Outlaw's Vow: Grizzlies MC Romance (Outlaw Love)

by Snow, Nicole

  Wheeler had a nervous glint in his eye, knowing if anything went real sour with me, it might drag him down too. Fang had already fucked over a few of the older guys, forcing them into early retirements, and a couple accidents claiming other brothers seemed awfully fucking suspicious.

  “What the fuck, Black-Jackass?” Frig shot up, a lean little hothead with a face like a rat. “You got a problem with me, you say it to my fucking face instead of acting like a smug little shit.”

  Fang put a brotherly hand on his shoulder, forced him back into his seat. “We'll figure this shit out like men. Blackjack, what's your beef?”

  “Your little brother only got his bottom rocker six months ago. Not much time to take on an Enforcer's duties for the top charter in this club.”

  Fang snorted. “Give me a fucking break. You think Jammer was living up his full fucking responsibilities with his knees as fucked up as they were – huh?”

  Wheeler coughed. We both knew damned well Jammer had arthritis, but it wasn't half as bad as Fang made it out to be. Now, we both understood he'd been shuffled off early so the Prez could ram his cronyism down our throats.

  “Of course not,” I lied. “Just not convinced we need to go the opposite way – appointing some inexperienced kid to head up our whole arsenal and the ground war with the Scorps.”

  Frig was a trigger away from shooting up and marching over to punch me in the face. Only Fang's dirty look suppressed him. There had to be years between those two, a fifteen or twenty year age gap. Too bad their personalities were both rotten to the fucking core.

  “You're mistaken, Blackjack, and I think half the men here will agree.” Fang scanned the room, until he saw the brothers who were dirty or scared shitless nod.

  “You're outnumbered. I've got the votes, end of fucking debate.”

  The look I gave him was like death. He just laughed, full on busted a gut, slapping the table with his palms.

  “Look, Mr. Stick-Up-The-Ass, if it makes you feel better, you can tag along for Frig's first big run out to Elko. We've got a big haul that's gonna make us a lot of money in Nevada, plenty of coke and shit for our partners to pick up and peddle across to Utah. Lotta shitheads up there who are even more uptight than you are, and we'll help 'em get smashed.”

  “That's practically Scorps territory,” Wheeler said, taking his turn with Fang's nasty smile.

  “Bullshit. They haven't run out the clubs who come down to Reno and Vegas to party, and they're not gonna fuck us up neither. They don't got the numbers. Nevada's always been neutral territory, and it's gonna be ours next, just as soon as we kick those assholes square in the nuts.”

  “Tell you what, Blackjack,” Fang said, leaning back in his chair. “You tag along and report back. I know I'll end up hearing how my awesome little bro saved your life, but it'll be that much sweeter to have it from the horse's mouth. Let's fucking vote already. All in favor of making Frig our new Seargent-at-Arms for Sacramento, and all of California?”

  The hands shot up, one-by-one. Even Wheeler raised his, making me the lone Nay.

  Fuck. That shitshow perfectly illustrated the problem Wheeler and me had when we got too drunk, talked about getting rid of Fang, and cleaning up this club.

  It wasn't time yet. The only thing we'd get by going off premature would be bloody, painful deaths.

  It'd take years for the day to come, when the asshole was no longer feared and respected, and we'd be waiting. Sad as shit he was bound to do a lot of damage in the meantime.

  If only I'd known then just how much the fucknut would really do.

  I'd have stood up, pulled out my nine, and shot him through the face. Yeah, I'd have caught a hail of bullets for it, but I'd have saved the Grizzlies MC at least a decade of pure hell.

  Shit, I'd have saved Lizzie, and the next twenty years of my life.

  * * * *

  “Las Vegas? Really?” Lizzie looked at me, sweet excitement building, happy as the day I'd claimed her. “Oh, Sam. It's almost our anniversary too.”

  It was high summer, almost four years to the day since we'd gotten married. I picked her up 'til she dropped the spoon she'd been feeding Finn with. She squealed, and our little son laughed, clapping his hands while I bounced his ma high overhead.

  If only we were really just having a family get away. The real reason Wheeler and I decided to pack our families along for the ride was because we didn't trust leaving them here worth shit.

