Outlaw's Kiss

by Nicole Snow

  My heart sank. Fuck. Saving Missy in the scuffle just brought another consequence that activated pure fire in my chest. My heart slapped my ribs like a heavy pendulum, ready to kill and crush.

  He eased up. My cue to turn, rip myself away from him. Rabid still had me by one arm – annoying as fuck.

  “I'll go,” I said, giving Blackjack one more icy stare. “I'll get my shit together like you want. But, you know, it's a sad fucking day around here when you're admitting defeat and letting rapist lunatics fuck this club over from the inside out. Big surprise we're easy pickings for the cartel. We're rotten to the goddamned core.”

  Blackjack's mouth twisted in a frown. He was about to lay into me, but my parting shot to Serial set the maniac off. He threw himself at me, too slow for the brothers surrounding him.

  “Knock it off, asshole! I'm not gonna tell you again!” Blackjack howled, getting in his face as the brothers held him back, trying to bring some permanent peace for the night.

  Rabid kept his grip tight while I circled around and grabbed Missy with my free hand. She followed along limply, matching my steps with Rabid toward the door.

  It was a huge relief when the stink of grease and motor oil outside coiled up my nostrils.

  I headed for the truck. When we were a few steps away, I let Missy's hand go and reached into my pocket, handing her the keys.

  “You drive. I'm too fucked up to get us home.”

  She blinked, and then nodded. I hated looking into her eyes too long, not when they were all red and shocked to hell after Serial worked his black magic.

  At the passenger door, Rabid still hadn't let me go, so I jerked hard. He flew forward, knocked himself into the truck's metal before he released my leather.

  “Shit, dude. Take it easy. I'm following orders.”

  “I know. I just wanna get the fuck outta here.” I put my hand on the door handle and felt my knuckles throb where I'd pounded Serial's face.

  It hurt like hell, but damn if it didn't feel good too. Just wished my fists had gotten a chance to finish the job before these other fucks broke it up.

  “Hey,” Rabid threw his hand over mine on the door, causing me to growl. “I'm hoping you can figure this shit out, brother. You know I would've been right with you, kicking Serial's ass, if everybody knew she was your old lady? I mean, if that's what she really was, and you weren't just doing this for show.”

  “Yeah? Well, thanks for the support.” I stopped just short of adding 'asshole.' There was no point in alienating the last man here who really had my back, even if he half-assed it.

  “Brass, you know it's not like that,” he said, stepping away. “I'm trying to put the club first, same as Blackjack. You and these girls...it's one more fucked up complication. I want them gone just as quick as you do...but not if there's a tiny chance they're gonna fuck us by blabbing to the police.”

  “And I'll tell you the same thing I told Blackjack.” I paused, pressing my teeth together tight. “This club's fucked up. Rotting, from the inside out, infested with junkies and psycho assholes like Serial. Ask yourself how fucked up it is that you care more about keeping shit together to fight the cartel when we've got guys who are supposed to be our fucking brothers acting just like a buncha thugs from below the border.”

  His face tightened in anger, but it faded fast. My eyes were fixed on him the whole time as I climbed into the truck and Missy started the engine, slowly putting some distance between us and the hellish scene.

  Fuck it. Everybody who still had a soul in this club needed to hear the bitter truth, and I hoped I'd lodged it so deep in Rabid's brain tonight he wouldn't be able to go back to his carefree fucking.

  Finally, I looked at her, reaching up over her head to tap the button for the gate clipped to the visor. It opened up and then we took off.

  I mouthed a few directions to give her some idea. No blindfold this time, obviously.

  I was so tired of fighting, playing this fucking game with her and the club. It hadn't gone down like I wanted, but I was done. So goddamned finished.

  If the girl sitting in the driver's seat was gonna screw me over, then there wasn't shit I could do about it. I wasn't gonna drive myself nuts over her knowing where the clubhouse was or pissing off my brothers.

