Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(10)

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 f*ck 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 f*ck no.

Having a kid was the last thing on my mind. My dick got hard for f*ckin', 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 f*cking 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 f*ckin' college kids...all about to be f*ckin' 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.

Summer didn't have a fair shot at staying a good girl...right?

Fuck if I knew. Fuck if I cared.

I had too much club biz on my mind, and too many bitches back home lining up to feel my dick for another night to worry about a chick I'd kissed three f*ckin' years ago.

But hell, what a kiss.

I still tasted those lips when I f*cked sometimes. Tasted them even more when I laid in bed alone on the long summer nights, bringing myself off when there wasn't a bitch around.

Her eyes begged for my dick, and now they were burned into my brain.

So was her smell, the silky feel of that black hair I wanted to pull harder, and yeah, that taste. That goddamned f*ckin' taste.

Something about little Summer's fire pushed my cock into overdrive. Any time I jerked off, she was the one I did it to.

Over and over. Pinched my teeth tight like boulders crashing together when I spent myself in the shower, thinking about those palm sized tits she'd had against my chest that night, begging to be teased, licked, and sucked to perfection.

I thought about her whole sexy body here at the bar, wondering if it was close.

No, f*ck that. I'd kept my promise to stay the hell away for almost three years. Even told her to look me up if a man never stepped up for her, and she hadn't.

We kept our distance. Exactly how it was meant to be. She sure as shit didn't need any drama, however good it would feel to get between her legs, and neither did I.

“Fuck me,” I swore underneath my breath, standing up for another drink, noticing how hard I was.

Common sense wasn't helping tonight. The memories were killing me. So were the roads I hadn't taken, every damned time I'd thought about going by her place, banging on her door, and taking her out for another ride on my bike.