  I had to protect her and Finn. That meant keeping them as close as possible, leaving them in the sanctuary city of lights while I rode with the rest of the crew up to Elko to get this bullshit over with.

  We didn't seriously think Fang would fuck with our families, but the Scorps might. Fuckers were getting bolder in their jabs – they'd hit us just outside San Diego last week, on our own turf.

  The Prez was out an out of control motherfucker, and he'd left the club vulnerable to anything. They couldn't stay here in case the Scorps decided to attack our clubhouse and the families in Sacramento while half the brothers were out of town.

  “Go on. Get the kid's stuff packed up and go over to Wheeler's place for the night. You can share the car with Julie and Travis so we can consolidate.”

  I wanted to bite my tongue off on the last word. Having to scrimp and save for fuel was embarrassing as fuck, and I also had a sick inkling it made everybody a little more vulnerable in one car.

  Stop the fucking crazy talk. She'll be fine. We'll dump that crap off for the Mormon dealers and haul our asses back to Vegas, flush with cash.

  I looked at my son, giggling as Lizzie winked and got back to feeding him. The kid deserved a couple more toys. These two in front of me were the reason I did this shit, the only damned reason I risked my life, hoping that maybe some of Fang's big hauls would finally pay off.

  They would, so long as the greedy motherfucker didn't hog it all to himself and his bastard brother...

  “When do we leave?” Lizzie said, her red hair glowing when it caught the evening light through the window.

  “Just a little before ten sharp, babe.” The iron fists tensed at my sides relaxed when I saw her smile.

  “Ohh, that should put us in around seven! Nice planning, big roller.” She stuck out that tongue I'd wrapped around mine hundreds of times before, and never got tired of.

  “I'm not there to fuck with craps or lucky sevens, Firecracker. Only thing I'm making bets on is how long it takes to get your sweet ass under me.”

  “Hm...probably a couple days.”

  “Bullshit.” I stepped up, pulled her into my arms, and buried her lips in mine. My hand went down her pants while Finn dozed, feeling how hot and wet she'd be for me tonight.

  I knew I'd keep that smoldering good through our whole damned trip. This girl's skin learned to sing for me over the last five years, and I wasn't done hearing that music.

  Never would be. I'd fuck her at home, fuck her in Vegas, fuck her on the goddamned Moon if I had to, anywhere and everywhere she needed a reminder about who owned her soft little cunt forever.

  Her eyes smiled when I broke the kiss, and so did mine. We stared at each other, our excitement growing to go to bed. Familiar anticipation, but always so new each time we ripped off each other's clothes.

  Maybe, just fucking maybe, everything would turn out okay. We'd come back a little richer and happier to boot. If the universe really had any miracles in store, maybe the rest of us could keep Frig from any major fuck ups, but the last thing I'd do was hold my breath.

  * * * *

  It was an ugly scene at the clubhouse. I stared at the brothers swarming around two huge trucks, big transportation rigs that looked like they'd served a tour or two in Vietnam before the club re-purposed them for hauling filth instead of troops.

  I walked past the back, just before a few guys covered in piercings closed it up. I'd never seen so many fucking pallets in my life.

  There were eight figures worth of powder and other junk loaded in there, maybe mo
re. For once, I managed to shake off the guilt I always had tugging at my balls, thinking about the payday coming once we pulled this off.

  Shit, we'd be set for years. I'd get Lizzie that perfect gourmet kitchen she always wanted, a new bed for Finn, and a closet full of clothes to grow into, maybe buy myself shiny new bike.

  “Dreaming already?” A voice growled behind me.

  I turned to see Frig standing there, a clipboard in his hands, taking one last inventory of the shit in our club code before we took off,.

  “Thinking about logistics. We're splitting the prospects evenly, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “You worry too fucking much, Blacky. Don't worry. I'll make sure your widdle family has a full set of Swiss guards protecting 'em all the time.”

  He slapped me on the back. Hard as fuck resisting the urge to bust his cocky, fucked up jaw.

  “Aw, don't be like that, man. I'm just jacking you off.” Frig winked and licked his lips like a total psycho. “You can hang back and watch the train of prospects around their car if you don't believe me. They're safe, or else you're calling me a damned liar, and then we'll have to throw fists.”

