Never Have an Outlaw's Baby: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love)

by Snow, Nicole

  “It hasn't been all bad,” I said shyly, dragging one foot on the ground.

  God. I was like a cartoon schoolgirl with my heart beating out of my chest every time I tried to speak to him.

  Stupid.

  Outrageous.

  Irresistible.

  “Yeah?” he said, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, then giving it a flame. “Can't say I see the glass half full when it's full of mud, but I ain't blaming you for looking on the sunny side. Keep that shit up. You'll go places, little Summer.”

  Little? Jesus, he couldn't be more than five or ten years older than me. My heart sank, flaming the whole way down, hating the fact that he just saw me as some dumb girl he'd pulled from the fire.

  Hated it even more that I couldn't assert myself, couldn't even meet his eyes when he gave me those slow, smooth glances in between staring out at the stars overhead.

  “You oughta get in so I can take off,” he said, taking a long pull off his cig. “No need for your ma to stumble out here and see me hanging around.”

  “It doesn't have to be this way,” I said, stepping up to him. “It doesn't have to be a bad night. I never got a chance to thank you for what you did back there, you and Freddy.”

  It took every ounce of strength I had to throw my hands around his neck. I did it quick, clumsy, but God help me, I did.

  Joker's eyes narrowed. Slowly, he reached up and pulled the cigarette from his mouth, blowing a last strand of smoke out the side of his lips.

  The cig hit the ground and crunched loudly under his boot as he rubbed it out. Then, his hands were on me, jerking me in so fast I slammed into his chest.

  Crap, crap, crap. My heart couldn't keep up with my head spinning a thousand miles an hour.

  One rough, huge hand cupped my face, stroked my loose black hair back, and pulled me into him. Our lips touched like lightning splintering the sky.

  For a split second, there was a sweet hesitation, a tease so hot I whimpered. He silenced me by bringing it home.

  His lips crushed down on mine. My mouth opened, perfectly unlocked for his tongue. Trembling, I let it happen, let him push his tongue against mine. Twining, lashing, owning it in the first kiss I'd ever had that truly took my breath away.

  This wasn't even in the same universe as the clueless boys I'd made out with before. This was a man's kiss, a kiss that would've brought me to my knees if he hadn't tightened his hold, keeping me against him.

  This kiss pulled me under the storming sea named Jackson Taylor, stripped me bare, and refused to let go.

  Suddenly, he tore his lips away from mine, leaving me to gasp for sorely needed air.

  “That what you wanted?” he asked, a smug quirk pulling at his lips.

  I still couldn't speak. So, I just nodded dumbly, moving my hands over his neck. A second later, he gently pushed me away, heading for his bike.

  “We're done here,” he said, words that dashed my feverish lush like gun smoke.

  “Hey, wait!” I whined, running after him. I caught up with him just as he was fixing his helmet.

  He looked at me, pushed his hand against my face, holding a finger over his lips. “Don't give me any bullshit, babe. That's all you get, and it's a lot more than you deserve.”

  Deserve? What?! I stopped cold in my tracks, shot through the chest by his words, wondering where the hell I'd screwed up.

  “You look goddamned beautiful under this moonlight. Don't ever let a man tell you less.” He paused, straddling his bike, ready to start it anytime. “Trouble is, I ain't a fuckin' fool. You're barely on the right side of being jailbait, and I'm not biting, Summertime. You're too fuckin' young, babe. Too new. You deserve better. You're looking for more than skin and sweat when you kiss. I can't give you that.”

  “Why?” I whispered, so hoarse it was painful.

  He smiled. “I fuck, babe. Skin and sweat – that's all I know. Never take it any further than that. Never fuckin' will. The girls who hitch their hearts to this patch, they get fucked and they get wrecked. You and me? Hell, we're not even hitching a damned thing. I'm letting you off easy.”

  My lips trembled. I wanted to curse him, plead with him, reach out and slap him all at once.

  What the hell was wrong with me? What was it about him? Why, why, why did I feel more alive with this rage and confusion?

