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

by Nicole Snow

  “Better start talking, asshole. Or else Joker here's gonna take your tongue first. You've gotta be a fuckin' prospect if you're not wearing their ink.”

  The bastard laughed. Prez just stood over us, watching, his eyes fixed on the asshole's chest. Then the Veep pushed his knife against his throat, ready to start peeling skin.

  “He ain't gonna tell us shit unless we make him. I say we get serious, before we're wasting our fucking time. He already upset my dog!”

  The knife flipped around in the Veep's hand. Crazy brother was about to let it sink in, somewhere in the man's face, when Dust kicked it outta his hand.

  “Hold it, Joker – no! Should've seen it fucking sooner. He's Irish. Muddy Bray Clan. Took me a minute to remember where the fuck I'd seen that shitty ink job before.”

  “So what?” I growled, my eyes searching the Prez's.

  “So, we kill him, or fuck him up too bad, we'll have the Torches and all this asshole's hitman brothers after us. And you'd better believe they've got an easy road to Knoxville, straight through Charleston or Norfolk. These bastards got themselves a little monopoly going on all the shipyards east side. I remember that shit from my Navy days.”

  Fuck. Goddamn, I hated it when he talked sense.

  Not as much as Joker, though, who still looked at the fuckhead like he wanted to skin him alive. Losing the knife didn't matter, he'd have done it with his bare hands if the Prez wasn't holding him back.

  I moved outta the way reluctantly, watching as our leader put his boot down on the bastard's chest. “How much they paying you?” Dust asked, murder in his voice. “We'll double it.”

  Asshole started laughing again before he answered. “Your little piss trickle of a club? Come on, mate. Everybody across the Atlantic knows the Deadly Pistols have been broke for years – anyone who's heard of you, anyway.”

  “Skin – go to the vault and grab a stack,” Prez ordered, grinding his boot deeper against the man's sternum while we waited.

  Skinny boy moved fast. Came running back in a minute or less with at least ten big clutched in his hands, two fat, crumpled stacks of cold cash.

  “We ain't broke no more,” I said, taking the money from him and shoving it in the fucker's face while his big green eyes bugged out. “Start talking, or you're going home with nothing more than a few broken ribs and bruises to show for it.”

  “I'll need more than this, lad,” the man said.

  More?! Wrong fuckin' answer.

  My fist went straight into his guts and kept going, reaching underneath his ribs, stopping just short of cracking a couple more. Punched so hard I bruised organs.

  I stood up, watching him writhe. Dust nodded, suppressing a smug smile, and he took over the space I'd just vacated, leaning over the bastard with his frigid gray eyes.

  “My old man did plenty of biz with the Irish back in the day. We can do it again, but not if we're gonna get ourselves off on the wrong foot. Be a sport and tell me about the Torches' plan.”

  “No more blows to the gut, mate. Promise me that,” mafia man growled, his words a harsh rattle.

  “Sorry, mate.” Dust growled the last word. “Don't make promises I can't keep. I'll make sure you're able to speak clearly for the next few minutes as a sign of good faith. Where's yours?”

  “All right, you bloody fucking bastards,” Irish said, staring at the money in my fists. I wanted to finish beating the fuck outta him with it, drown it in his blood. “They'll be here soon. Torches hired me to sneak in and rig up your place, then blow the charges when I got the call that they're coming into town. Maybe it would've killed a couple of you up front, who knows. Definitely would've sent your men scurrying like vermin, scared, straight into their trap.”

  Dust wasn't looking at him anymore. He crouched next to the mobster, looking bored, and slowly pulled out his pipe. He lit it, taking a good, long pull before he said anything else.

  “Fuckin' amateurs,” the Prez rumbled.

  Sixty grinned. Joker and I shared the same dark glance.

  “Tell you what, Irish, we'll keep your phone and send you on a ride back to your chaps in the Carolinas or Virginia or wherever the fuck. You'll get half of what my boy Firefly's holding. Take a few hundred to lick your wounds, and give the rest to your bosses. Tell 'em there's plenty more where that came from, long as you cut the Torches out of your deals tomorrow.”