  Fuck if I wasn't ready. Every finger ached to feel this weasel's bones snap under them, but I held back, walked away without a second word to the fucker.

  I'd make sure he kept good on his promise. I'd been assigned to ride tail gunner with Wheeler and several other guys anyway, and we'd make damned sure nobody crept up on our column, making its way down SoCal.

  * * * *

  We were just starting to cross the edge of the Mojave when I saw the Scorps. The fuckers were coming up on us fast, a huge train of them, more trucks than bikes. Their group split apart and covered both sides of the road.

  “They're coming! We'd better line the fuck up and protect the goods. Keep on going, don't stop for anything, I need at least ten guys to hang back with me and –“

  Static cut me off my screaming into the radio. I heard Frig's voice, enraged and barking orders.

  “You heard the asshole! Brothers, half you fuckers hang back, and the rest of you go on and get the truck with the rest of our guys. You know the plan.”

  The Scorps were gaining on us fast. I drew my nine and expected the fuckers to be right on top of me, but their trucks roared right past, going on ahead, ignoring me. They went straight for the soft targets – the car with our families and the two big trucks.

  “They're going for the head!” I yelled into the radio.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. I howled bloody murder, getting off a few shots that grazed their wheels, without doing much good.

  Nobody was responding anymore, too busy circling, clogging up the lonely highway, lost in a panic. The Scorps' biker train crashed into us and cut our group in two, a solid distraction to keep our crew from rushing to defend the cargo.

  Barely had time through all the shooting to look on ahead, but I saw Julie's car split off as the drug trucks pulled ahead. The caravan of our prospects protecting Julie, Lizzie, and the kids broke away to surround the trucks as the first Scorps closed, leaving the families defenseless.

  “Fuck!” I swore, and shot a Scorp riding up on me through his chest. Several more rival fuckers got their asses blasted right off their bikes.

  Our crew slowed, took aim, and thinned their numbers one by one. Their club went through men like nothing else, and few of these assholes were battle hardened. We screeched to a full stop and made our stand while everybody else blew on ahead of us.

  “Shit!” I slammed my handlebars, face to face with too many killer assholes to do shit about my girl now.

  Frig stopped responding, or else the bastard ignored everything I'd said.

  I took over. Started roaring orders to the men who'd joined me, a mix of full patch brothers and prospects, including Wheeler.

  The boys held their fire 'til my mark when the second Scorps wave approached. Then we opened up, just when they were drawing, slowing their bikes, getting ready to jump off and start shooting. Their last truck kept coming, tried to go right through us, roll a couple guys over.

  Flinching was for pussies. I dug my heels into the turf, blasting away at the approaching horde, crouching behind my poor shot up bike for cover. Several guys caught lead in their chests and crumpled over, gurgling raw blood.

  “He's not gonna fucking stop!” Wheeler roared, pushing another clip into his gun and firing furiously at the truck.

  We'd blown out the windshield, but the fucking thing was still screaming toward us, ready to run half the brothers over, including me.

  Didn't have time for this shit. Not when my old lady and my kid were fending for themselves. My gun came up with an eerie calm and I narrowed my eyes, thinking about how bad Frig had fucked up.

  Rage made a miracle that day. I hit the driver in the shoulder and the truck swerved, heading off into the desert.

  “Go, go, go!” I screamed, waving the prospects toward it. They didn't need to be told a second time – just hopped on their bikes and went screaming toward the big rock where the Scorps had come to a stop.

  Incredibly, we hadn't taken shit for casualties, minus a couple guys who'd gotten grazed in their arms or legs. The crew we'd chewed up must've been three times our size, and now they were all dead on the open, a few last bikes whipping around and tearing back the way they came.

  “Let the fuckers go,” I snarled, grabbing at a brother named Ligo when he turned toward his bike. “We've got bigger business up ahead. Gotta make sure our families are safe.”

  “What about the haul?! That's what we're here to protect,” Ligo grunted. “The junk's the priority, Frig's orders...”

