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

by Snow, Nicole

  Fuck. I'd underestimated her. She really knew how to sling arrows at a man's heart, and not all of them hit with a heart shaped kiss from cupid.

  “How the hell do you think it feels?” I growled, letting more anger than I intended slip out. “I...you know what? Fuck this!”

  Time to run with that anger. I jerked up, watching as she threw herself back fearfully, and then jumped when my chains slapped the glass. One day soon I'd break that shit and waltz outta here. Just not today.

  “Question time's over! You got what you wanted. Get the fuck outta here!” I kept my angry eyes blazing on her as she stood and gathered her things.

  I heard the door behind me burst open. Charlie and some other guys were coming in to get me the hell away from traumatizing the poor girl.

  “Come on, big guy. Visiting hours are over when you start acting like an ape,” the old warden said.

  I turned, beaming death rays at him out of my hateful eyes. I started to walk before any of those fucks could lay a hand on me. Shit, I'd gone way past pretending here – my veins throbbed with a bloodlust I hadn't felt since knocking out the shithead's teeth who'd landed me in solitary.

  He had it coming when he thought he could have a piece of me in the shower with his crew. Bastard became my relief valve for a whole lotta pent up rage when I broke his jaw, ramming my fucking head against it while I let his guys hold me down. They got a few bruises of their own before the guards broke up the brawl, and I walked away with my virgin asshole intact.

  “This isn't over! You come back next week, Sabrina!” I roared, turning back to her before I was through the door. “Wednesday afternoon. I'll give you the rest. Everything you ever wanted and a lot fucking more.”

  She looked shaken up through the glass, but not so fucked she'd avoid me. I hid a smile from Charlie and his boys on the way to my cell.

  It would be at least another week before I got to grab her soft dark hair and pull it while I fucked her, but I already had her tangled around my fingers. She was in my fucking trap, and now all I had to do was swing the gate.

  Dino was snoring that night before I started on the stress ball.

  I'd lied through my fucking teeth, and the Ligiotti bitch ate it up. If she didn't come back next Wednesday for the finale, I'd find her later and spank that nice, full ass when I found a different escape line. And if she did, I'd have my cock so far down her throat in another week that I might forget what solitary felt like.

  The plan was perfect. Daniel would figure it out when he saw the shit on the blog. He'd always been the real brains behind our operation.

  My Uncle Volodya never owned a vodka bar called the Red Eagle. That was a code to my brothers, and they'd see it as soon as this part of the story went live.

  Everything else I'd told her was true – or true enough. Gioulio and his bastards probably kept her shielded from the nitty-gritty details about the war between our families. Didn't think she knew it was his men who'd sliced papa's throat and left him to bleed out in my arms in a cold Chicago alley.

  It took four years after he was buried to blow that fucked up club sky high. I'd paid for my act of terror, and I was serving my time accordingly, but fuck if my work was done. Not while Gioulio was breathing.

  He was number one on my hit list. Lev and Daniel couldn't do him without me. And Little Miss Blogger was gonna be the pretty key up my sleeve for getting at him – right after I fingered, twisted, and bent her all around my dick.

  One last humiliation for the Italians who'd fucked us and spilled our blood. My stone cold heart said I should have my fun, use her, and then kill her to finish off their Chicago bloodline forever.

  But I didn't like the way she looked when I hopped up and pounded on the glass. It wasn't just the cruel lust in my veins knotting my brain. Something about seeing this devotchka scared caused an ounce of guilt to curdle my savage blood.

  Just an ounce, and nothing more.

  I wasn't slowing down. One more week, and I was busting outta here. I'd be reunited with my brothers and my quest for vengeance, right after I reunited my starving cock with some tight wet pussy.

  I squeezed too hard. The ball popped in my fist, exploding grainy stuffing all over my chest. Fuck.

  Another one ruined.

  Dino coughed above me, woken by the sound. He rolled in his sleep and flopped over before he began snoring again. Soon, it was all quiet in the prison, nothing but his steady growl to keep me company.

