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

by Nicole Snow

  The bastards holding me chuckled softly. I knew it then, as they marched me deeper into the woods. Help wouldn't be coming.

  I'd be their prisoner, totally at their mercy. They'd do whatever they wanted to me.

  It took all my strength not to vomit. Everything inside me tightened up, blurred together, a killing anguish fused with physical exhaustion. Numbness seeped through me like my entire body was trying to flush out some poison – except it was all on the outside, sinking in, going deeper.

  I couldn't get rid of it fast enough. Not before I passed out.

  “Prez, she's dragging,” Rawdog said, slapping me across the face. I couldn't feel it when the blackness welled up, swallowing me under.

  I'm sorry, little one. Firefly, forgive me.

  There's no more fight left. I tried.

  I can't. I just can't anymore.

  We're going to pay daddy's debt now. All of us.

  Jesus Christ, forgive me.

  XI: Gone (Firefly)

  I was riding with Joker, Skin, and Sixty on the edge of town when I got the call. Crawl was on the line. Soon as I picked up, he said the words that stopped my fucking heart.

  “Prospects haven't checked in. Can't get a hold of Lion or Tin. Lion's phone's completely fucking dead, Firefly. Got a bad feeling about this. Real fuckin' bad.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK.

  “Tell the Prez, goddamn it!”

  “Already did.”

  I gripped my bike, flooring it so damned hard the roar nearly drowned his ass out. “Then you watch the clubhouse the hangarounds. Tell Dust to get the fuck out here. Just take the road to my sis' place. That's where we're going 'til we find 'em.”

  I never should've left her with those fuckin' clowns. Never!

  Yeah, I was being harsh, but just then I didn't give a shit.

  Lion and Tin would've done their best, whatever the fuck happened. Damned shame their best wasn't good enough – not when every man who'd earned his full patch had years of experience on those boys.

  Something vile and dark tugged at the pit of my stomach. My guts were on fire, feeding pure hatred into my veins.

  I'd been ready to kill since lockdown started, anything to get this bullshit over and done, so I could bring my woman home.

  Killing didn't cut it anymore.

  A lot of motherfuckers wearing the black flame on their cuts were still gonna die. That much was certain. Their whole fuckin' club was about to go extinct.

  But now they'd hurt bad before they drew their last breaths. A bullet to the head or a knife to the throat wouldn't do. That was letting the fucks off free and easy.

  A thousand tortures came charging through my skull like a damned cattle herd.

  Fire. Kerosene. A bed of broken glass. Their heads stuffed on a pike like a fucking kabob, gagged with their own filthy balls.

  I'd do it all. I'd turn into a mad dog killing machine 'til I got my Cora home, and anybody who tried to stop me was gonna pay with blood.

  I started dialing the brothers riding with me. Joker heard me breathing raw hell into my phone.

  He grunted. Didn't ask what the fuck was wrong, or what the hell had happened. Just cleared his throat and growled into the line.

  “Drive on ahead of me, brother. Lead us wherever you think'll kill them quickest.”

  Amen.

  * * * *

  Half an hour later, we tore down the loneliest stretch of highway, the shortcut between Knoxville and Tri-Cities that I always took to Hannah's place.

  Found a mess of cones and barriers along the mountain road, something that looked like it'd been ripped apart lightning quick. I slowed my bike and parked along the curb, raising my hand for the rest of the boys to do the same.

  Then I saw Lion's dirty blue truck, one of the doors popped open, and my heart began to beat the fuck outta my chest.

  Shit. Fuck. Goddamn!

  Heard the groan as soon as I got off my bike. Sixty swore, ran to the opposite side of the road, and started looking in the ditch.

  Shit was full of weeds, half-flooded with mud. Took about two minutes just to see the dark, dirty metal sticking up in the muck.

  “Fuck! That's our boy's bike.” Sixty got on his hands and knees, sliding down into the crap.

  Heard it again, a man grinding his teeth, or trying to scream through several layers who fuck knew what.

  Where the hell was it coming from? I slid down behind my brother, looking up at Joker, who gave me a nod. Drew my nine as Sixty and me waded through thick, stagnant pond scum, heading for a sewer drain.