  If they came for her again – Serial or anybody else – I wouldn't hesitate to swing my fists 'til I couldn't anymore. I'd die fighting for something. Right now, protecting her was a helluva lot more attractive than fighting for my own club, even if she never gave me a shred of thanks.

  She had a good reason for despising everything I'd done. The club was behind all this shit. Stress and siege weren't gonna cut it as excuses neither.

  Truth is, my band of brothers turned into a pack of wolves a long time ago. Fuck, they'd been like that since I showed up in Redding, and I was too fucked up to admit it. I couldn't see it 'til now, but when I finally did, it was blinding.

  They were gonna kill her. Serial was gonna force her, sure as he would've blown her little sis' head off in the basement that night. Whatever fucked up sins her daddy did for the cartel against my MC, they shouldn't have been paid for this way.

  My guts churned, rougher than any other time tonight. Raw, hot bile spasmed in my intestines, rage incarnate, vile as whiskey mixed battery acid.

  I reached for her hand on the wheel, gently covering it. “Pull over, babe. Right fucking now.”

  V: Broken Heartbeat (Missy)

  What a night.

  Listening to him in the ditch dry heaving was just the cherry on top of my crap sundae. I shook my head, wondering when he'd finally be done. I wondered even more why I didn't just take off, fleeing into the forest that flanked the little strip where we'd pulled over, and not stopping until I touched Mount Shasta looming in the distance.

  My brain was still trying to process the evening. Too many bombs exploded in my head too close together.

  I was cleaning, trying not to dwell on all the rough brutes all around me enjoying themselves. Then I had to stumble in on him with that blonde bitch's tongue down his throat.

  Jealously shouldn't have thundered through my veins. And I definitely shouldn't have taken off running, crazed to get away from him while he pursued me.

  Of course, it did, and no reason or wishing was going to make me feel any different.

  I didn't want to hear his crap – especially when he didn't owe me any apologies whatsoever.

  I couldn't want this man. He was a means to an end, a way to navigate this sector of hell and find my way out of the deep, deep pit daddy dug for Jackie and I.

  I was hiding behind the bar, just waiting for him to come out of his stupor on the floor, when Serial attacked. He was so insistent, so fast, his eyes like a guard dog's before it lunges.

  I tried to fight. I wanted to believe I could get him off me, get to safety by myself, but the man who threw me against the counter and pressed his nasty hand between my legs was too strong.

  That was when I broke. I begged for Brass to wake up and help me. Prayed for it.

  The problem with wishes and prayers is that sometimes you actually get what you want.

  He fought for me like nobody ever had. When they piled onto him and forced him off the creep, I thought he'd break out like a bull and keep going, even if it meant his own destruction.

  More than anything else, he'd put me above his own club, and after I'd treated him like total shit too.

  Sure, I could try to ignore these raging uncertainties tearing through me. I'd tried to do that plenty when the liquid heat flowed through me every time I looked at him too long, studying the fierce dark ink scrawled on his hard skin.

  But I couldn't ignore the fact that he'd done me right. He'd truly protected me, and not just for his own selfish reasons.

  A man fighting for himself wouldn't fight like Brass did. He fought for me, and only me, putting himself against blades and blows without a care for himself.

  Didn't that count for something? I shook my head, un
willing to accept the obvious answer in my screwed up brain.

  I was still staring at the ground when he rounded the truck, banging on its metal side with one fist. “I'm done. Let's hit the road.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I reached into the driver's side and grabbed the water he'd left behind, holding it out to him. “Here. Something to rinse away the taste.”

  He popped the cap and chugged it. Stray water sprayed out the corners of his lips, rolling down his cut, saturating the t-shirt he had on underneath it. The droplets drew my eyes to his body, the muscles I owed a debt to that I tried so hard to forget.

  Jesus, he was strong. It was one thing just to see it on him, but to know what those fists could do...

  His knuckles were scratched, but his hands were still big, strong, and masculine. Untouched. Unbeaten. My thoughts went rampant, imagining what they'd feel like wrapped around my waist, or hooked around my back, sliding to my ass.

