Never Kiss an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (39 page)

Ricky walked in with three huge men behind him. I'd seen them before, a trio of dark-eyed, evil-looking bastards who'd visited the whorehouse before, all of them wearing Deadhands MC cuts.

Big Vic wasn't with them, the only saving grace.

“Careful now, boys,” Ricky said nervously. “Please don't rough her up. Big Vic doesn't get his cut if you hand her over bruised, and the guy on the other end notices. He was very specific about wanting undamaged goods, if ya'll know what I mean. I told her not to get smart with you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, pimp.” An older man with a salt and pepper handlebar mustache motioned to the others. “Chaps, get this bitch on your bike and find her a helmet. Spiny, let's make sure this cocksucker shows us the money. Up front. All of it.”

A nasty, muscular man wearing a PROSPECT patch stepped forward and grabbed my arm. “Let's go, girly. I'll make sure you're all taken care of.”

I gasped on the way out, feeling his hand run up my skirt. It was looking extremely unlikely these brutes were going to treat me nicely while they did their job.

The worst part? There was absolutely nothing I could do about it. Not even Ricky could object now, not when he had his eyes totally focused on the money, and bikers of any sort seemed to be his personal nightmare.

We'd be roaring over the mountains toward North Carolina nonstop. If I tried to run, tried to wave to anyone in traffic and show them what was happening, I'd be a dead girl in a matter of minutes. Jesus, I'd probably get other people killed.

I had to play along. I had to numb all my feelings and just get through this.

If I could survive the trip, see what I was dealing with on the other side, I could plan my next move. Everyone had a weakness, even this new buyer. If I could find it, exploit it, and use it to get in touch with Skin, then I still had hope.

I wouldn't give up. I promised myself I'd stay true, stay strong, stay –

“Fuck me raw.” Chaps put his hand on my shoulder as he pushed me onto his bike. “It's gonna be pure hell having your hands inches from my dick on this long haul. Sure hope the Prez gives the okay for a little fun before we drop you off with your new daddy.”

I looked away, refusing to give him the satisfaction. His eyes clung to me for a few more seconds, and then snorted and turned away, lighting up a smelly, cheap cigarette.

I had to take myself away from all this. My mind turned over, working to find that numb, vacant space I'd gone to before to survive this nightmare.

Peace never came easy. I was still searching for it, trying to put myself in that rare zen space I'd found a few times before, when the other men came storming out.

Ricky hovered behind the door, looking out the dirty back window, his eyes on me. I wouldn't look at him, too busy eyeballing the harsh, nasty men who got on their bikes. Mustache Man signaled the younger ones, and we took off with a roar.

I hated having to hold onto the bastard driving. My eyes focused on his pal in the mirror, the one called Spiny. He drove strangely, kissed the back of our bike with his front wheel several times on the highway. I saw something smoking in his hand, too fat to be a cigarette.

“Oh my God. Is he stoned?” The fear raging in my chest made me want another one of Ricky's joints, the only thing I'd ever had at the whorehouse to temporarily put me out of my misery.

“Shut your pretty mouth and relax, princess, or I'll fucking make you,” the biker in front of me growled. “You're safe. Just trust us. Now, squeeze me tighter. I'm looking for an excuse to shove both those little hands on my cock, and you'll give me a good one if you don't close your mouth.”

I did. I bit my tongue for several more miles, watching as the other Prospect drove like he was drunk. My heart filled with hope and terror when I saw a squad car about to pass us on the other side.

This could be it.

If the policeman noticed Spiny's crappy driving, maybe he'd pull them over, and then I'd find my way out of this. Assuming it didn't end in a shootout...

I started to count my heartbeats as the car drew nearer, so heavy and tense they made me want to pass out. The policeman passed, didn't even slow down, and a second later he disappeared behind the latest mountain bend.

Fuck.
Disappointed again. Why did I ever expect anything else?

* * * *

I
t took forever to cross the state line into North Carolina. Far longer than it should've.

The men kept getting lost in the mountains, and I realized Mustache Man was just as fucked up as his Prospects.

My driver, Chaps, swore repeatedly. Then the storm hit, and ice cold rain buried his curses.

