Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(61)

Shit glanced my ear, flew behind me, and smashed against the wall. She crumpled over on the bed, bawling her eyes out, losing her f*ckin' mind.

It was brutal. Wrong. Volcanic.

Never barked back at her, not once. Because I knew what it felt like to lose my damned mind.

I f*cking understood.

All the shit I'd gone through with Piece was eating her now. Worse, because it ate me too, knowing they had our kid.

She sank her claws and teeth into me because there was nobody else she could.

Killing Hatch, destroying the Deads, and bringing our kid home – that was up to me. I'd do it, or I'd die. Alone.

Didn't need her approval, or the goddamned club's.

Before I walked the f*ck away, I hovered over her, throwing my arms around her one more time. She was too lost in her hot, painful tears to fight me anymore.

“You rest. You can think twice about some of the bullshit you just said if I come back alive.” Releasing her, I walked, stopping by the door for one more confession. “Bye, Summer. Go ahead and hate me all you want. I loved you, I love you now, and I always f*ckin' will – love you as much as I do that kid, the second I laid eyes on him.”

She stared quietly, tears running down her cheeks.

Time to go. I headed into the clubhouse, where I could still hear the brothers screaming at each other in the meeting room.

Several big men in Grizzlies cuts were milling around near the bar. Two or three full patch brothers, plus a gaggle of prospects, one with a glass eye. There were crates of weapons they'd brought in stacked around their feet. The men held their beers while they all eyed the scrum going on behind the wall.

“VP? Shit, you're the only man we've seen in charge,” a tall, powerful looking man with a crew cut said, lightning bolts on his head. “What the f*ck's going on in there? Sounds like they're gonna kill each other!”

“Asphalt, no. Not our damned business,” another one said, a massive bastard named Roman, wearing their Enforcer patch. He could've given Firefly a run for his money in size and strength. “Hey, Joker, where the f*ck you going?”

I walked right past, not even stopping, 'til I was at the other end of the bar. Then I reached up, caught the loose stitch on my V. PRESIDENT patch, and tore. Hard.

“Talk to somebody else if you wanna know. I ain't in charge of shit here anymore.” I let it drop to the floor while they all stared at me, trying to figure out what the f*ck they'd stepped in. “They'll be done soon in there, one way or another.”

I left it at that. A couple of the men called after me, but I was gone, this time for real.

The numbness took over. The evil, killer darkness I'd caged since that kid came into my life, since I'd come within a couple inches of making Summertime mine.

God willing, I still f*ckin' would. I wasn't giving up, no matter how shitty the odds.

I fit every gun, grenade, and bayonet I could in my saddlebag before I took off. Then it was nothing except me and the Harley, the road beneath us, its sweet vibrations pouring more rough grief through my bones so I didn't have to.

The mission counted. Nothing else did.

Had to focus. Had to get the f*ck outta town, blow down to Seddon, and figure out where the hell they'd set up camp, waiting for our demands.

I got about a hundred miles south of Knoxville, deep in the wilderness, before the motherf*ckers came crawling outta the woodwork.

They must've had a prospect tailing me when I passed through one of those little mountain towns, with barely a soul in sight. It was night, and the visibility was shit, thick fog rolling across the road when I passed through the dips in every valley.

I barely hit my brakes when I saw the spikes laying across the road. My bike turned, screeching to a halt, and I fought like a madman to keep it from tipping over.

Three Deads punched their engines and raced forward, trying to surround me, keeping me from leaving the f*ckin' state line.

My hand pulled a flash grenade off my belt. I pinched my eyes shut while the bastards around me went blind, buying me a few precious seconds to jump the f*ck off, head for the trees, carrying my biggest semi-auto.

There wasn't any full proof way to keep my eyes from going halfway blind when that shit went off. I was still seeing dark green when I crouched down, taking aim at every mean, dark shape I could, firing and screaming like a f*ckin' lunatic.

I must've dropped three of them, or maybe four, before the fire hit my shoulder. The round cut through bone, burning like it was ripping my goddamned arm off. Fought it all the way, straining every muscle through the blood pouring down my side, shooting at the *s crouching on the road 'til the bitter end.

Had Piece lost this much blood before he died? I had about ten more seconds to wonder what the f*ck went through his mind before they slashed his throat, or came in with a machete, separating his head in one clean blow.

Fuck, f*ck. I had to keep going.

Keep shooting. Keep killing. Keep fighting.

Even though my f*ckin' arm, for all intents and purposes, was gone.

If it was still attached to my body, I couldn't f*ckin' feel it. Screaming, I fell back, firing wildly at the sky.

Boots crunched on the brush around me, cursing me like bloody murder. Closer, closer.

The gun fell against my chest. Reaching for my knife with my good hand, I swung for the leg closest to me, howling into the night, trying to kill, kill, kill.