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

by Nicole Snow

  I couldn't stop looking at Skin's ring. I held it in my hand until I nearly fell asleep, remembering to tuck it into the little drawer on my nightstand at the last second.

  He said he'd save me. I wanted to believe him. For all I knew, the heavy, deadly looking ring with the claw holding onto the pistol might be nothing more than a gimmick.

  Whatever they'd said and done to Ricky wasn't just an act, though. The pimp didn't bother me all night. They'd hurt him, rattled him, bad.

  I'd expected him to be pissed off and take it out on me. I was ready to drop to my knees and suck him off so he wouldn't hit me again. But the bastard never came, never even knocked on my door that night, too busy shuffling around with an icepack pressed to his jaw.

  When I heard his truck rumble and drive off in the parking lot, I knew I was safe.

  Safe to sleep. Safe to live another day. Safe to believe that maybe, just maybe, I'd find my way out of this living nightmare, if only Skin was as good as his word.

  * * * *

  “Wake the fuck up, bitch.” Ricky's sharp hand impacting my face woke me up before his cruel voice.

  “What the hell?” I bolted up, scurrying into the corner, as far as the chain would let me, covering the sting on my cheek.

  His lips smiled, but his dark eyes shined with explosive rage. “You're a lucky girl. It's your big day, and believe me when I say I'm a little sad I can't rough you up and feel those lips wrapped around my cock one more time.”

  I shook my head, wondering what he meant.

  “You've got yourself a buyer.”

  My heart sank. I felt the color draining from my face. My eyes flicked instinctively to the drawer, where I hid my secret, my hope, all smashed to pieces in those five terrible words.

  Skin couldn't save me now. His ring wouldn't comfort me. Not when I was ready to be carted off to hell's lowest tier.

  “Get your little ass in the shower and freshen up. My buyer's guy just dropped off my advance, and I'm counting the dollars. I'll get the rest once you're safely at his place.” Ricky paused, and then brought his hands together in a resounding clap, so fierce I jumped. “Come on! Move, bitch.”

  I did, just to get him out of my sight.

  A minute later, the cold shower poured over my shoulders, freezing the hot tears raining down my cheeks. The chance encounter with the Pistols yesterday was like a sick joke.

  For one brief night, I'd had hope. I shouldn't have counted on it. Should've known it would be taken away like this, and the only direction my life would ever go was down, down, down.

  I lingered in the shower as long as I could, until I heard his fist pounding on the door. I mouthed something angry and flippant back. I didn't care anymore.

  Maybe I could finally give the pimp a few barbs before he shipped me away.

  He wouldn't hurt me now. Not seriously. I couldn't show up at the new man's place beat up and bruised.

  I toweled myself off and slipped into a cheap white skirt and tank top. The skirt was slightly better than the crap he normally gave us to wear. Too bad the color made me think about the elegant summer dress decaying in my closet, the thing I'd have to leave behind today forever, the last piece of my old, happy life.

  “Your purse is on the bed, Fresh. Pack your shit up. I threw in a bag of pretzels to hold you over. Sounds like it's gonna be a long ride to Charlotte for you, but you'll have friends to keep you company.”

  Pushing past him, I dug into my purse, ripped the shitty snack bag out, and threw it on the floor at his feet.

  “I don't want your fucking sympathy, Ricky. You know what the best part about today is? I'll never have to see you or your crusty, yellow balls again.”

  For a second, he stared at the bag, his eyes bulging. I watched him lift a boot and slam it down, crunching everything to smithereens.

  He pointed a shaking finger at me. “Don't get smart with me, you vicious cunt!”

  “Why? Are you going to beat me up again? Maybe shove your puny cock down my throat?” I started shaking as I said the words, but they felt so good, so empowering, even if I was risking the idiot flying into a fit of range and blowing his deal just to hurt me.

  I had to fight. I had to distract him. I eyed my nightstand, and knew I couldn't walk out of here without taking the only thing anyone had given me that ever mattered – even if it couldn't save me anymore.

