Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(98)

For a second, I wondered if I'd been adopted. No one with Ligiotti blood should've been this stupid, this oblivious. This trusting.

God damn it.

“Shhhh,” Anton's coarse stubble scratched my cheek as he leaned to one ear. His voice was so loud with his lips against it, even when he was talking to me like a baby.

“You're gonna be okay. No bullshit. The worst is almost over.” Behind him, his brothers snickered again. “Just cooperate. We make a good team. Fuck, babe. You wanna sink those little teeth into me anytime, go ahead. You like the feeling us up close and personal just as much as I do, right?”

He rocked into me, shifting his hips from side to side, forcing my legs apart. I felt something hard and rough raging beneath his pants again. It sparked a savage fire below my waist.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispered. “Yeah, you f*cking do.”

My * thrummed and swelled as he rocked, dry humping me between my black slacks and his jeans.

He knew. The bastard knew exactly how my body turned against me – and he loved it.

“Yeah, babe. Least your *'s honest. Those pretty little lips can tell me a lot of lies, but your body doesn't. Shit, I can't wait 'til this ride's over. Can't wait to get you home. Cannot. Fucking. Wait.”

I braced for another earsplitting scream, lust and betrayal and terror steaming in my veins. I slapped my fists into his huge arm one time, but it was like pounding a padded wall. My arms went numb, alternating between punching him and the truck's steel floor.

Soon, my energy was all gone. I collapsed.

Everything went dark. My brain shut down.

I had to save my strength. Wait for a moment when I stood a chance against him, when a well timed bite or scratch would do something. Maybe when I could get something in my hands a lot more powerful than unprotected knuckles.

He could take my body the same way he'd busted out of prison. No doubting that. But if I had anything to say about it – any last shred of Ligiotti strength and cunning – I'd never surrender willingly to his ruthless strength.

Bide your time. Wait. Just like he did. Then when he least suspects it, strike out. Hit him until he stops breathing. Bash his brains out until he can't even think about making more of those harsh, filthy threats.

If it wasn't for his masculine taste still tingling on my numb lips, taunting me, I would've smiled.



At some point during the ride, I really blacked out. Maybe I fell asleep or went comatose or something. I didn't understand what was happening to me anymore.

Twenty two years of crime and sin concealed me from the same fate as my forefathers. I never had to face their agonies, their risks, their consequences until today.

I expected to wake up in a dungeon. When I opened my eyes, I was in a room, dim lit with what looked like candlelight. Silky sheets clung to my legs. I felt...cleaner somehow.

Jerking up, I threw the sheets off. I'd been stripped, washed, and thrown into a nightgown. Nothing except the bra and panties I had on were familiar.

It was a huge canopy bed, like something you see in movies depicting Victorian times. I could barely make out anything behind the burgundy curtains, but someone was moving in the silence. I drew up against the headboard, tightening my jaw, pressing my hands together.

Please don't let it be Anton. Please, please, please...

The curtain ripped open below my feet. My prayers fell to pieces. He pushed his way through the gap and grinned, wearing nothing but a set of dark trousers that fit him better than what he'd stolen from the warden.

“I was wondering if you'd wake up tonight.” He smirked, looked down, and lifted the glowing tablet in his hand. “Beast of a bomber, huh? A devil in a dingy prison, out of sight, but never out of mind. He's no less sinister today than the night he murdered twenty powerful men in cold blood.”

Anton stopped. My head spun. I realized he was quoting my article, and I tried to reach for the iThingie in his hand. He jerked it away from me.

“Did you write that shit, or did your editor?”

I swallowed a thick lump. “He may have embellished. Only a little.”

Anton snorted. “Good answer. You keep being a good girl, and maybe you'll get a chance to read this shit sometime yourself. But not today.”

He pulled the curtain open at his side and tossed it to the floor, carelessly, as if it was nothing but a cheap magazine. I folded my arms, feeling new adrenaline pulse through my veins. The light did evil things to him, made him look far sexier than he had any business being just then.

He'd taken me, forced me to break the law, pulled me into a world I'd tried so hard to avoid. Damn it! I had a hundred reasons to hate him, but my eyes disagreed with my heart. They only saw a beautiful, damaged, heavily tattooed angel with a scar glowing on his cheek, dark as the ink going up his arms and meeting in the firebird on his chest.

“What the f*ck do you want from me?” I wasn't sure why I asked the question.

His hungry eyes already held the answer. They looked me up and down, following my curves, burning my contours into his screwed up brain.

He wanted to f*ck me, use me for his pleasure, and then use me again to get at my uncle. I was his secret weapon in a war that started before I was old enough to realize what it was all about.

“Your cooperation,” he said. “Same f*cking thing I told you I wanted in the truck. Believe it or not, part of me wishes it didn't have to come down like this, Sabrina. I would've f*cking loved wining and dining you in another life – one where wasted family blood doesn't make vengeance my only obsession.”