  That's it, Missy. This is when you've officially lost your mind.

  I couldn't argue with the voice in my head. But the day dreams on the other side wouldn't stop humming. I absentmindedly ran my tongue over my lips, wondering how he'd taste. How would those powerful slabs of meat on his bones twitch and jerk if I put my tongue to them? My lips? My teeth?

  A cool breeze blew as he started to walk back to the passenger side and climbed in. It hit me right in the middle, near the waist, pushing against my jeans. I shuddered, realizing how wet these stupid, dangerous thoughts were making me.

  I shouldn't have been falling for the good cop. No matter how hard he fought and tried to protect me, I had to remember that's what he was in the end. He was one of them, part of my prison. He was the smooth side of my cage, holding me in rough uncertainty.

  And not just me, but Jackie too – the most unforgivable thing of all.

  If it were just me...I might've done something really stupid. I might have thrown my hand on his, pulled him close, and kissed him while I thanked him for what he'd done.

  But until my sister was free, I wasn't doing anything. These mad, mad fantasies couldn't run amok, couldn't make me do something that would only delay our freedom.

  I forced my hands to the wheel and drove when he gave the signal. We didn't talk much on the ride towards Redding proper. When we were nearing the city limits, he turned to me and stared.

  “What?” I said, flustered.

  “You did good tonight, babe. Shit would've gone off without a hitch if Serial hadn't let his drunken dick get the better of him. I'll do whatever it takes to keep that asshole away from you in the future. No bullshit.”

  “It was okay up until then,” I agreed. “I'm just glad it turned out okay in the end...I mean, assuming those guys aren't going to come after you.”

  “They'll let it ride,” he growled. “Club's got too much on its plate to worry about a little dirty blood between brothers. Long as I can keep it under control on my end and not plant a dagger in that fucker's guts while he's taking a piss.”

  My chest tightened. Was he serious?

  The savage look of satisfaction on his face reminded me once again who and what I was dealing with. These men really killed, and I remembered how close to sudden death they'd brought Jackie and I on the night they came for the money. Brass saved us then too.

  I stopped and wondered, new darkness creeping into my head. If he wasn't there...

  You wouldn't be here to worry about it, I thought. It was truer than anything else rolling through my head all evening.

  “Listen, that other shit earlier...” He bared his teeth.

  I knew he was talking about the blonde. Jealousy seethed in my blood, unwelcome as it was surprising.

  I waved my hand. “It's none of my business, Brass. It's your life. You're welcome to do whatever you want behind closed doors.”

  Except this one was wide open. And, of course, I was lying right through my teeth. Thinking about him and the nasty girl with the golden pigtails made me want to claw things to shreds.

  “No. You got more than your fill of all the shit the brothers do at these parties tonight. You didn't need to see it from me.” He swallowed. “I didn't want it. She tried to stick her pussy where it didn't belong. I've fucked her before, but that shit was in the past. We're done. Something's changed. Thinking about that pussy anymore just makes me sick.”

  “You can do better. Seriously.”

  I flushed as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Being rattled so many times in a couple hours killed the brain-to-mouth-filter.

  Brass looked me up and down. Then he laughed, filling the truck with his deep baritone. I couldn't help but smile.

  “I'm laughing because it's fucking true. Not just with chicks, I mean. Trying to do better's the story of my fucking life since I left Montana. Better's all I got.” He paused, as if considering his words. “Thing I hate most about change is how it warps your vision. Some of the shit I see with a clear head, I'd strike down in a heartbeat if I really had a choice.”

  “The stuff going on with your club?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Just when I think we've reached our limit, some new asshole has to make a ruckus, painting everything darker. More bitter. I don't know what's gonna come outta fucking around with the cartel, but I don't want any part of it. Not if it means my own brothers are gonna keep acting like fucking jackals.”

  My hands tightened on the wheel. He wouldn't take his eyes off me, tracing my curves. That heat was back, shades of nervous excitement I couldn't quite define, let alone handle.