  “You think you're pretty smart, don't you, girl?” He stepped forward and chuckled. I could smell the stink of whiskey on his breath, probably an early celebration over the sale. “The bastard who bought you is a friend to the Deads, and he's a pretty sick, rich motherfucker from everything I hear. Give it a couple weeks. You'll wish to high heaven you were dealing with me again. I really treated you nice, Megan. The least you could give me is a sweet goodbye.”

  Hearing my real name on his lips made me cringe.

  The demon eyed my breasts, the cleavage peaking out of my tank top. I couldn't control it.

  I lunged forward and spat in his face. He stood there, stunned, before slowly raising a hand and wiping away the mist I'd spattered over his nose and eyes.

  “You're goddamned lucky you're down to your last hour here,” he growled. “I'll let you throw a fucking tantrum and leave you to settle the hell down for a couple minutes. I'm Mister Nice guy compared to what your new owner's gonna do.”

  He kept saying that, and I didn't care. Not one bit.

  “Oh, and don't try any of this shit on the boys I hired to transport you. They won't take kindly to it like I will.”

  I slumped on the bed and watched him step out, slamming the door behind him. Thank God.

  The second I was by myself, I ripped the drawer open and gathered up the trinkets inside. Some lipstick, a small mirror, a half empty packet of birth control pills.

  I'd gotten it by trading the loose change Ricky sometimes missed to the other whores for a steady supply. I took them religiously, my only defense to make sure I'd be protected from some monster's kid if Ricky ever went back on his word about blowjobs only, or if he couldn't control one of the Johns.

  I picked up Skin's ring and held it up for a moment, admiring the heavy, elegantly engraved metal. I knew it was hopeless, but it didn't feel that way when I held it.

  The ring took me away from this. It gave me faith, hope, an alternative to the new impending doom breathing down my throat.

  My mind went to stupid places. I couldn't stop thinking that maybe somehow, someway, he'd find me again. The ring would draw him like something out of a fairy tale, and I'd never be alone forever, just as long as I held onto this precious thing he'd given me for comfort. I'd give it back to him one day, just like I promised, and he'd give me a second chance.

  I slipped it onto my finger. Way too big. But it didn't matter, I clasped it to my chest anyway, remembering the unmistakable touch of the only man who'd treated me kindly since I'd shown up here.

  With a sigh, I pulled it off and stuffed it into my purse, shoving it in a little side compartment where I hoped nobody would find it.

  Maybe my new owner would be as sloppy as Ricky, especially when he let his lust or rage take over. I'd learned a thing or two about working men over when I could, but I hadn't figured out how to use my charms to buy my freedom.

  Someday, I promised myself. I zoned out for what must've been a half hour, clutching my purse when the door burst open.

  Ricky walked in with three huge men behind him. I'd seen them before, a trio of dark-eyed, evil-looking bastards who'd visited the whorehouse before, all of them wearing Deadhands MC cuts.

  Big Vic wasn't with them, the only saving grace.

  “Careful now, boys,” Ricky said nervously. “Please don't rough her up. Big Vic doesn't get his cut if you hand her over bruised, and the guy on the other end notices. He was very specific about wanting undamaged goods, if ya'll know what I mean. I told her not to get smart with you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever, pimp.” An older man with a salt and pepper handlebar
mustache motioned to the others. “Chaps, get this bitch on your bike and find her a helmet. Spiny, let's make sure this cocksucker shows us the money. Up front. All of it.”

  A nasty, muscular man wearing a PROSPECT patch stepped forward and grabbed my arm. “Let's go, girly. I'll make sure you're all taken care of.”

  I gasped on the way out, feeling his hand run up my skirt. It was looking extremely unlikely these brutes were going to treat me nicely while they did their job.

  The worst part? There was absolutely nothing I could do about it. Not even Ricky could object now, not when he had his eyes totally focused on the money, and bikers of any sort seemed to be his personal nightmare.

  We'd be roaring over the mountains toward North Carolina nonstop. If I tried to run, tried to wave to anyone in traffic and show them what was happening, I'd be a dead girl in a matter of minutes. Jesus, I'd probably get other people killed.

  I had to play along. I had to numb all my feelings and just get through this.

