Never Kiss an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (51 page)

“Oh, honey. No, no, no, it's going to be okay,” Daddy said, bringing a hand to my shoulder. “What is it? You're scared?”

I shook my head, voice cracking through the tears. The  hurt was all authentic, a little slice of everything I'd suffered over the last year, but I was using it strategically for the next step in my plan.

There'd be time to feel guilty about that later. Right now, I needed the money, and I absolutely
had
to see Skin.

“No, Daddy. It's not that. I just can't believe I wrecked her car!” I looked up and grabbed his arm. “Stop with the sympathy. I'm tired of everyone treating me like a wounded pet since I came home. You saw what I did – I went crazy. I lashed out. I completely fucking ruined my best friend's car, and she's going to hate me forever!”

Cue more shrill blubbering. The f-bomb caught him by surprise too. I watched Dad struggle for composure for the next few miles up to our house.

“God, what I disaster I am. I just wish there were some way to make it up to her, some way to repay all the kindness she's shown me...”

As we pulled through the gate, I really lost it, crying my eyes out. I wanted a response, damn it, preferably one that was open to the idea of undoing all this damage.

“Meg, stop,” he said sharply, pulling into our big ten car garage. “I can't believe you're worried about money. Have you forgotten we always take care of our debts? This family never lets anybody down who's done us a kindness. We're Wilders, after all. Here, let's go into my office.”

Nodding glumly, I followed him. We went inside and headed straight for his study with the fireplace and the tall walnut shelves, the same place he used to read me stories as a kid. Maybe I had a pang of guilt that second, standing there while he rummaged around in his desk drawer, but it wouldn't stop me.

I'm sorry, Dad. You'll understand one day. We both will, if everything goes the way I'm expecting.

I watched him pull out his check book and some paperwork with our attorney's logo. “Now, how much do you think it'll take to put things right with Becky? That was a custom model, wasn't it? Let's say, a hundred and fifty thousand, drawn straight from your trust?”

More than I expected,
I thought with a sigh.
But not enough.

“Actually,” I sniffed, blotting at my eyes as he handed me a tissue. “Becky told me she paid over two hundred grand. And she said something about tax troubles with her mom, I don't really know, something about taking all of her money in cash.”

“Cash?” Dad's eyes went wide. “My, I didn't realize Harold and Penelope were in that kind of trouble. Are you really asking me to pull money out of your account and hand it over to her in a briefcase or something like a mafia don?”

I flashed an uneasy smile.
Close enough.

“I'm sorry, I just think it'll be easier this way. I don't want any more screw ups. She's sticking by me, and I'll be
devastated
if I lose my only friend right now. Please don't spend a dime of your own money. Take it all from my account. Let's make it an even quarter million.”

He cocked his head. “That's a lot for a low-end luxury ride with all the bells and whistles. Are you sure, Megan?”

“Cross my heart. I want her to have more than she needs, anything to show her I'm serious about her friendship. She needs to see how
sorry
I am.” I sat down in the chair, satisfaction and guilt mingling in my blood as Dad sighed, ran a hand over his face, and slowly folded.

“All right. We'll grab it tomorrow and I'll drop you off for lunch – you're sure not driving yourself. But after the interview with the detective this week, you're on your way to therapy for the rest of the month. That's the deal. Got it?”

“Of course.” I smiled. “Say, maybe when I'm better again, I can handle my own affairs? I know you've been giving me access to the funds when I really need them, but it makes me feel like a kid. Granpda said –“

“I know what your grandfather said, Megan. It's your money.” He clenched his teeth. “And yes, it's abundantly clear to me now that you're not the same girl you were when that man took you away from us. But as for who or what you've become...well, I think we're both figuring that out. Fair?”

“Fair,” I repeated, looking at the ground.

He'd come around sooner or later. I'd have the money I needed for Skin tomorrow, and then I'd work on flying right so I could get the rest to actually repay Becky. Of course, the stuff about her family having tax trouble was a little white lie – it was quite the opposite.

I half-expected her to pull up to the cafe in a flashy new car. The money I threw at her in another month or two to replace the car would just go toward her elaborate wedding, and hopefully show Crawford he was with the right woman for life.