  He was so hard, so intense. No, handling him didn't come natural, but damn if I didn't want to try. This man might be the death of me, a fatal attraction I was destined to follow into the fire. Whether I'd meet heaven or hell there was anyone's guess, and for the first time since all this went down, I was ready to start taking bets.

  “You...you never should've been swept up in this shit. I don't care what your father did,” he said. “We should've taken the money and let you go. If it wasn't so fucking hard convincing guys to do the right thing anymore, we wouldn't be stuck playing pretend. Fuck, babe, if there was a way I could've saved you and your sis without ever using the words 'old lady...'”

  He closed his eyes and didn't finish. I had to keep my eyes fixed on the road, refusing to look over. Hearing him regret claiming me as his hurt.

  It defied common sense, but it did, and it shook me to the core too. I leaned in my seat and pushed on, following the narrow streets through Redding toward our apartment. There was nothing left to say. Breathing another word would've only upset somebody, and we'd had enough heartache for one night.

  I pulled into a parking space and got out, waiting for him to follow. The whole way upstairs and down the hall, I hoped like hell Jackie would be asleep. When I got inside, one more prayer was answered, and I was left alone to pad off to my room, alone with my fears and forbidden desires.

  I woke up sometime before dawn and ran to the bathroom. It was still dark. The water I'd downed before I went to sleep helped kill the hunger pangs nipping at my stomach. I was too upset to eat earlier, worried I'd wake up with my stomach twisted in knots as I slid through my nightmares.

  Brass was snoring lightly on the couch, a thin blanket thrown across him, his cut and jeans hanging on the chair next to him. I looked at the coffee table and saw his wallet. There was something else too, thick and shiny, even in the pre-dawn darkness...

  I crept up, quiet as a cat, reaching out when I was close. It was the skinny switchblade he'd wrestled away from Serial. My thumb brushed the handle, running over the small bear claw pressed into the handle, one more cruel mark left by the Grizzlies MC.

  My finger gently moved along the edge and pushed a small button. The sharp blade jumped out, dangerous as ever in the darkness.

  I looked up, studying him in the shadows. He was huge, and right now...completely at my mercy.

  The old, frightened, vengeful Missy Thomas inside me stomped her feet, begging me to en
d this right now. If I killed him here, nobody would ever know. Jackie and I could take off with his vehicle, find our way to Mexico or something.

  But the way he'd gotten underneath my skin – God!

  Killing him was the last thing I wanted. How could I spill his blood when he'd already given his for me? For Jackie?

  He'd sliced into my soul, sure, but he'd ripped his own open and bled ten times more. I wanted to take the easy way. I wanted to be free. But I also wanted him, alive and well, and so much more. Primal greed grabbed me by the throat and forced me to look at him, a rugged manly mirror for all my feverish desires.

  I wanted him on top of me, hot and throbbing, slamming me into the floor while he worked between my legs. I wanted to smell our sweat mingle when he was deep inside me, claiming me for real, shattering the game of pretend we'd been playing with insatiable lust and twitching flesh.

  Honestly, I'd already lost my mind. Now the only question was whether I'd walk into the madness losing him, or else losing myself on his flesh, losing my entire world on him as he filled me, stretched me, clawed at my flesh, and split my mind in two on his dick.

  I couldn't kill him. No fucking way. This whole thing was crazy and I didn't know if there even was a way out alive anymore, but more bloodshed wasn't the answer.

  I turned the knife over in my hand, holding it up. With a heavy sigh, I lowered it, trying to find some way to retract the blade.

  I never heard him wake up, much less climb off the sofa. He crashed into me from behind, flattening my hand holding the blade. I jerked once and flipped over, surprised I hadn't screamed.

  We were face to face. He was shirtless and magnificent, pure hellfire in his expression, dark tattoos running up and down his muscular chest. He'd landed between my legs – the last place in the world he should be, especially when I had nothing on underneath my long sleeping shirt except my panties and filthy desires blazing in my belly.