  If I could survive the trip, see what I was dealing with on the other side, I could plan my next move. Everyone had a weakness, even this new buyer. If I could find it, exploit it, and use it to get in touch with Skin, then I still had hope.

  I wouldn't give up. I promised myself I'd stay true, stay strong, stay –

  “Fuck me raw.” Chaps put his hand on my shoulder as he pushed me onto his bike. “It's gonna be pure hell having your hands inches from my dick on this long haul. Sure hope the Prez gives the okay for a little fun before we drop you off with your new daddy.”

  I looked away, refusing to give him the satisfaction. His eyes clung to me for a few more seconds, and then snorted and turned away, lighting up a smelly, cheap cigarette.

  I had to take myself away from all this. My mind turned over, working to find that numb, vacant space I'd gone to before to survive this nightmare.

  Peace never came easy. I was still searching for it, trying to put myself in that rare zen space I'd found a few times before, when the other men came storming out.

  Ricky hovered behind the door, looking out the dirty back window, his eyes on me. I wouldn't look at him, too busy eyeballing the harsh, nasty men who got on their bikes. Mustache Man signaled the younger ones, and we took off with a roar.

  I hated having to hold onto the bastard driving. My eyes focused on his pal in the mirror, the one called Spiny. He drove strangely, kissed the back of our bike with his front wheel several times on the highway. I saw something smoking in his hand, too fat to be a cigarette.

  “Oh my God. Is he stoned?” The fear raging in my chest made me want another one of Ricky's joints, the only thing I'd ever had at the whorehouse to temporarily put me out of my misery.

  “Shut your pretty mouth and relax, princess, or I'll fucking make you,” the biker in front of me growled. “You're safe. Just trust us. Now, squeeze me tighter. I'm looking for an excuse to shove both those little hands on my cock, and you'll give me a good one if you don't close your mouth.”

  I did. I bit my tongue for several more miles, watching as the other Prospect drove like he was drunk. My heart filled with hope and terror when I saw a squad car about to pass us on the other side.

  This could be it.

  If the policeman noticed Spiny's crappy driving, maybe he'd pull them over, and then I'd find my way out of this. Assuming it didn't end in a shootout...

  I started to count my heartbeats as the car drew nearer, so heavy and tense they made me want to pass out. The policeman passed, didn't even slow down, and a second later he disappeared behind the latest mountain bend.

  Fuck. Disappointed again. Why did I ever expect anything else?

  * * * *

  It took forever to cross the state line into North Carolina. Far longer than it should've.

  The men kept getting lost in the mountains, and I realized Mustache Man was just as fucked up as his Prospects.

  My driver, Chaps, swore repeatedly. Then the storm hit, and ice cold rain buried his curses.

  Freezing bullets pounded everything, so torrential and sudden and loud it should've been terrifying. We couldn't see. The bikes skidded down the hills just when I thought we were about to wreck, into some nameless little town with pale yellow lights blurred by the small ocean dumping down on us.

  I was officially numb now. Ready for whatever was going to happen, even my own death.

  The men screamed at each other as we rolled into a cheap motel. At first, I thought it was to fill up, but the gas pumps outside were just as derelict as the little shack next to it with the broken windows.

  Our bike jerked to a stop. I watched Chaps jump off and go stomping toward his comrades, all of them pissed off and yelling.

  “We'd better spend the fucking night, Lock. No way are we gonna get to Charlotte and make this chick presentable in this kinda weather.”

  “The pimp said no delays, asshole. We'll take a few hours and keep going, whatever we need for this shit to blow over. Veep's got us on a tight schedule. Big Vic'll choke our sorry asses out personally if we don't keep moving.” Mustache man pushed the prospect, and I watched Chaps stagger back, a hatred he couldn't reciprocate glowing in his eyes. “Fuck you both. Get your own rooms. If you're just gonna stand there, I'll take care of this cunt myself. She owes me extra for all the trouble.”

  I barely had time to blink or wipe the latest cold rain from my eyes. His huge hand practically ripped me off the bike, and soon we were heading for the dingy motel office.

  I stood like a zombie, listening as he made arrangements with the bored looking man working in the run-down place. The dumpy owner didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He mistook my tears for rain, if he noticed at all.