* * * *

T
he day went fast. I went to the bank with Dad in the morning and got my cash. The tellers took nearly an hour to make sure it was all there, processing the jumbo cash order and filing it neatly in a cheap leather duffel bag we'd picked out.

Then it was off to lunch with Becky. She squealed when she saw me and ordered us desserts, skipping the healthier fare completely.

This time, talking to her was a lot more like old times, two young women scheming over men and mischief. I danced around who exactly Skin was, and what he did for a living.

Hell, I didn't actually know. I knew the club was tight on cash, which was why getting this to him was so serious, but he had to earn money some way, didn't he? They all did, and it couldn't be legal.

We parted on good terms. I promised her I'd have the money as soon as possible, and she told me to drop it off when I could make a day of it. I owed her a date to look at wedding dresses.

After lunch, my father picked me up and brought me home, with just a brief warning Detective Numbnuts was waiting for me. I pretended the bag stuffed with cash underneath my feet was empty. Thankfully, Daddy was totally oblivious, too caught up in having this agent at his house once again to check.

We sat down at the kitchen table with Harlow. He brought out his camera for the third time, and I repeated my story verbatim.

Kidnapped. Forced. Abused. Escaped.

No bikers. No handsome, dangerous men named Skin. No accomplices for the dead pimp from the Deadhands MC. No devils who'd murder the man I'd fallen for if I didn't get him his cold, hard cash.

For a detective, he didn't hide his frustration well. “I'm going to review the files again, Miss Wilder. If I find any discrepancies, rest assured our next chat will be taking place down at the station, rather than in the comfort of your own home.”

Daddy shot up like a bolt of lightning. “Are you really threatening my daughter with a prison interrogation in my own house? Sir, I'll remind you who was the top contributor to the Senior Senator from the great state of Tennessee last year – you're looking at him. Don't make me get some calls flying back and forth between Washington and FBI headquarters. We wouldn't want to soil the nice, professional relationship here. But I'll do what I need to, if you leave me no choice.”

Harlow looked genuinely disturbed. I tried not to laugh, loving how my father brought the hammer down when it really mattered.

Of course, I felt even worse about the lies I'd just told.

Had Skin already dragged me too deep into his world, away from the normal, law abiding life I'd known before? Or had Ricky damaged me forever before the biker even got his hands on me?

I didn't know, but one thing was clear – I'd never settle for a quiet, normal life again. I'd plunge into the darkness and navigate the lesser evils if it brought me closer to him.

Therapy in a Georgia spa wouldn't do anything for me. Nothing would, except feeling Skin's powerful, tattooed arms around me, pressing my face into his rock hard chest, inhaling his earthy, masculine scent.

“We'll talk again when she's back from her retreat. Good day.” Harlow packed up his things and scuttled like a scorned cat.

“The nerve of that man...” Dad walked to the small liquor cabinet in our kitchen and poured himself a drink, ripping off his spectacles.

I felt bad. But I felt worse about my plans to sneak out later with the cash in hand, right after I used the burner phone hidden in my dresser to call Skin to the gate.

“Daddy, don't worry about him. Seriously. I'm going to be okay, no matter what happens. He has to give up sometime. I don't know why he's so adamant about tying what happened to me to these dead bikers in North Carolina.”

“He says it's important, something about drug and terrorism laws. I really don't care, Megan.” I watched him knock straight bourbon down his throat and slam the glass on the counter. “You're home, you're going to get some help, and that's all that matters. If there was more to your escape like the good detective thinks, I don't care. You're here. You're safe. And one day, you'll open up and tell me, won't you?”

My heart skipped a beat. Shit.

He knew. Somehow, Dad knew I wasn't being completely honest. My stomach turned to lead, and I wanted to crawl into the kudzu tangled forest out back and die.

“We'll just see about that,” I told him. “I promise I'm going to be okay. Don't worry about me, whatever happens. I'm going to get well again, and you're right, whatever happens from here is going to be between
family.
Not this nosy detective who won't let me get on with my life.”