  The countdown started in my chest. Seconds slipped past with every rampant heartbeat. I couldn't wait to find out how fucking good she felt against my skin, and I wanted it as bad as breathing the fresh air outside without my ink covered up in eye-bleeding orange.

  3

  Buckle Under (Sabrina)

  It was a long drive home. I got inside my condo, threw my stuff down, and set myself to work transcribing the interview from my recorder. I'd kept in my pocket, concealing it from him, deliberately using the one thing he'd forbidden.

  It was the only way I was going to remember every shocking detail just perfect. The notepad was worse than useless – nothing on the paper except nervous squiggles – all I could do to keep myself fearless and focused.

  It worked, right up until the end. Then he threw his tantrum and made me question whether or not the thick glass would hold if he really went berserk. He only slapped it once, but the boom was like the end of the world.

  I walked out of there as he yelled after me, shaken like an animal who'd just escaped over a busy road. I barely had time to catch my breath and stop before Charlie came in to escort me out.

  I worked on the transcription without thinking. Hearing his rough, smooth voice again on the speaker made it even harder. But I sat down and did it, promising myself a nice, tall drink after I was done.

  I knew I'd need several to fall asleep tonight, as soon as the draft was off to Richard's inbox. I'd have to get totally plastered to avoid the dreams like the first time I'd interviewed him, especially with his voice here in my own home.

  He dominated the silence. I'd never met a man whose presence twisted the atmosphere into submission with just the sound of his voice or a single glance at his massive body.

  But that superpower was Anton Ivankov's specialty. And he'd rooted himself deep in my life like a supervillian.

  My fingers whirled across the keyboard, digesting the interview, re-living every word. God, he'd acted so different this time, and I still sounded weak on tape. I'd bristled when he suggested I knew nothing about the underworld – the only thing I could do. Any other reaction threatened to show him who I really was.

  Then there was the way he'd exploded against the glass at the end. How much fiercer would it have been if he'd known I was Giovanni Ligiotti's only daughter? Would I have made it out of there without getting torn to bits in flying glass? Would I have made it home alive?

  I wasn't sure. All I knew was I worked without breaks. I only stopped when he pounded the glass at the end, followed by his muffled shout, and then the final minute or two of my own hurried footsteps mixed with heavy breaths.

  It was night when I was finally finished. I sent the transcript off to Richard with my commentary and stepped outside. I'd never been so grateful to breathe the cool Chicago air.

  I stuffed some easy cash in my purse for tips and cab fare before I was off to the Silver Pear. I'd need them later, when I was so sauced up I could barely stumble out of the elevator at my place.

  I'm going to forget Anton Ivankov, I vowed. No matter how much it makes my liver cry in the process.

  I ordered heavy, strong drinks, one after another. Someone was looking out for me near the end – probably my Uncle's manager, Vitto, who came out and personally thanked me for the family visit.

  I wanted to throw my empty shot glass at him.

  “Bar's closing early, Miss Ligiotti,” he said, offering me a big apologetic smile.

  “Sure it is.” I turned away with a haughty sniff, leaving the waiter a goo
d tip. It wasn't his fault this asshole was one more extension of my Uncle's eyes and ears, reaching into my life where it didn't belong.

  “Wait, wait,” Vitto pleaded, running after me when I slid out of the booth and marched toward the lobby. “He's waiting for you, Miss Ligiotti. No need to call a cab.”

  I stopped in mid-step, turned, and nodded. Shit.

  One more pivot and I saw him sitting in the entryway, two stoic faced thugs in leather jackets at his side. I hadn't seen Uncle Gioulio since a cousin's wedding almost four months ago.

  He was out of his chair and heading toward me before I took another step. He was a tall, lean, balding man with a scar on his cheek. He always joked it was from a bar brawl in his younger days, but I suspected something worse.

  The expensive suit covered up the belly he'd been developing in his fifties nicely. His well polished shoes completed the ensemble, always immaculate.

  “Sabrina!” His cold hands folded around me, and I returned the hug, bracing as he kissed both cheeks. “It's been too long, my niece.”

