was so loud, so shrill, so desperate, my brothers heard it all the way in the bar. They looked at me like I'd just dropped some poor bastard in front of 'em. Sixty flashed an uneasy smile, before hiding it a second later behind a fresh shot of whiskey. Crawl pretended I didn't exist.

Firefly cocked his head as I sat down next to him. Our huge Enforcer looked at me, the dark, sandpaper stubble on his chin twitching.

Fuck his amusement. Fuck his laughter. This shit wasn't funny. Not for me, not for Meg, and not for the club.

“Brother, you've got one fuck of a problem on your hands,” he growled, slapping me on the shoulder. “Let her beat herself stupid. She'll give up after a few more minutes. These chicks only make it worse if they get their claws in you. Trust me.”

He talked knowingly. Just then, I didn't really give a shit. I grabbed the nearest bottle of cheap, off brand whiskey and popped the cap. There wasn't time for a shot glass. I filled my mouth with fire and pushed it down my throat.

Only a snort. I'd learned my lesson that first night with her in my room. Shit, she could've killed me while I was passed out cold on the floor from this cheap swill. She hadn't, though, and that said something too.

“Whatever. Getting my dick wet is gonna be the first thing on the agenda once she's handed me our cash. The Prez'll throw us a bone before we get down to business. We'll celebrate. We'll drink and have a hog roast, bring the old girls to the clubhouse.”

I wasn't kidding. I fully meant to fuck every drop of frustration out of my balls once my bird was mended and out of her cage.

No, fuck
mended.
That wasn't my problem. Her folks were rich – they'd buy her the best shrinks money could buy to get her head working again.

The second she walked outta this clubhouse, she wasn't my problem anymore.

Too bad you can't stop thinking about it,
a dark voice said in the back of my mind, telling me how fucked I was.
You care too damned much. That's dangerous.

“Sure, brother, just as long as the Deads don't crash our party first,” the Enforcer said, knocking back another drink.

I watched Firefly grab the bottle and polish off the kerosene before I could get a second shot. Fuck.

The guys laughed while I walked behind the bar and dug around, finding nothing but beers and half-depleted drink mix. Shit had officially gone from bad to worse.

I couldn't drink her away, couldn't fuck her out of my mind, not 'til she gave me what I needed. Worst of all, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

I swung my fist across our shell of a once proud bar. Several bottles crashed onto the floor and shattered. Firefly beamed death at me, shaking his head, his fist visibly flexing, a reminder that he wouldn't hesitate to keep shit in line, including me.

“Somebody tell Tinman or Lion to clean this mess up the next time you see 'em. I need to make a run.”

I made a hasty exit before they could give me anymore shit. Maybe I deserved it, yeah.

Maybe I deserved
all
this horseshit for letting her get to me, trying to play hero, landing the MC in deep.

I headed into town to pick up food, wondering if I'd have to fight her to eat later if I stopped at one of the little watering holes there to finish getting drunk.

I'd find some way to forget her, and all the nasty shit she made me think about. I had to, if I wanted to get through this alive and keep my sanity.

Poor, desperate, stubborn Megan wouldn't bring me down. I'd dump her off as soon as I could, collect the reward, and get on with the life I'd dedicated myself to.

She wouldn't strap me down on any big karma wheel and spin it 'til it ripped my damned limbs off. I'd always been a Pistol, by blood and by patch. I'd be one 'til the day I died.

I'd be a fucking fool if I let myself go to pieces over this ungrateful whore.

I
wasn't sure when I finally gave up trying to beat down the door. The first few times I hit it, the rotten thing creaked and bounced on its old hinges, feeding my fantasies that I might actually smash my way out of here.

Of course it was insane.

I was too enraged to think about how I'd get through all the raging bikers outside, or how I'd ever find my way home if I escaped by some crazy miracle.

I embraced the anger, lived it until my shoulder burned so hot I couldn't even feel it.

Rage was all I had. When I was screaming and slamming my full weight into the door, hopeless and desperate, I didn't have to think about my miserable situation.

I didn't have to remember Ricky's vicious abuse, or how my friends and family hadn't done enough to track me down after I disappeared. Didn't have to remember I'd ended up as nothing more than bait for this disgusting motorcycle club, or how badly my stomach growled. It hounded me to shut up and take the food Skin would inevitably bring.

Skin. Fucking Skin.

Officially the last man in the world I wanted to think about, including Ricky.

I hated him, right down to the pale scar on his stupid self-righteous face. I hated the way my body reacted to him, the way I craved his warmth. I hadn't meant to roll into his arms last night.

It wasn't supposed to happen. And I definitely wasn't supposed to like it so damned much.

I'd woken up with him this morning, relishing his heat, feeling far safer than any woman should with a man holding her captive.