  “You think I'm a bastard. Go ahead, girl. You're right. I'm a dyed in the wool son of a fuck, but I ain't a monster. You're a sweet girl, Summertime. Ain't breaking your heart by popping your cherry and taking off.”

  Joker turned, reaching in his pocket for another cigarette. He started his bike, keeping his eyes trained on me while he held up his lighter.

  “Promise me you'll try to be good, try to find a man who gives a fuck. Hope to hell it happens, but if it doesn't...if you don't find him, if I come back to this town and you're down to get dirty, look me up. We'll finish what we started tonight, babe. I'll fuck you and fuck you and fuck you 'til you're hoarse from screaming my name. Then you'll wake up the next mornin', and I'll be gone.”

  “Asshole!” I screamed, finally caving. “Forget it! What kind of girl do you think I am?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Fuckin' finally. I was wondering how many damned buttons I'd have to push to see. Listen, I know what kinda girl you are – you're a good girl. Too fuckin' good for me, or any other bastard wearing this patch. You keep your fuckin' distance, Summertime. Find yourself a boy who'll bring you heels and roses. It sure as shit ain't me, babe, and that's awesome. That's called me doing you a favor.”

  I shook my head, totally blasted, trying to understand what the hell he was getting at.

  “Don't fuckin' look at me like I just stood you up at prom. I did you a solid tonight, saving you from a greedy prick who wanted your body, and nothing else. Those ratfucks go down easy. Just takes a blow to the ribs to drop 'em. The boys who try to charm your pussy wet – they're the ones you really gotta watch out for. Only one of those motherfuckers I can save you from is me.” He paused, looking me up and down, one final tease before he left me in the dust. “You're young, you're good, and I hope to fuck you'll stay that way. Next time you get hot when you hear a bike humming or see a brother with this patch, you ignore that shit. You run.”

  He thumped the skull with the blazing guns going up the side of his leather vest. As if I needed a fucking reminder.

  Then he took off, cutting way too close to our old storage shed. Just the perfect angle for making his motorcycle's steel glow on his way out.

  My knees collapsed. I dropped to the ground and cried, utterly humiliated, knowing deep down I should be thanking him that he hadn't taken advantage of me.

  The bastard was right, more right than he had any business being with his teasing, his arrogance, his good for nothing good looks.

  Lord, I fucking hated it.

  I told myself if I didn't see Jackson, or Joker, or whatever the hell he wanted to call himself ever again, I'd live my life happy.

  But life never goes according to plan.

  2

  Another Night (Joker)

  Three Years Earlier

  Piece had my back. My brother by blood and patch was always with me, every single trip we made to this dirty little town.

  We rode in, heading for the bar before we hit grandpa's house, the only place that ever felt like home outside the clubhouse in Knoxville.

  Seddon had gotten its fucking skull caved in by the economy taking a dump. It showed in every tumbleweed blowing through the abandoned streets, in front of the boarded up buildings. Some desperate fucks had broken the windows outta the old pharmacy – desperate ass junkies looking for their next fix.

  We'd stopped hauling that shit around a couple years ago, when Early met a bloody end and passed the gavel to his son, Dust.

  New Prez didn't want a damned thing to do with drugs, no different than the rest of us. So he'd sent us here on a different kind of club business.

  'Course, we came for pleasure, too.<
br />
  There was always somebody hanging around, waiting to get their ass kicked. The bar brawls out here were easy. They were fun. The motherfuckers on the receiving end always deserved it.

  Tina and Robby Olivers appreciated the regular cleanings we brought to their watering hole, knocking out the riffraff who threatened to chase away the drunks and the softer types passing through town.

  Piece killed his engine and stepped off his bike first. I followed him, heading into the bar. My brother pushed straight through the old timey saloon doors without noticing the pink slip taped to the window.

  It hit me like a ton of bricks when I stopped and read it. “Fucking shit,” I growled, taking it in.

  GOING OUT OF BUSINESS was in big, fat bold letters near the top. Didn't need to see the fuckin' fine print.

  I almost ripped the saloon doors off on my way in. Only took a second to scan the small crowd, and found my brother in our usual spot, at one of the corner tables next to grandpa.