  The bastard's eyes jumped from the Prez to me, and then to Joker. He licked his lips, like a fuckin' hawk eyeing a mouse creeping along near its burrow.

  “The whole ten thousand. For my pain and suffering.”

  “Six and a half. That's my final offer. I'm already meeting you in the middle here. Also doing you a solid by keeping my men from fucking you up worse than you already are.”

  Irish snorted, spat blood, and swore, rolling so he could stagger to his feet. We'd already patted the fucker down, took his gun, so we knew he wasn't gonna draw shit on us.

  “Bullocks! You lads don't have the piss to draw more blood, and we both know it.”

  Dust stood, lending him a hand. “Wish that was true. I run a tight ship, no doubt about it. But that boy over there, my Veep, his name's Joker. He's fuckin' crazy, and so's his dog.”

  Bingo chose the perfect time to wander up next to Joker on his leash, and the big wolfhound bared his teeth, letting out another ferocious growl. Joker stroked the dog's head with one hand, and put his switchblade between his own teeth with the other, running his tongue along the edge.

  Just seeing my brother tongue-fucking the knife caused my guts to churn. It must've worked because the Irishman started going pale, and not just from the blows we'd given him.

  “Look, friend, I'll do everything I can to keep my boy under control if you wanna try to walk past, but I can't make promises. Sometimes these Pistols got a mind of their own, Irish. You know how it is here in the States. Hell, forget the US of A. This is Dixie. Things are a little wilder out here. We've got a history of knowing when we need to take the law into our own hands.”

  “You...you wouldn't dare, Dusty. Don't bullshit me, now.”

  “No bullshit. Just fair warning.”

  Joker snapped his neck up, launching the blade high into the sky. The knife spun overhead, and I shielded my eyes while that fucker whirled like something in orbit, coming down a second later, aimed right at our psycho Veep's face.

  Even the damned dog looked jealous when Joker caught it in his teeth again. Sixty burst out laughing. Prez and I gawked, and Irish – well, that fucker damned near shit himself.

  “Okay! Fucking hell, you win,” he hissed, stepping away from Dust, pawing at my hand for the cash. “Six and a half, like you said. I'll take your offer back to the round table, and we'll see what they say. No guarantees.”

  “Understood,” Dust said, taking another long drag from his pipe. “Firefly, take this boy in and watch him while he gets cleaned up. We'll have the prospects haul his ass across the state line when they're done with your girl. Oh, and one more thing.”

  Prez walked up, reached into the Irishman's pocket, and pulled out his burner. “Gonna have to keep this. Easy way of knowing when the Torches get into town, plus we'll make sure you don't have a remote detonator wired into this shit some way. Wouldn't want any hard feelings to ruin the fine new friendship we've started here today.”

  Friendship, my fucking ass. Working with the pukes who'd just tried to blow our headquarters to kingdom come made me wanna choke.

  But the Prez had an eye for strategy, I couldn't deny it.

  Buying ourselves time, or maybe even a working relationship with the Irish mob, that was valuable when the time came to fuck the Torches hard. Shit, might be more useful down the road, when we had our next run in with the Deads.

  “Follow me, and don't step the fuck outta my sight for a single second,” I warned him, taking the asshole by the wrist like an overgrown kid.

  “Firefly!” Prez yelled after me, when we'd only taken a couple steps. “Drag him along the
wall. We'll make damned sure all the charges are pulled before he's pulling his fuckin' pud in the shower.”

  Irish looked at me, moving at a hobble. That pain in his chest must've been settling in something furious.

  “You heard the man,” I growled, slamming him against the wall.

  Made him tear off each of the three explosives he'd stuck to the clubhouse's perimeter. When the bastard was finally done, I led him inside, straight to the bathroom.

  Thought about my girl the whole time while I stripped his ass down and shoved him into the showers, waiting for Laynie to show up and look him over. Hoped Lion and Tin were taking good care of her.

  I watched him move like he was eighty, slowly running soap and water all over his skinny body. “Hurry up, asshole,” I said, slapping the tile wall.

  I meant it, too.

  Soon, we'd be finishing this shit. Just had to wait 'til Irish's burner phone rang with a call from the Torches.

