Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(134)

What. The. Fuck.

“Just...just give me a minute. We need to have a drink,” she sighed. “I'll calm down after that. We'll talk.”

Fine. I'd play along, though the thought of pouring liquor down my throat right now was like dumping fuel on a roaring fire.

I marched to the cabinet and opened it. Grabbed two shot glasses and the finest vodka in there. When I got back to the bed, Sabrina was holding a little bottle in one hand, looking at it.

“What's this?” I ripped it outta her hands before she could protest.

No label. I opened the cap and sniffed. Didn't smell like any fine stuff I'd ever known. It was almost slightly sour, vinegary.

“Something else I swiped from the house – an ancient family recipe. We only bring it out on special occasions, and I think this qualifies. Let's have a little, maybe mix it with the other stuff.” She pointed at the big bottle I was still holding.

I nodded. “I like your thinking. Hope to f*ck whatever's got you in knots is good news.”

Honestly, the stuff in the little bottle smelled like shit. I'd down it to humor her – whatever made this chick feel better. I'd do anything to pry the stone cold truth outta her.

I walked everything over to the small stand next to the bed. Poured out two tall shots with just a splash of the shit she'd brought on top. If it tasted as shitty as it smelled, dousing it in the good stuff would drown out the crap.

Sabrina had both her hands clenched tight in her lap when I came back with our drinks. I passed her the shot glass and raised mine.

“To better times, babe. They're coming. Sure as you uncle's bones are going into the f*cking ground.”

I was about to knock the shit back when she reached for my thigh. Her fingernails pinched so hard into my skin it was like a goddamned miniature bear trap. The surprise almost caused me to drop the shit on the floor.

“What the f*ck?” I growled.

“Wait. Not yet. There's something I need to know before we do this...something Uncle Gioulio told me. Don't drink yet.”

I looked at her without saying shit. The girl was rattled, couldn't make up her damned mind. Long as she started talking, I'd let her. Maybe the horse piss in my glass would taste an iota better when she threw off whatever was on her chest.

“You keep looking at my coat. It's more than a family heirloom.” She looked down, staring at the crap in her own glass, giving it a little stir, collecting her words. “My Uncle showed me some pictures. It was from the night my mother died. She got run over – somebody flattened her to the ground. Until the other night, he let me think it was an accident, even though I suspected something more all along. He showed me the man who ran her down and killed her in cold blood.”

Oh, f*ck. My mind started spinning a million miles an hour, ready to split right through my skull and launch to the f*cking moon. I knew who she was gonna name before it was outta her wicked f*cking mouth.

“It was your father, Boris Ivankov. Don't deny it wasn't,” she said coldly. “Uncle showed me the pictures. He...he had your eyes. I know Gioulio wasn't lying about this.”

She looked at me like my baby blues were gonna turn her to stone. Fuck!

I turned away in disgust, throwing my shot glass on the floor. It shattered and sent a million little shards in all directions. I wished like hell that sound was enough to wring the neck of whatever demon fate cooked up in our pasts to f*ck up our present.

The whole damned cosmos wanted to keep us apart. It was a travesty, a f*cking atrocity, when we were so f*cking good together. No, I wasn't just talking about being balls deep inside her, throttling her perfect * 'til she shook from head to toe. We worked because we were one and the goddamned same, two lost worlds who'd been f*cked over by their own blood too many times to count.

No, dammit. If this was what had her all knotted up, I'd untie everything, every dark rope keeping us apart. I turned around, ready to reach up to the ceiling and salute the entire universe with both my middle fingers.

“My old man f*cked up. He told me it was the worst mistake of his life, running that poor woman down. He had bad intel – same shit I did when I tried to blow your uncle to kingdom come with all his degenerate buddies. Your mother wasn't the f*cking target.” Volcanic air pumped through my lungs. I stepped closer, grabbing for her hands, forcing her to set the small shot glass between her knees.

“Christ, babe. Don't tell me you believe that motherf*cker if he told you my old man ran down your ma on purpose?” Shit. One look at her eyes said that was exactly what she believed. “Fuck. You gotta be kidding me! He had no reason for targeting your mother – none. It's not the way we do shit, and we never will. We go after the bastards who f*ck us over, the demons who deserve to die. Nobody else.”

“Why should I believe you!?” She cracked. She tried to rip her hands away from me, but I held on like an ogre, unwilling to let her go 'til I took a wrecking ball to the bastard's lies. “God damn it! Every time I hear something from one side, the other's always got another version. I wanted to believe you, Anton. I trusted you. Then my Uncle took out the bug you left in my f*cking purse, and I couldn't.”

Fuck, f*ck, f*ck...

The confession went through my eardrum and blew my brain apart. If it wasn't for seeing hate and confusion flashing in her eyes right in front of me, I would've marched out, tracked down my damned brothers, and finished the ass kicking we'd started earlier in the great hall.