  “Why didn't you tell me this place was closing up shop?” I asked, sitting down as Piece looked up, and pushed an extra beer over to me.

  Took a long sip. Thick, bitter, and dark. Just the way I liked it, second only to good southern whiskey. Could've used the harder shit today, when we were taking a kick to the nuts like this.

  “Figured you'd both be here to see her off yourself, boys,” Grandpa said, twisting his old Marine cap, full of crests and honors from Vietnam. “They're having their last big bash today before the whole thing goes belly up. Latest victim of the rot chewing up the poor damned town.”

  Yeah, fucking right. Seventy-five years old, and our hard as nails grandpa had never talked more truth.

  “What's Dusty doing?” he asked, folding a fist around his scotch and looking at us. All those fancy changes better pay off quick if the club ever wants stakes in Georgia again.”

  “Shit, Grandpa, that's what we're here for,” Piece said, slamming down his glass. “We haven't given up. Long as this patch keeps coming across the border, fuckers will talk about us. All the other assholes will know we're here, and they'll keep the fuck out of our territory.”

  “Ain't always that easy, boy,” the old man snorted, pausing to swallow more scotch. “The men moving in from Tallahassee, they ain't like the old clubs. No code. No limits. They'll slash your balls off just for the pleasure of it. Been hearing about them sending more scouts up here lately from Atlanta. They'd own the whole damned city by now if it weren't for the gangs and the Torches.”

  “Yeah, yeah, we've heard it all, too. The Deads are dirty motherfuckers, but they don't know the lay of the land like we do. These roots go deep,” I said, bristling at the thought of another club taking our hometown. “Home field advantage. That don't go down easy.”

  “Our roots are dying on the damned vine,” Grandpa snapped, giving me a hard look. The old man had the same bright hazel eyes I saw in the mirror every day, a Taylor trademark that bound us all by blood.

  “No, they ain't,” Piece growled, shaking his head fiercely.

  “Cut the crap, boys. If you can't see we're in trouble, you're both gonna get yourselves wiped when you step into the wrong shit. Deadhands MC isn't just mean as a snake. It's bigger than a grizzly, so big it'll be chewing up half of Dixie in a few more years and shittin' it out. We'll be lucky to hang onto East Tennessee”

  “Nah, Grandpa, you don't understand,” I said, stiffening in my seat. “Dust has got all kinds of plans to rebuild our coffers, get us into the gun trade. We're off the nasty shit. No more drugs. Early fucked up keeping us in a dirty, dying business for too damned long. Now, we got ourselves a second chance. Something cleaner, without as much blood.”

  “Jackson, son...” He paused, gripping my shoulder, shaking his head sadly. “Freddy.”

  His other hand pulled at my brother. When he used our real names, shit got real. Really fuckin' real.

  Grandpa lived and died by the club before he got too old to ride, and he respected the road names we'd carried for four long years.

  His pause lasted a little longer because Johnny Cash started screaming on the jukebox, his favorite, kicking off the last songs our favorite bar would ever have.

  “I'm too fuckin' old to watch either of you boys get yourselves axed. You're young, arrogant, full of piss to sling around. I remember that feeling like it was yesterday. In case you boys forgot, I made your old man a promise before he died in that wreck.” Piece and me both turned to stone, knowing what was coming, and hating it.

  “If shit comes down to building the club or saving your lives, you know what I'll choose. Have your fun here boys, and go the fuck home. Don't come back here wearing that patch. You get seen by the Deads, or surrounded by a train of 'em when you're working your way south, trying to talk to mobsters out in Savannah, you're as good as gone. That ain't happening while I'm still breathing.”

  I locked eyes with my brother. Our eyes slid to Grandpa and we both nodded, too resigned to his touchy-feely shit to argue. We'd humor him.

  The old man loved us like our father couldn't because he'd been six feet under for twenty fuckin' years. We loved him back, and respected him to hell, even when he said shit that made us want to spit bullets.

  Most of what he said had been dark as hell lately.