  Once they got into town, they wouldn't be leaving our home turf alive.

  We'd gut their asses and hang their fuckin' insides from the trees, deep in the dense mountain forests.

  Then I'd give my woman and this club one fuck of a wedding bash like nothing they'd ever seen.

  X: Thin Pink Line (Cora)

  I woke up sick, throwing up, the second time since he'd left. It had been three days, and Firefly had only called me once in the mad rush to do...whatever the hell these men did when they ran off to play hero.

  “Mercy,” I whimpered to myself, huddled on the floor next to the toilet.

  After the breakfast I'd just lost, I was ready to call out to Jesus, Buddha, and Zeus all the same. Anyone who'd make my poor stomach stop flinging my insides around like they were on a roller coaster would win my good graces forever.

  I'd had my stomach bugs before, like any girl in her twenties, but this...this was different. When the room stopped spinning, I stood up, grasping the wall.

  Cupping cold water in my hands, I splashed it across my face.

  Horrid timing. I'd just taken a shower before the nausea hit, and now I looked like total crap again.

  The strange tension and sickness wasn't just in my belly. It stabbed deeper, through my entire body. A shaky, tingling sensation took hold and wouldn't let go, suggesting possibilities that turned my blood cold.

  It couldn't be...

  Oh, but it could.

  I had to know. I had to get out of here.

  Unfortunately, the prospects who'd replaced Firefly as my temporary bodyguards sniffed out every movement I made like bloodhounds. They watched me when I went down to the kitchen, checked on me every other hour, even when I tried to sleep.

  Lion, the beefy young man with the scruffy beard going down to his collar, hiding his whole neck.

  Tinman, roughly the same age. Tall, silent, and lean, like someone who'd seen too much. He only spoke when he had to.

  They manned their posts like sentinels, protecting me from crashing into men who were supposedly much worse. But they felt like wardens, too, keeping me here when all I wanted to do was run to the nearest drug store and discover the terrifying truth...

  I closed my eyes, fighting against another ache in my belly.

  Think, Cora, think. There has to be a way. There always is.

  It came to me when Lion knocked gently on the door, asking if I'd like him to bring something up for breakfast. I ordered a good old pimento sandwich with lemonade, hot tea, and brown sugar. I also asked him if there were any pickles.

  They'd done some real damage to me when I was a kid. Ever since daddy left me alone with a homemade jar of pickles and I'd eaten my fill until I threw them up, they'd never sat well with me.

  If pickles, sugar, and a cheese sandwich didn't trigger my gag reflex, nothing would.

  I was already feeling fifty-fifty by the time my food arrived. Downing the food quickly, I let the pain come, racing for the bathroom when it was time.

  * * * *

  “Cora? You all right?”

  I answered him with another retch, one that tore at my stomach so hard I knocked the tray of food to the floor. No sooner than it crashed on the bathroom tile, Lion burst in, Tinman right behind him.

  “Fuck.” The prospects both swore the instant they saw the mess.

  I'd barely made it to the toilet. It hurt like hell coming out. I dabbed at my face with a wet towel, hoping it would give my face an extra sickly sheen to go with my genuine sweat.

  “Guys, I'm really sorry. I'm real sick. I need a doctor...”

  “Fuck,” Lion growled again, spinning around while Tinman helped me stand. “You're not supposed to leave the house. Firefly's orders. Maybe if we get Laynie to come out here...”

  “No!” I snapped, feeling my temples throb like mad when I did. Yes, my own voice was much too loud. “I need a real doctor. And a friend. I have a gut disorder...something I haven't checked for a few years. I think it might be coming back.”

  The two men looked at each other. Lion shook his head, determined to do what he'd said, keep me under lock and key while they got the club's medic to look at me.

  I had to make them do better than that.

  “Can't let you outta here,” he said, giving me a hard look.

  “Dunno, Lion. Feels like she's burning the fuck up. Woman looks like hell.” Surprisingly, Tinman cracked first. “Uh, meaning no offense, ma'am.”

  “No, of course not. It's true,” I mumbled weakly, feeling my stomach rolling again. “Oh, God. Put me down fast. A little privacy, please.”

