Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(64)

“And did he scream at you?”

I shook my head. The bitter lump lodged in my throat wouldn't let me breathe anymore, but I tried to hold it. Tried so f*cking hard.

“Then he'll forgive you. He knows you didn't mean it,” Cora said softly. “Babe, you can't beat yourself up. Only thing left to do is hang with us through the rest of this, waiting for him to come back. Then you'll talk it out.”

“And he will come home. With your son. They always do, Summer.” Meg grabbed my hand forcefully, refusing to let go, and squeezed. “These men are tough as diamond.”

Tough.

Strong.

Brave.

So many words, fit just right for Joker.

So much for holding it in.

Hot, monstrous tears boiling inside me since Joker walked out broke through. I cried in front of them and the whores, looking like a total mess.

But they weren't wrong. The tears saved me, like pushing poison from a wound.

“The worst part...the worst f*cking part...I never got to tell him I loved him.” I just stammered now, collapsed into Meg's arms, surrendering to this stranger.

Maybe she was more familiar than I thought. Maybe they both were.

The two women at my side had done their share of suffering. Even if I didn't know their life stories, I could see it in their eyes.

But they'd both found good in the end. A lot of good, judging by the patches they wore on their matching leather jackets, PROPERTY OF SKIN and PROPERTY OF FIREFLY. So much fulfillment, as Cora's swollen belly showed.

Truth, love, and passion with these men who loved like storms, and stormed out like they loved life itself more than any person should.

I hated it. Hated myself for tearing it to pieces, burying what might've been my last chance to experience just a small part of what they'd had with the men who'd made them theirs.

That evil *, Hatch, he'd taken my son. But he'd taken my man, too, and I'd f*cking let him without so much as a protest hidden in a tender kiss.

“Summer – stop.” Meg dug her fingernails into my arms, the only thing that stopped me from trashing so hard I banged my head against the hard counter. “Hurting yourself won't bring him back. Just let the pain out. Fucking all of it.”

Something brushed against my leg. Looking down through the tears, I saw Bingo, his head tilted in human-like concern.

“You're right,” I said, sniffing, and sliding off the stool. “I need to feed him. Take him for a walk around the building. It's the least I can do when Joker isn't here to do it himself.”

I left the two women with their understanding nods, tugging gently on his collar until we were halfway down the hall. Then he moved on his own.

The big dog didn't need any urging to walk with me.

He'd been like Joker's shadow, the only true companion he'd had in all those wicked years before I'd shown up on his doorstep.

Now, he was mine. All I had left, with both my man and the son he'd given me gone.

Gone.

Outside, on the patio overlooking the shooting range, another burly prospect watched me the entire time. He told me not to leave the concrete, or he'd carry me back inside himself with the dog in tow.

Standing there, overlooking the Smoky Mountain night was good enough. A high moon hung overhead, yellow and otherworldly. I crouched down next to Bingo, scratching his muzzle, touching his thick, gray forehead to mine.

“You miss him, boy. Well, so do I. I'm not afraid to tell anyone the truth. I've told too many lies for too long.”

Wagging his tail, he pulled me up, with my fingers still tucked underneath his collar. We walked the perimeter together.

The big dog followed my lead as I cried, ignoring the prospect, who stared out into the humming forest like a sentinel. I prayed, hoping that maybe this gentle giant would help send them a little higher.

Dear Lord, please bring them home safe. Please.

Bring me my little boy. Bring me my man.

I promise, on my life, on my soul, they'll never leave me again.

I'll never push them away.

I'll never lie to them, to myself, to you.

Amen.

If He willed it, I'd have my family, and nothing would ever take them away from me again.





12





Last Cut (Joker)





My sight came back after the third beating.

Shit must've knocked something loose in my head, or maybe they'd just laid off my face long enough to make my eyes work again. Their punches and kicks sure as shit focused on other parts, slamming into my joints, my ribs, my spine every time I rolled.

They beat me f*ckin' stupid, and then some.

My throat tasted like rust from coughing blood. Every time some new pain jolted me awake, I saw their faces every time.

Summer. Alex. Freddy.

Fuck, that last one, I knew I was hallucinating. I knew I was dying.

My brother's dead, eyeless face peeled back in a nasty grin. “Welcome home, brother. Didn't think you'd see me so f*ckin' soon, did ya?”

Freddy's dead face became somebody else. It wasn't his ghost tormenting me. I looked, let my eyes adjust, and the real bastard slowly materialized.

“Piece of shit's silent as a stump. Nothin'.,” Hatch said, brandishing something that took my eyes another minute to see.