Truth be told, I hated him because he wasn't another greedy, abusive asshole like Ricky. He saved my life, and now I owed him and the rest of his nasty looking friends.

Moral gray area? Oh, yeah.

I couldn't sort the rights from the wrongs anymore. All I wanted was to go home and forget this nightmare forever, and if the bastard was going to make me plan everything out in meticulous detail, well...I would.

I'd show him I could get the money from my family with ease, if that's all it would take to get him out of my life forever. Ignoring the ache in my bruised arm, I flopped into the chair and picked up the pen and paper, using a magazine behind it for writing support.

I was completely ready to write down the first thing that came to mind. If my brain wasn't fresh out of ideas, stuck in this impossible situation.

Seriously, how the
hell
did he expect me to just collect the reward money and shuttle it to him without people asking questions? The minute I stepped through the family gate, I'd be bombarded. I'd probably have to face more questions than hugs and kisses.

I was about to break the pen off in my hand when I heard the lock jingling, and a second later, he stepped through the door.

The bastard had returned.

* * * *

W
e barely spoke over the next half hour. He didn't even ask me about the paper in my hands, just passed me a bag from the same Mexican place we'd eaten at last night, and walked into the bathroom.

I ate my taco salad in silence. My face burned every time I looked up through the open door, staring at him in the steamy shower.

I hated him. Jesus, I did.

But just then, I hated myself even more for being completely unable to keep my eyes off him.

What the fuck was wrong with me? I'd barely escaped Ricky and all the cruel men who'd used me, and there I was pining after one more.

Skin hadn't beaten me up. He hadn't taken advantage, even though we shared the same bed. But he was just like them, deep down inside, an outlaw and a devil who wouldn't hesitate to fuck me with his hand around my throat if I gave him half a chance – or pissed him off just enough.

I tried to look away, dampening the sexy thoughts. Naturally, I couldn't. I didn't have a prayer with this naked, gorgeous giant only feet away, cleaning himself behind a thin wall of glass.

I watched him. I took him in slowly, running my eyes across him, every magnificent inch.

His huge, powerful body flexed in the shower, dark inked muscles ebbing and flowing like shadows as he scrubbed himself clean.

It was a cruel repeat of last night, except worse, because the tension was off the charts. Once, he peeked up over the short glass shower door. We locked eyes and my heart nearly froze from the embarrassment.

God. If he walked out of there and said anything about me looking at him, admiring his stupid sexy body, I swore I'd go to pieces.

I couldn't deal with this. We couldn't go on, sharing this cramped little room and enough sexual tension to blow up half the state.

Maybe it was my fault for giving him so much crap about keeping this cold and professional. Now, I was the one having trouble with those boundaries.

His body drew me straight into the flames when he pulled the door open and stepped out dripping wet, reaching for his towel. His huge thighs bulged, dark flames rippling on their sides. His entire body coursed like a canvass for pointing straight toward the huge, unthinkable part between his legs, the pulsing hard-on I'd felt when I first woke up in bed cuddled next to him, tight against my ass, crying out to fuck me.

I pinched my eyes shut, desperately fighting to smolder the flames of sick fascination for this man. We were cruising for a head-on collision before he was finally out of my life. No denying it.

He'd either fuck me first, or completely destroy me.

I looked down at the last few scraps of my food and suppressed a shudder. He walked in front of me with nothing but the towel around his waist a second later, giving me the stink eye.

“What? I'm almost finished – see?” Pursing my lips, I lifted up the empty tray. “Please don't give me any shit about eating every little bite again tonight. I'm really not in the mood.”

With a snort, he ripped it out of my hand and walked it out to the trash. When he returned a second later, his dark brown eyes glowed amusement, a surprising change from the stern, frustrated sparks twinkling there before.

“Yeah, I actually believe you,” he said coolly, staring down at me like a hawk eyeing its prey. “You got any fucking clue how hard it is to keep this professional when you're looking at me with a hunger for something else?”

Crap!
I tried to hold every nerve in my body still, tried to keep my cheeks from burning scarlet red.

If only it were so easy. I forced myself to look at him, forcing out the words.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Bullshit, you don't. I'd have a hard time admitting I'm obsessed too, babe. That's why I'm laying it out there – we can admit it without making this shit awkward. Just because we both wanna hit the sheets and fuck each other stupid all night doesn't mean we have to. We can ignore the urge. We can keep it
professional.
” The extra stress he put on that word tempted me to leap up and slap him across the face. “Unless, you know, you think you're ready to have a man you want to fuck. A man who's gonna use you in all the right ways without treating you like a cheap fucking whore.”

He took another step forward, closing the tiny space between us. My eyes darted to the bulge rising beneath his towel. I thought about the huge, throbbing, rock hard cock I'd seen behind the fogged glass, every savage inch he'd stroked, probably thinking about me.