  They both stepped outside while I lost it. I strained to hear what they were saying outside while I went through my own private hell.

  “It's our fucking asses on the line if anything bad happens to her. No, bro, it ain't the Torches. But if she gets fucked up just the same, by germs or some shit...”

  “Shhhit. You're right. We'd better do what she says. Long as we're with her the whole time, keeping an eye on everything...”

  “Think we should tell Firefly?”

  “Fuck me stupid.” Lion groaned. “Nah. He'll wonder when the fuck this started, and our dicks'll be nailed to the pavement twice as hard if something goes wrong. We got this. We can handle a sick woman, I think, or neither of us deserve a damned bottom rocker.”

  “Cora?” Tinman called softly, knocking at the door when I'd finally gone silent. “Let's get you some water. Soon as you're good to ride, we'll take you into town.”

  “Oh, bless you,” I said, putting on my sweetest smile through the sickness as he stuck his head through the crack in the door. “I won't forget this, boys, just so you know. I'll put in a good word for both of you with Dust and Firefly once this is all over.”

  If I needed to seal the deal, that did it. They were both on me like my own private entourage, rubbing my shoulders and helping me wipe my face clean.

  I didn't like the fact that I had to stretch the truth. Okay, fine, more than stretch. I outright lied.

  Pickles aside, my health had always been solid. I'd never suffered from any serious stomach disorders.

  No one had to know that just yet, of course. The need for my own truth trumped everything just now.

  If something else was causing the cramps and morning sickness, then I had a lot more to worry about than being cooped up while we waited for a shootout with the Torches MC.

  * * * *

  As soon as we got to the Ruby Heel, I told them to sneak me into Meg's office. The door going backstage was locked, which upset me. Probably some new security measure that cropped up since the club had gone into lockdown mode.

  We slipped through a side entrance instead, away from the girls. Thank God for small favors. I didn't want them seeing me in this state, or disrupting the important job ahead.

  “Wait here,” I told them, batting my eyes as I slid Meg's door shut. “I've got some spare meds in the office.”

  They listened, and I headed straight for the little cabinet in the corner, where she kept a spare box
of pregnancy tests for the girls.

  I pulled one out, stuffed it in my pocket, and popped the door.

  “The fuck? That was fast,” Lion said, scratching his scruffy beard. “Everything okay in there?”

  “Yeah, I was just looking for something to settle my stomach. Found it in the boss' medicine cabinet.”

  “Couldn’t you have picked this shit up at the drugstore?” Tinman asked, his eyes focusing on me suspiciously.

  “No, prescription only. This is my reserve supply. The rest was lost in the commotion lately. I'll find Meg as quick as I can and see about a checkup. That's what we're here for too. Oh, God...” I pursed my lips dramatically, grabbing my stomach. “Need to use the bathroom.”

  The men limped behind me as I ran for the lady's room backstage. This time, I slammed the door to the stall shut and pretended to throw up, careful to make sure my act didn't really make me do the real thing.

  When I flushed, I sat down and did the test. My heart could've beat its way out of my chest.

  Gripping the small, plastic stick in my hand, heaven and hell flashed before my eyes like one of those intense opium dreams I used to read in poems as a little girl.

  A straight, sharp line going from daddy and straight through me, through Firefly, to our unborn baby. Blood red.

  Scary. Dark. Vibrant.

  It tethered me to my badass lover in all his beautiful, rough glory. He'd go crazy protecting me when he found out. I'd either have a husband and the happy family life I'd always dreamed about since mom died, or else I'd lose everything, and end up alone.

  As long as I had my baby.

  God, was I really going to have his baby?

  I pinched my eyes shut as I held up the test, counting down another sixty seconds. Sweat dripped off my skin, pulled out by the intoxicating fear, excitement, and adrenaline pummeling my heart.

  Just look, damn you. Look!

  Eyes open. It took me another second to adjust to the light, but when I did, I saw it.

  The thin, neon pink line for positive hit me like a shot to the head. I lost my grip, and the plastic stick clattered to the floor, sliding out of the stall.

  “Shit!” I swore, trying to stand and fix my clothes. I had to stop and prop myself up against the stall, the only thing that would stop the universe from spinning.