Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(25)

I had to keep it. This baby was a miracle grown in darkness, and he deserved a chance to fight, no different from me or Joker.

Joker. Jackson. The devil and the Adonis stuffed into one mortal man, now somewhere very far away, shattered in his grief.

I didn't know if he was alive or dead. As much as my heart cared, my head didn't. Not anymore.

It took all my energy to keep myself from getting in my car and driving up to Knoxville. I knew it wouldn't be hard to find him if I did, somewhere at the Pistols' clubhouse.

I thought about it a thousand times. How I'd break the news, and plead with him to come home, or at least give me a space here so we could start a life together with our child.

But he wasn't Joker anymore. He wasn't the man who'd swept me off my feet and carried this town on the Taylors' strongman reputation.

The man who'd looked at me, spoken to me, and forced me out of that cursed house was someone else. Someone I'd never let myself truly recognize.

His eyes were so vacant. His voice, so cruel. Dead to the world, and to me.

It was like he'd lost his soul in the hot tear I'd seen rolling down his cheek. Our love had gone with it.

A man this broken couldn't be my lover. And he damned sure wasn't going to be a father to my son or daughter.

It wasn't just Piece who'd been killed and buried that night.

Joker, the man I'd begun to love, was dead. So were the pieces of my ruined heart, driven into the ground for good, one shard at a time.

All we had left was our suffering. Both of us alone, condemned to our private hell.

I didn't have to think hard to imagine what he'd become. No man who wore the patch let something like this go lightly. He'd be hellbent on revenge.

He'd be reckless. He'd live for nothing besides blood, until he got back at the men who killed Freddy, or they killed him, too.

All the reasons I didn't dare put myself and the baby between him and the monsters who'd consume him every waking minute.

I had to live my own life. Had to raise my son. Just had to forget the man who'd helped me create him.

That's exactly what I did for three numb, lonely years.



*

I was standing over Alex, still staring into the building's parking lot, when I heard the knock at the door.

My hand went to my chest, soothing my ferocious heartbeat.

Jesus. Who the hell could it be pounding away at this hour?

I checked to make sure the sound hadn't disturbed my baby too much. No, he laid there quietly, sleepy and peaceful as ever. Thankful for small favors, I moved out into the hall, my feet growing heavier with each step toward the door.

The bolt had fallen off the shoddy lock about six months ago. Now I really wished I'd bothered to replace it, especially when I cracked it open just enough to see the huge, dark silhouette standing there.

“Yeah? Can I help you, sir?”

He didn't answer with words. I was too stunned to scream when he shoved the door hard, slamming me into the wall. The door crashed against my shoulder and I fell over, bracing myself against the TV stand.

I was quick, but he was faster. The bastard wrestled me to the ground like nothing, his hand flying across my mouth as he kicked the door shut behind him.

It slammed like a bullet. I heard Alex, startled awake, crying over the insane thud of my heart pounding my ears deaf.

“Listen to me, and listen f*ckin' good, dolly. This is the way it's all going down, and you don't got a choice. You scream, I gut you here on the floor. You start crying, maybe I knock you the f*ck out, and head straight for your kid's room. You're gonna lay there like a good girl, look at me, and keep your damned mouth shut. It's easy, long as you don't do nothing stupid. You follow?”

I did. He'd just threatened the only thing I cared about.

My fear turned into a supernatural calm, the kind a person probably has in the wild when they're being stalked by a lion.

“Good. Fuckin' knew it wouldn't be real hard to drill it through your skull.” He let me go and stood up straight. I got a good look at him for the first time.

Even though it was dark, I could see the patches. DEADHANDS MC, GEORGIA. PRESIDENT.

A huge severed gray hand was stitched on his side, identical to the one he had on his back. Red was all over his cut, like thick spatters of blood sewn into his leather, and so was a half-skinned cartoon skull with one eye hanging out.

He didn't look like much. Hair slicked back on his pony tail, a couple scars on his face, nothing I hadn't seen before in Uncle Robby's old bar.

Except for his eyes. One blue. One green. Both more sinister than anything I'd ever seen.

He was big. Mean. Brutal in every breath and every movement, a smug smile hiding behind his salt and pepper beard as he thumbed his switchblade.

“Let's talk business, doll. What I'm looking for is easier than a pig rolling in shit, and we can be best friends if you do me a solid.”

I put my hands on my knees, bracing myself, listening very closely without saying a word to this demon. I would've killed him if I thought I had a chance.

He had to know that.

It only made him smile wider as he slowly crouched, until his face was dead center with mine. “Name's Hatch. You don't know me, Summer Olivers, but I know you very f*ckin' well. I know everything about anybody I want in this state, right down to the times they piss and f*ck. My club's got eyes and ears f*ckin' everywhere. You f*ck up, you get a laser crawling across your tits. Only warning you get before a bullet blows through your heart. Or maybe you come home to find your brother's head hacked off and laying gutted on your bed, smiling from the holes where his eyes used to be...”