  Couldn't stop thinking about the worst every step we took. Might find anything lurking in the slime, even what was left of my girl.

  A man groaned again, this time in the darkness. I stopped by the edge, motioned to Sixty, and gripped my gun.

  He nodded. Ready, Firefly.

  I had to go in. Had to find out who the fuck was in there. If it was one of the Torches, bleeding out like a stuck fucking animal, I'd put a bullet right through his head.

  “Put your fuckin' hands up!” I roared, whipping around and peering into the shadowy blackness.

  More groaning. Shrill, but muffled. Fuck.

  I dove in. Sixty was right behind me as soon as he heard it. Found Tin up against a wall with a dirty rag in his mouth, his wrists cut from working off some shitty plastic handcuffs. We dragged them both out, Tinman with his bleeding shoulder, and the poor, beaten brother he'd been protecting.

  Both our boys were in bad shape, but Lion was worse. Tin's hands were too fucked up to get a good pull on the gag in his mouth. I ripped it out for him.

  “Oh, fuck! Firefly. Shit, you've gotta help him!” Tinman tried to bolt outta my arms when he saw Lion moving his head. “That's the first he's moved since those fuckers beat the shit out of him. He's hurt real bad, boss. Been struggling to breathe for like ten or twenty minutes.”

  Stooping to Sixty, I carefully picked up Lion. Carried the brother over to Joker, who'd come down into the muck with us. Veep helped me haul him up, trying to do our damnedest not to rattle him much more.

  I'd seen guys torn to pieces in Uncle Sam's service, and with the club. Lion was one of the worst I'd ever seen. He moved in and out of consciousness every second, groaning and swearing, too many bones feeling like rocks rolling around in a sack underneath his skin.

  Those sick, sadistic motherfuckers were paying for what they'd done to him ten times over. And shit, I still hadn't even asked about Cora.

  So damned desperate to get this boy loaded to the nearest fuckin' hospital I hadn't had the chance. Fuck!

  Dust roared up just as we got him in the back of the truck. “What the hell's going on here?” Prez shouted, staring at us all covered in grime.

  “Torches fucked up both our prospects,” Sixty said, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled out a smoke. “Don't know if Lion's gonna make it. Boy's been ripped to hell and back.”

  Joker lost his nerve first. He didn't say shit, just slammed his fist into the side of the truck so hard he left a dent.

  “Easy, boys, easy. Save that shit for the Torches,” Dust growled, coming toward me. Probably because I was the only one with the ruthless calm. “Where's Cora?”

  “Tin!” I called his name, leading the Prez around to the passenger side, where we found the prospect blowing into his hands and rubbing 'em together, desperate to warm up. “Debrief us. Quick as you can. Gotta get you and Lion into checkup real fuckin' quick.”

  “Fuckers ambushed us, brothers. It all happened so fast, they were moving like devils, Firefly, we couldn't fight 'em off.” He looked at Dust. “Prez, we fucked up bad. We should've both went down dying, but they would've hurt the girl. Red Beard, the fuckin' snake, left me in one piece to tell you he says you're even. They got what they came for. They're gonna keep her. No more fighting, if we let her go.”

  “Fuck, no,” I growled, before the Prez could speak. “You're letting the bruises those bastards left on your brain do the talkin
g if you think we're quitting. We have to go to Atlanta. Kill them. Wipe out the fuckin' Torches for good. Deads, miles, and blood be damned.”

  I looked at Dust. He squinted, his cold gray eyes more like a wolf's than ever before. There was nothing there, nothing fucking human. Just the same silent, cold glint I saw reflected back in my own eyes.

  Slowly, he pulled out a smoke and nodded, before he finally turned to Sixty. “Land these boys a doctor. Drop them off. Tell Crawl to leave the clubhouse and watch over 'em. Then get your asses back up here, pronto.”

  “Yeah? I'm on it, Prez. Where we goin'?”

  Dust waited for me to say it. When I did, it hissed out through my teeth like hellfire in a rusty furnace.

  “Atlanta.”

  * * * *

  We rode hard, all through the night, feeling the cool Georgia rain pouring down our backs.

  I saw demons everywhere. On the road, old men riding who looked like Deads at first, ready to catch my bullets, before I saw they were harmless.