Freezing bullets pounded everything, so torrential and sudden and loud it should've been terrifying. We couldn't see. The bikes skidded down the hills just when I thought we were about to wreck, into some nameless little town with pale yellow lights blurred by the small ocean dumping down on us.

I was officially numb now. Ready for whatever was going to happen, even my own death.

The men screamed at each other as we rolled into a cheap motel. At first, I thought it was to fill up, but the gas pumps outside were just as derelict as the little shack next to it with the broken windows.

Our bike jerked to a stop. I watched Chaps jump off and go stomping toward his comrades, all of them pissed off and yelling.

“We'd better spend the fucking night, Lock. No way are we gonna get to Charlotte and make this chick presentable in this kinda weather.”

“The pimp said no delays, asshole. We'll take a few hours and keep going, whatever we need for this shit to blow over. Veep's got us on a tight schedule. Big Vic'll choke our sorry asses out personally if we don't keep moving.” Mustache man pushed the prospect, and I watched Chaps stagger back, a hatred he couldn't reciprocate glowing in his eyes. “Fuck you both. Get your own rooms. If you're just gonna stand there, I'll take care of this cunt myself. She owes me extra for all the trouble.”

I barely had time to blink or wipe the latest cold rain from my eyes. His huge hand practically ripped me off the bike, and soon we were heading for the dingy motel office.

I stood like a zombie, listening as he made arrangements with the bored looking man working in the run-down place. The dumpy owner didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He mistook my tears for rain, if he noticed at all.

Cash and keys were exchanged. The gorilla's hand seized my wrist again, pulling me out, toward a small white door with its paint flaking off.

My stupor didn't lift until I realized he was about to push me inside, alone with him.

Oh, God.
He reeked booze and motor oil up close. The way his eyes wandered while he fumbled with the key told me he wasn't sober. Small miracle we hadn't all died on the way here.

His reckless expression told me he had even less incentive to hand me over untouched. He wanted me before I reached my buyer, and the demon was obviously too stoned to care about the consequences.

The door popped open and he flipped me around. I hit the wall hard, his body pressed against mine, too clumsy and horny to even close the door.

“I've had my good eyes on you this whole time, bitch. Fuck, I can see why that bastard in Charlotte paid a pretty penny for you. The pimp said you'd never been fucked before. Is that true?”

He didn't wait for my answer, and I wasn't giving him one. Both his sick hands fondled my breasts, squeezed them so hard I wanted to yelp.

I had to keep my guard up against my instinct to fight. If I made any move to push him, to kick him in the balls, he'd probably kill me.

Christ. Why was it so hard to get back to that numb, detached place I'd found in the storm?

“It'll be our little secret tonight, baby girl. Just you and me. The fuckhead buying you won't know shit about what I do to you tonight. I'll leave you something sweet to remember when his floppy old cock's busy fucking you. I hear he's an impotent piece of shit – likes to rough his girls up and get foot jobs.” He stood up straight, a tremor in his hands, his overgrown mustache twitching. “Never understood that shit. Tonight, little girl, the only shit I'll be doing with your feet is holding them over your head 'til you fucking scream.”

I opened my eyes, ready for the horror.

But he wasn't looking at me. I thought he was about to put his filthy lips on mine, but he stood straight up, listening to the deafening growl outside our door.

Bikes. Lots of them.

“Shit!” he snarled, jerking away from me and reaching for the gun tucked into his belt. “If those boys got themselves in a skirmish with some other smartass fuckers, I swear I'll wring their fucking necks.”

His boot hit the door and it swung open. I screamed when he flew back a second later and hit the ground.

The bastard went down. He hit the floor with a resounding thud and didn't move. It wasn't until I saw the hole in his chest that I realized he'd taken several bullets, and my knees gave out.

I ducked, flattened myself against the ground, as several more shots went off outside. Men swore, talked in hushed voices, and then there were boots on the pavement outside.

At first, I thought the man who stepped through the door was one of the Deadhands' prospects. I whimpered and pinched my eyes shut, only opening them when his hand wrapped around my wrist like a vise.

“Get up, babe. Hope you've got my ring. I swore I'd be back for you.”