  Cash and keys were exchanged. The gorilla's hand seized my wrist again, pulling me out, toward a small white door with its paint flaking off.

  My stupor didn't lift until I realized he was about to push me inside, alone with him.

  Oh, God. He reeked booze and motor oil up close. The way his eyes wandered while he fumbled with the key told me he wasn't sober. Small miracle we hadn't all died on the way here.

  His reckless expression told me he had even less incentive to hand me over untouched. He wanted me before I reached my buyer, and the demon was obviously too stoned to care about the consequences.

  The door popped open and he flipped me around. I hit the wall hard, his body pressed against mine, too clumsy and horny to even close the door.

  “I've had my good eyes on you this whole time, bitch. Fuck, I can see why that bastard in Charlotte paid a pretty penny for you. The pimp said you'd never been fucked before. Is that true?”

  He didn't wait for my answer, and I wasn't giving him one. Both his sick hands fondled my breasts, squeezed them so hard I wanted to yelp.

  I had to keep my guard up against my instinct to fight. If I made any move to push him, to kick him in the balls, he'd probably kill me.

  Christ. Why was it so hard to get back to that numb, detached place I'd found in the storm?

  “It'll be our little secret tonight, baby girl. Just you and me. The fuckhead buying you won't know shit about what I do to you tonight. I'll leave you something sweet to remember when his floppy old cock's busy fucking you. I hear he's an impotent piece of shit – likes to rough his girls up and get foot jobs.” He stood up straight, a tremor in his hands, his overgrown mustache twitching. “Never understood that shit. Tonight, little girl, the only shit I'll be doing with your feet is holding them over your head 'til you fucking scream.”

  I opened my eyes, ready for the horror.

  But he wasn't looking at me. I thought he was about to put his filthy lips on mine, but he stood straight up, listening to the deafening growl outside our door.

  Bikes. Lots of them.

  “Shit!” he snarled, jerking away from me and reaching for the gun tucked into his belt. “If those boys got themselves in a skirmish with some other smartass fuckers, I swear I'll wring their fucking necks.”

&nb
sp; His boot hit the door and it swung open. I screamed when he flew back a second later and hit the ground.

  The bastard went down. He hit the floor with a resounding thud and didn't move. It wasn't until I saw the hole in his chest that I realized he'd taken several bullets, and my knees gave out.

  I ducked, flattened myself against the ground, as several more shots went off outside. Men swore, talked in hushed voices, and then there were boots on the pavement outside.

  At first, I thought the man who stepped through the door was one of the Deadhands' prospects. I whimpered and pinched my eyes shut, only opening them when his hand wrapped around my wrist like a vise.

  “Get up, babe. Hope you've got my ring. I swore I'd be back for you.”

  No way. It couldn't be!

  But it was.

  Skin, standing in the flesh, with several men I didn't recognize at his side. They all shared the same patches. It must've been safe, or else he wouldn't be tugging me outside to his bike.

  “Come on. Hurry up. We have to get away from this place right fucking now.” He helped me onto his bike and quickly fixed my helmet, throwing his on as he started the engine.

  There wasn't time to ask any questions. What happened here was written in the bloody trails left outside from the two dead bodies. All the Deads were...well, dead. And I was safe, plucked from certain hell by this magnificent, mysterious biker man.

  We went roaring into the rain, lighter than before. I didn't relish having more freezing mountain water splashed on my back, but it was a small price to pay for sweet freedom.

  I clutched my purse between us, and held onto him tight. Skin didn't make me recoil the way that disgusting prospect did. Having my hands on him felt oddly natural.

  I squeezed his body, marveling how easily he made me feel safe. Alive. Free.

  With Skin's rock hard abs underneath my hands, I didn't need to search for the numb, black void that prevented me from going totally insane. I just leaned on his shoulder and breathed deep, taking slow, gradual breaths, inhaling his scent.

  He oozed masculinity. Danger seeped out his veins like fine cologne. His scent conjured goosebumps, caused my heart to skip a few beats, sent thoughts into my head that I hadn't had since the night I screwed around with Crawford, before I was disappointed, abused, destroyed...