  Old farts out for joy rides. Nothing more.

  The fucks were everywhere, though, ghosts of the bastard MC we should've been fighting with the Torches – but they'd pissed away our alliance forever.

  I only saw traps and thieves everywhere, horseshit obstacles stopping me from bringing her home. They had to go.

  Every last one of 'em.

  Granny always said I had a gift growing up, just like her, when she hallucinated shit before it really happened. Didn't know about that, but I did see a hundred bloody visions unfurling on the road ahead, steaming and savage.

  I saw my girl in some shitty clubhouse in Atlanta, being held down, a pitch black hood over her head. I saw them doing terrible, soul-killing things to her.

  I vowed I'd hold one blood-soaked Torches' cut every time they did.

  But that promise didn't mean a fuckin' thing. All that mattered was bringing her home, safe and sound.

  Having her at my side again, in my bed, on the back of this bike beneath the warm, sunny Smokies.

  Anything beat riding in the cold, cruel rain. And even ice rolling down my back beat the fuck outta living without my woman.

  I saw us tangled together again. Cora's hot lips on mine. I'd kiss her twice as hard, pull her hips into mine, flatten her against our bed, grinding 'til I fucked every ounce of pain outta her, and then some.

  I'd already had her pussy, her heart, and a piece of her soul. I'd given her all mine in spades, shit I swore I'd never give up to any chick, long as I walked this earth a free man.

  That was before her, sweet Cora, and there was no goddamned fuckin' way I'd ever go back to that soulless, empty void.

  Dust and Joker rolled on ahead of me like machines, with Sixty and Skin behind me, a slow moving anaconda of bikers prowling into the night. We were out to murder, to un-fuck ourselves after the vicious humiliation of having our two youngest brothers beat to hell and home again on our own turf.

  Every brother had a thousand reasons to send the Torches hurling down to the blackest pit of hell where they belonged.

  I had a thousand and one.

  Didn't fuckin' care how hard the rest of the boys fought. I'd fight harder.

  I gripped my handlebars 'til my wrists went numb, all I could do to keep myself sane through the long, hard ride south.

  Cora, I'm coming for you, darlin'. Coming 'til I bring you home.

  Atlanta loomed large in the distance by the middle of the night, its lights twinkling in the rain. We'd never been to the Torches' clubhouse, but we had a map straight up their assholes.

  Just then, I hated the fuck outta those city lights. They were a prison, holding my girl hostage, beacons for the vipers we'd been sent to destroy.

  I wanted to slink through the night like a goddamned villain and punch out every single one of 'em with my bare hands. No time for that shit.

  Sending the Torches to the underworld would have to do.

  They'd die for me to bring her home. And I would, I promised, crossing my fuckin' heart as we rolled off the exit leading to the outskirts of town. I'd never been a church going man 'til now, but I'd have sworn my loyalty to anything that brought the Torches down, and put Cora back into my arms.

  Faith in myself and the club would have to do. I had plenty of that to go around.

  Faith meant courage. We'd ram down their fuckin' doors and kill them all, or I'd die twelve times.

  They'd already sliced my fuckin' heart out for failing to protect her. If it wasn't too late, I'd make amends.

  I'd feel her safe again, snug in our apartment, moaning underneath me all over again. And then I'd put her under lock and key for the rest of my life, keep her away from every last pile of this deadly, monstrous shit between outlaws.

  My engine rumbled like a lion as we flew down the main stretch, approaching the run down shithole by the abandoned warehouses that the Torches called home. Something wet my face, too warm to be rain.

  Reached up and wiped a single, hot tear working its way outta my eye before the other boys could see, riding beneath the pale, orange streetlamps.

  She wasn't leaving. Cora wasn't fuckin' leaving me!

  I wouldn't let her.

  Nobody – motherfucking nobody! – was ever taking her away from me. Not when I'd spent thirty fuckin' years searching for this kind of woman, taming her, branding her hot little lips on my skin 'til I drew my last breath.

  Cora was coming home. I'd never been so sure of anything else in my life. My brain felt fire every single second, even when Dust motioned for us to pull over, lock our shit up, and walk the last few blocks to their seedy fuckin' clubhouse.

