Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(37)

Soon as I pulled outta the parking lot, I headed for the Ruby Heel. Twenty minutes later, I had a mug of beer in my hand and I sat under Honey-Bee, watching her snow queen act.

She swung across the stage on a high swing, wearing those heels I wanted stabbing my ass, blowing handfuls of fake snow across the tiny crowd. From the corner of my eye, I saw two old ladies staring at me with sour puss frowns on their faces.

Meg, Skin's old lady.

Cora, Firefly's wife, her belly swelling by the day with the kid they were having.

Fuck them both. They didn't own me. If I wanted to bang Honey-Bee backstage tonight, they weren't f*ckin' stopping me.

Only trouble was, I couldn't get hard. Not even when Honey-Bee came down to the floor, floating on her strings, giving every man here a perfect view of an ass so round I wanted to sink my teeth in.

That's what I would've wanted any other night, anyway. Tonight?

Fuck, it was different, and I didn't know why. Even flashing her long lashes at me and blowing a kiss didn't do shit for my cock.

What the f*ck was wrong with me? Bingo sat by my side, his tongue hanging out. Damned dog looked more interested in the stripper than I did.

I took a long pull from my beer, grabbed a bone in my pocket, and put it into his mouth.

“Helluva mutt you got there,” an old man in a leather jacket with a Harley emblem said.

I looked at him and snorted. If these f*cking casual riders weren't filling up the Pistols' coffers with the money they spent here, I'd have stood up and walked the other way.

“He's no mutt, *,” I growled, hating how he looked at my next f*ck with more intensity than I did. “Pure bred Irish Wolfhound.”

“Shit, man, what's eating you?”

I stood up. Soon as he saw the patches on my cut, his face lit up, and he quickly moved several chairs over.

Nobody was stupid enough to start shit with a full patch brother. These wannabe badasses always ran just as soon as they came face to face with real outlaws.

Didn't take any pleasure in scaring away the chickenshit. Like most nights, I just wanted to be left the f*ck alone.

Honey-Bee still had her hungry little eyes on me as her act wound down. I wasn't looking at her anymore, dead to feeling it, thinking about Summer the whole damned time.

Fuck.

“Come on, boy. Let's get the f*ck outta here.” I took the bone away from Bingo and hauled him up on his feet, walking him outta the bar.

Meg was standing by the door on my way out, a tall brunette who always dressed too f*ckin' fancy for any brother. Fancy, yeah, except for the PROPERTY OF SKIN jacket she wore like a second skin.

“What's going on? Leaving already?” she asked, like she couldn't believe it.

“Yeah. Put the beer on my tab.”

“Smart choice, Joker. Honey-Bee doesn't need any trouble. She's been jerked around enough by you and Lion lately.”

Lion? The beat up, scruffy motherf*cker we'd only patched in about a month ago?

Shouldn't have been surprised she was taking whatever cock she could get. The woman was voracious.

Shit. Whatever urge I had left to f*ck the stripper totally evaporated. If only she'd known he'd had his cock buried in more of the bitches here than I did.

“She's a big girl,” I said, pushing past her on my way out. “Don't think she needs her boss playing big sis, telling what she should and shouldn't do.”

Meg called after me, but I wasn't stopping.

I'd lost sight of the real mission for too long. Kissing Summer and sending her packing only reminded me of that, and I'd be damned before I let it f*ck me over any longer.



*

“Joker, for f*ck's sake!” Dust grabbed his pipe, blowing smoke in my face. “Knock it off. You're gonna f*ck up the new silestone if you keep that shit up.”

Looking up at the Prez, I finally stopped slamming the blade between my fingers, faster and harder than I usually did. I sat at the bar with the brothers in our clubhouse, a little while after I'd gotten back and put Bingo down for a nap.

“Cut him some slack, Prez,” Firefly said, knocking back a whiskey shot. “It's too f*ckin' dark for him to hit the range. He's gotta blow off steam somehow.”

We locked eyes. I had a weird understanding lately with the big vet who served as our Enforcer.

Wasn't so long ago I'd tried to tell him he was making a big fat mistake getting in so deep with that Cora girl. Fuckin' ship had sailed on that months ago, with him marrying her and knocking her up, the whole club taking out the Torches MC in the process.

Too damned bad the Torches were just one more distraction.

Our old friends f*cked us over, coming after his girl for some shit debt her dead daddy ran up. They'd been the only thing keeping Atlanta outta the Deads' grip, and now the f*ckers owned it about as hard as they had Seddon locked down.

“No honor in staying sober night, Veep,” Skin said, sitting on my other side. He passed me the bottle of Jack he'd been swigging. “Go ahead. This shit'll wash away the stick up your ass.”

I held the bottle, staring at the amber liquid, already feeling the sweet numbing fire before I raised it to my lips.

“No.” I pushed it back into the brother's hands, shaking my head. “Ain't the right time for Jack.”