No way. It couldn't be!

But it was.

Skin, standing in the flesh, with several men I didn't recognize at his side. They all shared the same patches. It must've been safe, or else he wouldn't be tugging me outside to his bike.

“Come on. Hurry up. We have to get away from this place right fucking now.” He helped me onto his bike and quickly fixed my helmet, throwing his on as he started the engine.

There wasn't time to ask any questions. What happened here was written in the bloody trails left outside from the two dead bodies. All the Deads were...well, dead. And I was safe, plucked from certain hell by this magnificent, mysterious biker man.

We went roaring into the rain, lighter than before. I didn't relish having more freezing mountain water splashed on my back, but it was a small price to pay for sweet freedom.

I clutched my purse between us, and held onto him tight. Skin didn't make me recoil the way that disgusting prospect did. Having my hands on him felt oddly natural.

I squeezed his body, marveling how easily he made me feel safe. Alive. Free.

With Skin's rock hard abs underneath my hands, I didn't need to search for the numb, black void that prevented me from going totally insane. I just leaned on his shoulder and breathed deep, taking slow, gradual breaths, inhaling his scent.

He oozed masculinity. Danger seeped out his veins like fine cologne. His scent conjured goosebumps, caused my heart to skip a few beats, sent thoughts into my head that I hadn't had since the night I screwed around with Crawford, before I was disappointed, abused, destroyed...

What the hell is he doing to me?
I wondered.

My brain didn't want to think too hard. Riding with Skin put me into a trance. The rain tapered off. We rode at least an hour and a half in a heartbeat, back over the mountains, his brothers driving steadily behind us.

Their bikes never wobbled and they didn't shout. None of these men acted crazed or drugged up like the Deadhands, but I wasn't ready to let my guard down for anyone. I'd never seen a clean motorcycle club yet.

Maybe Skin was a rare gem in a cesspool, a man with a heart in a world that wasn't supposed to have one. My eyes traced the edges of the patch on the back of the cut, the skull perched between two guns with smoke curling outta them.

God willing, I'd be out of this world soon, and I'd never have to worry about dealing with bikers again. I let the comforting roar of his engine and his warmth wash over me.

I must've dozed, because the trip seemed like it was over in the blink of an eye. Next thing I knew, we were past the state line, rumbling through Newport, on our way toward Knoxville as the sun came up.

Smiling, I leaned into him, just as we pulled into a gas station. As soon as he parked the bike to fill up, I reached into my purse, found his ring, and presented it to him like a soldier receiving a well-earned medal.

“I kept it safe. I just can't believe you kept your promise, Skin. How did you find me?” He gently took the ring.

I watched his strong hands move as he pushed it onto his finger, back in its rightful place. Just then, I swore those hands could've conquered the entire world, could've owned me – and I wouldn't resist.

“Wasn't hard after we caught up with that piece of shit, Ricky,” he rumbled.

My breath caught. Holy shit. Had he killed the pimp?

“Is he...?” I couldn't bring myself to say it.

Imagining Ricky dead excited me, but it was also like having a savage chapter in my life slammed shut. Far too soon for me to process.

“No. This is our home turf. We can't just go around snuffing people out like fire ants. Shit, I'd have loved to finish him myself, but not in front of the other girls there. We didn't have time to hide his fucking carcass either – we had to catch up with you.” His eyes burned with a mad intensity, and he wrapped one arm around my neck, pulling me closer. “We'll deal with him, babe, on our own terms. I promise. He won't walk away free for what he's done to you. I'll make damned sure he never does this to somebody else.”

I'd never heard such dark, bloodthirsty sincerity.

Skin wouldn't disappoint me. I could tell by the tone in his voice. So firm, so decisive, so eager to kill.

I trusted him, and that scared me. He waited by his bike while I ran inside and used the bathroom, wringing the last of the cool rain out of my skirt.

Ugh.
I couldn't wait to get home and change into something clean and dry. For the first time in months, I thought about the reunion with my parents, wondered how many tears would add their wetness to my sopping wet clothes before the day was through.

The other guys didn't say much. They cast friendly, but distant glances my way, and climbed on their bikes with some sodas while Skin started his engine.