Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (13 page)

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.

We 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.

Skin's hand shot out, grabbed my chin, and twisted my face until I couldn't look away. “Look at me, babe. I'm telling you, I am not the fucking enemy. Believe it or not, I'd rather have you work with me to get you home sooner than drop this towel and feel your hot little mouth pulling my cock across your tongue.”

Instant tremors. His words melted me from the bottom up, and my thighs pinched together, trying to stem the torrid wet heat. The asshole knew my pussy ached for him – and he was getting off on it, teasing me like no tomorrow, acting like I was the one making this so damned difficult.

Bastard! I still hated him, but the truth was undeniable – I wanted him so much it brought me to my knees.

I twisted my head, jerking away from him. Then I stood up and pushed past him, heading for the other side of the room, before he could give me more crap.

“What the fuck?” he smiled knowingly when our eyes met again. “What's the deal, baby? We're just having a little heart-to-heart. I'm trying to lay it all out there, be straight with you.”

“You're a pig,” I snapped, shooting my eyes away so they wouldn't betray me for the thousandth time. “I don't understand what kind of sick game you're playing, Skin, but I want none of it. I just want to go home. Seriously. Give me another day. I'll have something for you, and then I'll be out of your hair forever.”

The thin smile on his lips faded. His huge arms shot up and he folded them across the skull with the smoking pistols tattooed on his superhuman chest, leaving me one last glimpse of those hills and valleys he called a torso, a rugged landscape carved by testosterone and violence.

“Yeah, you're damned right you will. You think I wanna put up with this shit for even another week, you're flat out wrong. I'll hit the floor tonight. Don't worry about me. I'm gonna give you all the space you need to think hard and get this shit done.”

He flipped the light out in the room on his way back into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. I slid into bed, cold and tired and so frustrated I could barely think.

I'd never known sexual frustration until now. Before Ricky, I'd gotten practically any boy I'd wanted, my pick, anytime. With the pimp, I hadn't had a choice who he forced on me.

Thank God for the icy raindrops spattering down on the roof over us. They gave me something outside this shoebox room to focus on, a chance to cool the fire in my body, and I let their soothing tempo carry me to sleep.

I woke up in the blackness shaking and crying. Skin's huge body was already pressed against mine, his chin on my bare shoulder, whispering in my ear.

“What? What the fuck is it? You'd better start talking to me, babe.”

He sounded so soft, so concerned. It took me a minute to realize he'd kept his word, and my body wasn't responding to the surprise of him crawling into bed.

The nightmare came rushing back. I'd been dreaming about Ricky, all the times the pimp stepped into my room, unbuckling his belt, cornering me with that hideous gleam in his eye.

I twisted in Skin's arms, loving his masculine heat, his scent, the strength he enveloped me in. His rough hands reached up and brushed away several tears staining the pillow underneath my head before I could speak.

“What is it? Don't say a stomach ache. If those motherfuckers gave you food poisoning, I swear to Christ I'll ride back there right now and knock their fucking teeth out.” I wanted to laugh at the rough, determined edge in his voice.

Jesus, no. If only it were that simple,
I thought, letting my mind see it all again in crystal clarity.

“It's just a nightmare,” I said softly. “Who the hell knows. I'm probably processing the trauma of all this. I can't forget about Ricky. It's not the way he slapped me around or the men he forced me to take...it's the times he used me.”

For a second, Skin's eyes lit up in the darkness. First horror, then nothing but stone cold rage.

“Bullshit. I thought he was saving you for a buyer?” The biker's hold around me tightened.

“Oh, he saved the most important part of me, sure. But he still took privileges.” I swallowed the painful lump in my throat, wondering if I could really tell him the rest without crying. “He'd come to me every week or two, usually at night. Whenever he wanted to, really. He'd hit me awake – sometimes with his hand, other times his belt. He'd force me to get on my knees, pull down his pants, and do everything I did to those truckers for money.”

I suppressed another sob, licked my lips, trying to see him in the darkness. His eyes said it all, even though his face remained the same killer, unchanging mask. I opened my mouth to tell him the rest, wondering if I was really helping myself or just worsening the pain, but his finger pushed down the center of my lips.

He held it there, hard and silent, squeezing me as I trembled in the darkness.

“Don't say anymore, Meg. I'm not a damned fool. You're brave to tell me, but I also know talk is cheap. It won't do shit to help you feel better.”

I blinked in surprise, feeling another tear streak down my cheek. That wasn't the response I expected – especially when he was so right it hurt.

“He's a dead man, babe. Leave it to me. I'll wipe that brutal little pissant off the face of this fucking earth. I promise.”

“Skin, no!” I pushed my head away so I could talk, shaking my head, spilling more tears. “You've already risked so much. Whatever else you've done to keep me safe, I recognize that. Don't put yourself in danger for me again.
Please.
”

I looked into his mad eyes while I begged him. It hurt to do it, but his gaze pulled me in the same way it always did.

Commanding. Unbreakable. Safe.

“I have to do this, and you're not stopping me. Neither will the club. I'll do it by myself. I'll catch him alone, babe, I've done this sorta shit more times than I want to tell you. He's not like the Deads. He's a weak, cowardly little shit. He'll fold the second he sees me coming.” He paused, baring his teeth in the shadows, more fearsome and perfect than any biker's feral grin should be. “And if he doesn't, well fuck, that's even more fun for me. I'll make him pay for every last thing he's done to you. You can't heal 'til you know he's been evicted from this goddamned planet.”

“Skin...” I wanted to plead with him, beg him not to dig our hole even deeper, but I knew it would be futile.

He proved it a second later when he jerked my head into his chest. I cried and shook and breathed his wonderful scent for what felt like hours. He held me close, rocking me like a scared child against his chest.

Why did I find such comfort when I had my face right up against the barbaric tattoos on his skin?

If the question had an answer, I wasn't going to find out tonight. By the time I knew what happened, I slipped into a deep, dark sleep.

Mercifully quiet, because this time I wasn't alone. When I opened my eyes the next morning, Skin was still there, awake and staring out through the tiny blinds covering his little slit of a window.

“Jesus,” I whispered, sitting up when I saw the fury in his eyes in the full morning light. “Don't tell me you've been awake all night thinking about everything I said. You don't need to do anything, Skin. I just cracked last night, said too much. Can't we forget it?”