Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(6)

“Fuck that. You're going for a ride, whether you want to or not. Trust me, babe, it'll do you some good to get the wind in your hair for a few minutes after the shit that went down back here.”

“Okay, well...fine.” I looked at him and smiled, instantly dropping my eyes when he returned the glance. “I'll wrap up as soon as I can.”

“Whatever. You let me know when you're ready to go. I've got a beer to finish out in the bar. Say the word and I'll help you mop this shit up before we go.” His boot tapped the bloody smear where they'd wiped frat boy's face on the floor, after they'd finished kicking the hell out of him.

I watched Joker turn smartly and disappear through the swinging doors.

Then I doubled over, propping myself up on the counter next to the grill. Waves of confusion washed over me.

Christ. What the hell was wrong with me?

A hundred knots twisted my stomach. It wasn't just all the recent shock. The tension tugged a little lower, tingling, kicking up a heatwave that made me sweat and flush.

It wasn't just because the man standing in front of me was a crazy, unpredictable thug.

Honestly, my eyes couldn't see it every time I looked at him.

They saw the rugged, muscular beast who'd narrowly saved me from a nightmare.

They only saw power, forced me to imagine how easily the same big, strong arms that sheltered me against his chest could throw me around, undress me, roam every inch of me...

This man punched, kicked, and swore without any apologies. Would he kiss the same way?

Closing my eyes, I stumbled through the rest of my shift, trying to ignore crazy emotions slashing through me like comets.

I called mama to check in with her just before I wrapped up. She asked me if everything was fine, and I lied through my teeth.

She couldn't know about what went down today. If she heard about the frat boy, it would kill her. So would finding out that I was about to ride home with one of the two biggest, meanest bastards in Seddon.

Whatever happened next was private. Between me, Jackson Taylor, and God.

Oh, crap.



*

“You've never ridden before? Bullshit. Looks like you were made for it,” Joker said, cupping my chin and pulling on the straps, making sure my helmet was secured tight. I watched him climb onto the bike in front of me.

My pulse quickened when I realized how little space there was between us on his motorcycle.

“Ain't no mystery when it comes to riding. Put your little hands around me and hold the f*ck on, woman. That's all there is to it. I'll have you home in five or ten.”

He didn't ask me twice. My hands softly curled around his stomach.

No surprise, his abs were as rock hard as the rest of him. Joker put his hands over mine, adding pressure to my fingers, urging me to hold him tighter.

I did, clenching my jaw the entire time. Then, in another heartbeat, his engine growled to life and we were off.

Lurching from the sudden speed, I let out a little yelp, hugging him for dear life. His abs rippled underneath my fingers, perfect and happy, his chuckle drowned out by the engine's rumble.

We rode through the hills leading into town. Every bump where I didn't fall off the bike gave me a little more confidence. Slowly, I eased up straight, edging my grip on his muscles until I finally had my bearings.

The bike must've scared the hell out of me for at least a solid minute. But by the time I realized I wasn't clinging to him like a scared cat, I also had the smile pulling at my lips, one he saw in his mirrors.

“Shit, little girl, you sure you've never ridden before? You're doing f*ckin' fantastic. Looks like you belong back there.”

My face lit up. I leaned into him a little more, relishing the cool southern breeze, catching a whiff of something rolling off him that warmed my blood.

He smelled...amazing.

Oil and pine mingled with leather, a tinge of tobacco, and a bold masculine musk that sent shockwaves rippling through me.

It'd been too long since I'd had a crush. I'd been a late bloomer, and carried a few extra pounds from too many late night dinners in Uncle Robby's bar.

New excitement tightened my core like a lasso, every time I inhaled the oxygen alive with Jackson, Joker, this raging ghost who'd torn through my life and saved me from one more tragedy.

“I like this,” I whispered softly. “It's smoother than I expected out here, I mean. Can't imagine what it must be like on the highways.”

“Babe, it's smooth as a f*ckin' hawk's tail. Ain't nothing like riding. Everything else in this world can get f*cked. When you're out here on the road, you find peace. Some folks find themselves. Same thing sailors and pilots are after when they're gliding along, free as the day they were born.”

I blinked, surprised that his words were so poetic, between all the crude curses. How many layers were there to Joker and his twin?

Everybody talked about them like they were the last devils you'd ever want to run into at night on an abandoned road or in a broken down back alley. Maybe that was true.

But if these boys were demons, then they were the slickest, fittest bastards who'd ever crawled out of hell.

They were the fairest, the realist, the most tragic. Because in another time and place, they might've been heroes, not part of an outlaw biker gang with skulls and guns all over their bodies.