Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(89)
If she didn't? Tough. Shit.
Nothing was gonna stop these fists from hammering their way outta this hellhole. And a few smooth caresses sure as hell wasn't stopping my dick the instant it was pressed up against soft, wet female flesh.
I almost popped the stress ball like a fat water balloon, thinking of all the ways I'd dig my fingers into her ass while I slammed into her cunt, showing her Ivankov's f*ck hard, long, and honest.
“Hey!” A fist pounded on the bunk above me. “You still down there jacking off to that reporter girl?”
I grinned in the darkness, throwing the ball to my opposite hand, hard enough to make a resounding slap. “Go back to sleep, old man. You know I don't spend precious energy jerking off. Don't need to waste my jizz in my own f*cking fist. *'s on the menu for me soon.”
Dino snorted. “You planning something, Russki?”
“Nothing you need to know about,” I growled, pinching the ball in one fist. “I'll send a Christmas card to your crew if it all works out.”
The old biker chuckled. “Don't think the Devils up in Des Moines want much to do with you Russian bastards in Chicagoland. But yeah, give 'em my regards.”
I grunted, wondering if I'd look half as good as the leathery f*ck above by the time I pushed sixty. Whatever. I had about thirty years to find out, and I sure as shit wasn't spending them behind bars.
Old Dino had a whole crew waiting on the outside, tons of biker buddies in the notorious Prairie Devils MC, who ruled the plains out state. Here, it was just me and my brothers, and we owned a piece of Chicago.
If everything went as planned, we were gonna own a whole lot more soon, carving out prime cuts from the late Ligiotti empire.
Shit, maybe I'd really make off with Sabrina in the process. I deserved a pretty trophy after a year rotting in courtrooms and cramped cells. There was so much left to experience on the outside, starting with whether or not a dark Italian princess could keep up with my Slavic need to f*ck around the clock.
A couple days later, I saw Charlie walking up to my cell. We'd just gotten through our time in the prison yard. Maybe the extra sheen of sweat from all that iron I'd pumped would turn Sabrina's head harder. Good looks have always served me well, clouding up the minds of opponents and prey, if they're female.
I worked hard on being ripped, and I wielded it like a weapon. Real strength comes when you can stand up and watch a lesser man cower. I wasn't interested in flexing guns for girls, but making them as hard as I f*cking could to beat any bastard who crossed me into the floor.
Of course, having a killer bod to match the bloodlust in my veins drenched every panty I ever came across without lifting a finger.
Sabrina's were gonna be the latest on my list. Playing with her last time, watching her get flustered, hit the f*cking spot. I knew there was more to the girl's blush than raw anger when I saw it. She would've jumped my bones and started grinding on me if it wasn't for that f*cking glass.
Today, it was time to shift into a different gear, give her a better chance to lead the questions. That damned interview had to get published, after all, if I was gonna swing the trap.
“Come on. She's waiting for you,” Charlie said, giving me a suspicious look.
I felt the hair prickling on that bastard's neck every time he walked me down to the visiting room with his underling guard. They had me in the middle, standard procedure, good distance between us, but I knew that f*ck always wondered if I'd lunge, grab him by the throat, and slam his face into the ground. He'd be dead before anybody could get off a shot.
Killing his ass wasn't on my schedule today. I didn't have it in for these f*cks, even though drawing their blood sounded good after a year of them herding me like a goddamned sheep.
He held the door open and I walked in, then slammed it tight behind me. It took my eyes a couple seconds to adjust to the bright white fluorescent light. Then I saw her behind the glass, and cracked a smile as I approached.
Fuck, she was young. I had to check to make sure she was really outta college, and not just a freshman straight outta daddy's penthouse. Though her old man was long gone, so it would've been her uncle instead.
Gioulio Ligiotti. Latest lord of the city's leading Italian crime family. Also the f*ck my brothers and I were gonna kill, one way or another – but that was getting ahead of myself.
I plopped down in front of her, resting my chains on the small wooden desk, reaching for the phone. The girl already had hers up against her ear, patiently waiting for me.
“Didn't expect you'd come back so easy after last time,” I said.
“You wanted me to. I think you're sorry for what happened.” Surprising confidence rang in her voice.
Surprising, because it was fake as shit. She thought she could grab me by the balls and give them a good twist by looking me in my blue eyes, pretending to be stronger. I had to play along, even though I would've liked nothing better than to pop outta my chair and slam both fists on the glass. It was tempting to remind her who was in control here.
Would she topple over, giving me a perfect view of those sweet tits beneath her sweater? Or would she high tail it to the door, shaking that fine ass, leaving me to grip the ever living shit outta my stress ball?
Later, I promised myself. Keep your cool and maybe you'll find out. Maybe you'll get to do things to little Miss Ligiotti that'll make your brothers cry with jealousy.