  Hang on, Cora, I thought, grabbing extra ammo outta my saddlebag.

  Just a little while longer, baby. Firefly's coming.

  He's fucking coming.

  And he's bringing you home.

  XII: Debt To Pay (Cora)

  “Stop fucking squirming, slut.” Red Beard had a vile, soft edge to his voice as he tore off the black hood covering my face.

  My eyes hurt, suddenly flooded with blinding light from the hot, unshielded lamp swinging overhead. It had been a long, painful ride in the back of a truck to what I guessed was Atlanta.

  Then they'd dragged me through their dirty clubhouse, men laughing, the stink of beer and tobacco so thick all around me I could smell it through the hood. Event the air itself was different between clubs.

  The Pistols' headquarters smelled like the forest compared to this dank, dirty sewer. None of the bastards left me much time to dwell on it, though. They just dragged me down the halls, down a cramped staircase, and threw me straight into my cell.

  I couldn't shake the prison cell comparison in this dingy room. It looked like an old storm shelter with concrete walls and a mottled cement floor. Heavy iron bars covered the narrow slits for windows, completing the illusion.

  It took me five or ten minutes just to gather my breath, and stop my eyes from hurting. There was nothing left to do except the only sane thing anybody would try.

  Bargain.

  “Let me go,” I said, my voice a low, dry whisper. “Please. You used to be on the same side as the Deadly Pistols, right? It's not too late.”

  Red Beard tipped his head back and laughed. Next to him, Sharp beamed, his bald head gleaming underneath the light. The metal teeth in his long jaw matched the same industrial-looking tattoos lining his forehead.

  “Fuckin' bitch doesn't have a clue, does she, Prez?”

  “Nah.” Red Beard smiled at his VP, and then looked at me. “You're flat-out wrong, girlie-girl. We don't deal with liars who stick their fangs in our backs. It was too fuckin' late for them the second they decided not to dump you off on our doorstep. Dusty put personal ties over the pact he made with us like a goddamned fool.”

  “You're not going to use me to pay my father's debt,” I said. “He's already dead. Gone. You never should've loaned him the money. You knew he was wracking up losses he could never repay!”

  Too muc
h. Red Beard's hand shot out and slapped me on the cheek, so hard my head spun. I slumped in the uncomfortable wooden chair, wondering how long it would take my ears to stop ringing.

  “Fucking bitch! Not your place to talk back, and it damned sure ain't your place to talk to me about my own fucking business! Your daddy really raised a stupid cunt.”

  “Stupid, but good looking,” Sharp said, smiling and rubbing his chin. “We gonna start in on her, or what? We oughta find out how much cock this whore can take, and how hard, before we figure out whether we're selling or keeping her.”

  A feeble groan slipped out of my mouth. I looked up, too numb from the weakness in my body to seriously comprehend the savage threats being discussed right in front of me.

  “You won't,” I muttered.

  “Yeah, whore, we will,” Red Beard growled, stepping up behind me, jerking my hair.

  He stuck out his tongue. I knew he was running it slowly up my cheek like a starving dog, but I couldn't even feel it beneath the burn.

  Thank God for small favors, right?

  “Cold piece of ass. Doesn't even flinch,” he grunted, stepping away. His hand stayed on my shoulder, wandering down, down...oh, God.

  I closed my eyes and thought about Firefly as he grabbed my breast. My man wouldn't want me to fight. He'd want me to stay safe, to buy time, anything to stop this living nightmare.

  No! I couldn't do it.

  My hands shot out, grabbed Red Beard's arm, and I bit him, as hard as I could. The bastard screamed, and his filthy blood filled my mouth.

  Sharp was on me in half a heartbeat, shoving me so hard I hit the floor.

  Oh, shit. Shit! The baby!

  I rolled, threw my hands out, crouching in the most protective position I could. The two big men stood over me.

  I braced for their fists, their kicks, whatever they were going to do.

  “Get her fucking clothes off,” Red Beard snarled. “Gonna take her ass first. Pound the fuckin' shit out of this bitch 'til she's crying for that dead cocksucker who took our shit to the grave.”

  “Wait a minute, Prez?” Sharp looked up, something small and plastic in his hand.