  There wasn't time for tears, or pig roasts with the brothers. Barely enough time to knock back brown honey or to get my dick sucked, though I always made time for that.

  There definitely wasn't time for a drag out fight with Grandpa, the man who'd raised us, or holding hands and singing songs like one big happy family.

  Freddy and I had a feeling this shit was coming before we rode down. We shared a quick look. Our signal to throw one arm each around the old man's neck, hugging the shit outta him, showing him we'd read him loud and clear.

  And we weren't gonna fuckin' listen because the stakes were too damned high.

  “You've got nothing to worry about, Grandpa. We hear you.”

  Fuck, I hated lying to him. Both of us did.

  But he didn't even know half of how desperate, how fucked up the ass we really were.

  Piece and me didn't have a prayer of going all the way to Savannah. We were setting up shop here in Seddon for the next few weeks, waiting while Prez phoned every fuckin' mobster on the southern half of the eastern seaboard.

  If any of 'em wanted to meet us here to hash out an agreement, we'd do it. We'd bring it all home.

  And we'd get the fuck out before the Deads caught up to us.

  We'd be keeping one part of our promise to the old man for real. Leaving this town for the last time was gonna hurt like a bitch.

  Grandpa finished his drink and hung with us for awhile, getting into better spirits as the music rolled on, believing our bullshit.

  We talked about his old dogs, the shit he made in his shop for the local VA. We listened to the stories he'd told us a hundred times before about the good old days, before the Pistols were swamped, desperate, and nearly broke, when he used to tear down the roads with Dust's old man and Skin's old man.

  “You boys have entertained me enough for one evening. Just be careful,” he said with a wink, yelling through the commotion of people dancing and country music blasting all around us. “If I turn you loose on the girlies around here, one of you might make me a great grandpa yet before I'm done.”

  Piece laughed loudly through the racket. “Hell, Grandpa, don't hold your breath.”

  Seemed like the whole damned town had turned out to see the end of Robby's bar, the last light going out in this wasteland.

  I just shook my head. No, no, and fuck no.

  Having a kid was the last thing on my mind. My dick got hard for fuckin', not warming up bottles and changing dirty diapers.

  Sometimes, the old man's jokes went too far. They still had a way of making me squirm even though I was blowing toward thirty way too fast.

  Shit, thinking about any fucking at all right now – especially the baby making kind – was a
distraction we didn't need.

  Grandpa stood up and we helped him work his way out through the drunken, rowdy crowd. Tina stopped to chat with him for a minute as we helped him to his truck. He'd been one of the regulars here over the years.

  I stood by, watching him start it up and back out. He took off his cap and waved to me before I headed back inside.

  Piece already had another drink in his hand. In thirty seconds flat, he was grinding up against some nameless bumpkin, a blonde bitch who was easy pickings with beer in her veins.

  What we'd come here to do weighed on my mind too heavy. I'd had my romps with a couple sluts before leaving Knoxville, everything I could do to knock that shit outta my system, so we could focus on business.

  I sat down with a tall shot of Jack and let the music wash over me, wishing I'd spent more time here. I'd been coming to this place since I was old enough to booze. Shit, Piece and me had even snuck a few drinks before we were legal.

  This was our first real watering hole, the only one that really mattered, outside the clubhouse's bar. All the fights, the ass kickings, the night I'd saved that honey from those drunken fuckin' college kids...all about to be fuckin' history.

  Shit. I told myself I wouldn't think about Summer when I came to Seddon.

  It was easy to keep her outta sight, outta mind, except when I rolled by her house, or hit the bar. She always went in the back as soon as she saw me, handing off our table to somebody else.

  Sometimes, I saw her first. Saw her looking, when she thought I wasn't. Knew she had her greedy little eyes all over me.

  Last time, it was at her house. Piece and me blew by on the road without slowing for a single second, but she was out near the road with a realtor, the new FOR SALE sign at her ma's place swinging in the breeze.

  Didn't need to ask about her to know shit hadn't gone right. Fuck, nothing had gone right for anybody in Seddon since the bastards on Wallstreet crashed the whole economy, foreclosures devouring the countryside like locusts.