  I shot him a look straight from hell, and Wheeler joined me. Our lean, shaggy haired brother came to a dead stop from reaching into his pocket for some snuff to chew. Must've realized he'd said too fucking much.

  I grabbed him by the collar and whipped him around, had him on the pavement in a matter of seconds, my knee slamming him in the spine.

  “What the fuck, Blackjack?!”

  “That's my fucking question, asshole. What did you say? What about Frig's orders?”

  Wheeler hovered over us, ready to break up the fight, but I wasn't having it 'til this fuck squealed. Worst of all, he was wasting precious time. My switchblade came out while Ligo tried to fight us off, and I held it to his throat.

  “Are you fucking crazy?” he screamed.

  “Family shit, boy. You wouldn't understand how pissed off that makes guys like Wheeler and me. You've got about ten seconds to tell me exactly what the fuck is going on here, before I stab this shit into your throat and let your blood mingle with the Scorps' dirty muck on the road.”

  “All right, all right – put down the fuckin' knife!” I let his neck breathe about an inch without cold steel pressing in. “Frig pulled a few of us aside the night before last, told us to do whatever it takes to keep the drugs clear. Nothing spared. Even if it means pulling guys off the soft targets to protect the run. He said the car's expendable, just as long as we've got the trucks covered. Wasn't my idea, motherfucker, and I'm sorry. Now let me the hell –“

  Up? The sonofabitch had serious nerve. I booted him square in the ass once I took my weight off, hurling him down on the pavement again.

  Wheeler was already ahead of me, climbing on his bike. Shit, shit. Fuck.

  If even half of what Ligo spilled was true, Julie's ride was in serious fucking danger right now, and so was my whole family. Wheeler and I both jumped on our bikes.

  We tore down the highway so fast my balls pulled into my guts. Took us forever to see the smoke rising from a dusty old truck stop in the desert.

  Had to make a split second decision whether to check it out or keep going. Some evil voodoo instinct thumping in my chest told me to take a right, and Wheeler followed behind me, racing toward the mess of metal causing the fire. We jumped off our bikes several feet away, taking in the sight.

  If there were Scorps around, they'd tak
en off, probably after realizing they'd been chasing bait instead of the real goods.

  When I saw the twisted front of the car smashed clean through the abandoned rest stop, my heart almost gave out. Wheeler and I practically broke our knees running, desperate to catch up to it, all while we tried to brace ourselves for the biggest nightmare of our fucked up lives.

  The doors hung open. Nobody had died in the crash, thank Christ, but that meant we didn't have a fucking clue where our girls and the kids had gone.

  If the Scorps had taken them for ransom...

  My thoughts derailed when I heard somebody cough, soft and strained. We both whipped around.

  Wheeler ran like a maniac when he saw Julie. His old lady was huddled against a rock, Travis and Finn both bouncing on her lap.

  “Wheeler? Blackjack?” she mumbled, her eyes half open, staring at us like she'd gone blind.

  The kids weren't moving. Fuck.

  I ran so fast I put a fucking cheetah to shame, pushing my fingers on their little necks for a pulse. First Finn, then Travis. No shit, my own heartbeat stopped 'til I felt theirs humming through their veins.

  I let out the biggest fucking sigh in the world when both boys groaned and rolled in Julie's arms, Travis mumbling something about too much sleepy-time.

  “Oh, fuck. Fuck!” Wheeler threw his arms around the trio, pushing me out of the way. “We gotta get you up, baby. Get you and the kids a real doctor to make sure –“

  Normally, I would've felt like a bastard for cutting in on such a precious moment, but there was still one very serious fucking problem.

  “Where's my old lady?” I growled, tapping my hand lightly against Julie's cheek, doing best not to slap her awake. “Where's Lizzie? Can't fucking find her!”

  “She took off running, Blackjack. Somewhere in the rocks, straight behind this place. Said she'd give us a distraction, anything to keep the three Scorps away from the kids...”

  That was all I needed to bolt the hell up and go running. I stumbled over the rocky ass trail leading behind the old pit, past a rusty propane tank, noticing the snake trails cut by the bikes through the soil.

  Three guys, she'd said. There were at least five or six trails cutting through here, which meant the motherfuckers had probably come and gone.