He stared at me for about a minute, piercing me with his bright blue eyes, the same ones I saw staring back at me in the mirror every day. He hoped I'd give him more, but I couldn't.

If I told him about Skin, about the club, all about how I wouldn't be standing here alive if it wasn't for the hardened biker and his Pistols...I'd never get away tonight.

Dad broke and looked out the window while I grabbed a drink of water and slipped away upstairs. Someday, I'd tell him the truth. He deserved it.

I needed to face it all, open and honest, the truth about myself and the last six brutal months of my life.

I was ready. I had to be if Skin decided to make me his. And that was one thing I was ready to discover, no matter the price.

F
our days. Almost an entire fucking week since I'd dropped her off at her parents' door, never to be seen again.

I didn't give a shit about the money. I missed her, and I couldn't stop, not even among all the brotherly backslapping and celebrations for our coming windfall.

Dust put my down payment to good use, working on plans for the new strip joint and holding nightly bashes to raise moral.

Girls threw themselves at me, just like they always had. I shoved them the fuck away.

I didn't want to do anything but drink. We finally had Jack and Jim flowing by the gallon again. I took bottles to my room and sauced myself to sleep, usually after long rides into the mountains. I always stopped when I came near the half-covered path leading down to the hollow where I'd dismembered the pimp.

His rotting flesh and bones were stuffed into a hole where nobody but the black bears would ever find him. They'd gnaw his bones 'til it was like the fuck never existed. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

Good fucking riddance. I'd saved her several times over. I'd killed for that chick. And I just had one regret.

What I regretted was letting go. I never should've taken her home without one more kiss, asking her to be my old lady.

I didn't think she'd actually accept. Shit, the girl was from another world, a rich family who'd probably sweat a little bit and pull over if they saw us coming down the highway next to them. She'd been beaten, used, and abused by the bastard I'd killed and the scum who gave him money.

She'd need a good shrink and a lot of fucking money to get her life on track. Fortunately, thanks to her rich folks, she had both of those.

I was the worst kinda medicine she could swallow, bitter and wrong. I wasn't blind, but it didn't make me wanna lay off her any less. Damn if I didn't want to pour every drop of myself down her system. I wanted to overload her with desire, make her crave me, flatten her against the cracked wall out back, rip her panties off, and fuck her 'til she screamed my name.

I was completely, irreversibly screwed, and the rest of the guys knew it too.

They kept their distance during the wild nights when the girls came flooding in. Sixty and Crawl gave me nothing more than a wink and a brotherly nod when I threw my unwanted women their way.

A lot of the familiar faces who'd sucked me off before wanted another crack at my dick. The other boys were plenty easy on women's eyes too, but they liked the silent, brooding type, I guess. I'd always fit the bill, second only to the Prez himself and Joker.

Unfortunately for the girls, the Prez was too damned busy to spend time fucking them. And Joker – if he still had any marbles at all, they were all below the belt. He fucked like no tomorrow, and sometimes the bitches in his room screamed like he was taking 'em apart.

The crazy bastard had lost his mind a long time ago, turned into a dead-eyed killer. Fuck if he'd lost his wild oats, and everybody was surprised he didn't have a few dozen bastards running around town by now at the rate he pounded pussy.

I walked through the clubhouse after sunset, having the bar almost to myself. Firefly was over in the corner, a hot little blonde on his lap, playing games with her lips and the dark wings tattooed around his neck. He always did the same shit with his girls, and they were all over him as soon as they had their legs around his waist.

I fished out a fresh bottle of whiskey and popped the cap, ready to head for my room after a few swigs. Loud country blasted on the old jukebox, the kinda shit my old man used to listen to, back when the club's biggest worry was throwing bonfires. It was ancient history now, before any brother realized the danger settling in, before they figured out how big and aggressive the bastards outside Tennessee had grown, how they were dead set on making a run for our territory.

“Hey, what the fuck, Skin?” Firefly called to me, tugging at Goldie's locks as she giggled on his lap. “Lighten up and have a little fun. You look like you're gonna pass the fuck out if you don't whip that bottle at the wall first. Don't get any bright ideas. Just because I'm partying doesn't mean I'm not on the job.”