  “Far too long,” I agreed, letting my drunken tongue sound more enthusiastic than I really was.

  “Come sit. There's something we need to discuss. You know it's not like me to drop in personally without notice, but tonight, I couldn't resist.”

  My knees felt like rocks as I followed him to the empty chairs. The whole bar staff cleared out. They knew to keep their distance when the real owner showed up.

  I sank down on a bench a few feet across from him, watching as he sat between his men. He fished out a pomegranate and a small silver knife. He took his time, slicing away the top, opening it up, using the blade to help dig out a few seeds, which he popped into his mouth and chewed before he looked at me.

  “You're a good girl, Brina. My favorite niece. When will you go off and find a good man to marry? I'm surprised you're still here and not traveling abroad. You ought to be putting your heels far and wide while you're young enough to enjoy it.”

  I smiled – all I could do to settle the unease in my legs. Damn, maybe I should've skipped the last two drinks after all.

  “Can't do that until I've got some stuff published, Uncle Gioulio. I'm –“

  He cut me off, holding up a finger, chewing a few more seeds. “You're busy sticking your pretty head in places it doesn't belong.”

  “You're talking about Anton Ivankov?”

  My Uncle bowed up when I said the name. He looked at the bulldog on his right and handed the pomegranate to him, then leaned forward in his seat, folding his hands. The knife rested on the arm rest next to him.

  “You know I am. Why didn't you clear this with me first, Brina?”

  Because there's no way in hell you'd let me go through with it, I thought.

  “He's locked up,” I said quietly. “I didn't think you'd have a problem.”

  Gioulio's face darkened. He shook his head, like I'd just smashed one of the regal portraits of our ancestors at his city estate.

  “The problem isn't the Russian behind bars. He's got two brothers walking free. They're all very much alive and active, I'm sorry to say. Tell me, Brina, what do you think would happen if he found out who you are? Hm?”

  I swallowed. He had me. Nothing good.

  “That's right,” my uncle whispered, standing up. “I get it. You're young. Hungry to make a name for yourself. Maybe do something that'll get this family some positive buzz in the press, outside the trendy reviews section, I mean.”

  Our clubs always got glowing reviews. I wasn't sure if he bribed them, or if the quality was really just better than everybody else's. It almost made up for the odd story that slipped out about our mafia doings.

  He crossed the room and kneeled. He grabbed one hand with both of his, held it. I couldn't suppress the shudder. He was so damned cold, his fingers like stubby icicles.

  “You got your interview, my niece. Two of them, and that's plenty. No more followup. Visiting him twice was dangerous and stupid,” he said coldly, pinching my fingers in his. “This will be a one off, an exclusive, whatever the fuck you call it in your business. And if you ever decide to have talks with an Ivankov associate again, you'll come to me first. I'm not going to treat you like a kid, Brina. You're a mature, beautiful woman now. But I'm not going to be the idiot responsible for something bad happening to you while you're young and stupid. I promised Gio I wouldn't let that shit happen, and I'm sticking to it.”

  I turned my face away. Hearing him talk about my father hit me harder than it should in this state. The alcohol numbed everything else, but not this, apparently.

  “Uncle, don't.” I extracted my hand from his, warming it in my other palm.

  “I won't, Brina. I don't need to. I know you understand, don't you?”

  It took me a good ten seconds to meet his eyes. Finally, I nodded.

  The glacial frown on his face thawed, and broke into a smile. His small, too perfect white teeth glistened in the dim light.

  “Magnifico! There's my good girl.” He reached around me, pulled me out of my seat, and held me tight. “Stay away from the Silver Pear for awhile. Don't let an Ivankov poison your good mind, Brina. Drink some water. Get some sleep. I'll have Silvano take you home. He's waiting for you outside.”

  His grip was cold, but it was reassuring after the day I'd had. What could I say?

  I wasn't making promises I had no intention of keeping. I hated being looked after like a kid, but I couldn't deny his intentions were good. Uncle Gioulio was more experienced, a man who'd spent his whole life precariously perched between two worlds, criminal and civil.

  “Thanks, Uncle.” I gave him one more squeeze and then headed out to the sleek black sedan with the chauffeur out front.

  When I looked through the Silver Pear's glass just before the car pulled away, he was still standing there, thumbing his knife's handle. The big flat blade tapped on his thigh the same way an angry cat thumps its tail.

  I took my vitamin and guzzled several big glasses of water before I collapsed in a long, dreamless sleep. Richard's call woke me the next day way too early.

  The hangover almost killed me when I sat up, but I managed to reach the phone. “Hello?”

  “Brina, baby, this is fucking gold! And it's going live today.”

  Mission accomplished. So then, why did that make me feel so nauseous?

  “I'm glad you like it. He said something about a followup on my way out, right after the part where he scared the hell out of me.”

  Richard laughed. Easy for him to chuckle when I'd done the hard part, feeding content to his fifty million daily viewers while he hadn't done an interview himself in the past decade. And never one with a savage creep like Ivankov.

  I shouldn't have said anything about the followup, my last heart pounding moment with Anton. Richard said the dreaded words.

  “We'll make this a three parter!”

  Fuckity-fuck. That headache rumbling in my head growled louder. “I don't know. Are you sure people really want that much on the Chicago bomber? I didn't know the appetite was so strong.”

  “What? You kidding?” He sounded like I'd just spoken complete gibberish. “I've been in this business a long time, Brina. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that the people love freaks. They want their killers, psychos, and terrorists up close and personal. Candid or off-the-walls crazy, it's all good. It's our job to keep the carnival running as long as possible.”

  “Okay. One more interview,” I snapped. “Next week. Then that's it.”

  He paused. “Brina, what's going on? You sound stressed.”

  He didn't know the fucking half of it. Anton was a murdering thug who sent chills up my spine. I could explain that, but I'd never admit to the sharper chills electrifying my bones whenever my brain was free and unchained at night. I wasn't about to tell a top ten roller in the new wave media that my sick brain wouldn't stop having sex dreams about the fearsome Russian killer.

  “I'll get through it,” I promised, taking a
deep, silent breath. “These sit downs with him are very intense.”

  “Oh, no doubt, girl. And that's why I love 'em. Just keep doing what you're doing. Rest up and be ready for the final act with him next week. I know you won't let me down, Brina. This is your big break. And I'd be saying that without a third act to look forward to.”

  “Thanks, Rich. I needed that.”

  No answer. I held my phone away and saw it was dead. Great. I angrily slapped the key and headed for the shower.

  A nice, hot steamy fog would do a lot to sweat out the fever Anton fed in my skin. Then maybe I'd have the strength to face the next few days sober, right after I called the correctional facility and set up the Wednesday afternoon he'd suggested.

  If I wasn't such a scared, high strung virgin, this would've been the perfect time to go out and get laid. In the shower, I couldn't stop craving a man's thick, strong hands roaming my curves, all the dirty yearnings I'd been too scared to face head-on.

  Big mistake. Little by little, those imaginary hands became his. Anton's fingers pinched my ass until I cried with pleasure, slamming me against his hard, rough body, pressing my face to his hard, unapologetic lips. His tattoos were a hypnotic world on his skin, alive and dangerous as the rest of him. And his cock – when it brushed against my belly, hot and big and brutally hard, I melted.

  Fantasy Anton moved like lightning, fisting my hair in one rough pull, holding my face underneath his. “Stop fighting this shit. I know all the nasty things you think about me. I know you pretend to be a good girl, Sabrina, divorced from the shit you were born into. Stop fucking fighting it. Stop fighting me. You're a crime girl, babe, and a starving little slut to boot. You want your goddamned exclusive? Then I'm gonna give it to you hard and deep, just like those Latvian chicks. I'll pry your pretty eyes open, make 'em see everything with one hard fuck.”

  I screamed when he pushed between my thighs, taking me, driving me insane. It should've hurt, but my clit hummed pleasure, throttling beet red ecstasy to my head.