Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(100)

I shouldn't care. Much less about him. Nothing should've mattered except freeing my sister, even if it cost me my own life.

And I shouldn't have the kinda thoughts I did while riding this bike, imagining what it would be like to run my hands on his stomach without leather and denim between his skin and mine. I shouldn't sweat and shake when his green eyes bathed me in his teal fire, wondering what his glare would look like only inches apart, watching me as I lost my mind on his cock.

Stockholm Syndrome. Wasn't that what they called it when a woman starts admiring her captor? What the hell did they call it when she was way past admiring, aching to run her tongue down his chest, and then even lower?

I wasn't sure, but I sank a little more into its one-way grasp every minute I was around him, and that scared the shit out of me.

God, I had a better idea how to handle my slave work with the Grizzlies and the dead eyed killers milling around the clubhouse. Serial's evil words hurt, but they didn't leave me confused, wrecked, disembodied. The hatred between us was a clear wall, keeping him away from my world, and me out of his as long as I watched my step.

I didn't have that luxury in my own f*cking home, if I wanted to call this apartment that. I didn't have anything – much less my sanity – while I was forced to live here with him.

No protection. No safety. Not even the comfort black and white hate provided.

I never heard him come home, as usual. Whenever he finally dragged himself in and crashed on the sofa, I was already long asleep, my red eyes spinning in their nightmares after crying me to sleep.





IV: Cruel Charade (Brass)


I ripped circles through Redding half the f*cking night on my bike, feeling the spots on my stomach where her nails almost tore through my clothes.

Why couldn't anything be easy with this girl? Why the f*ck couldn't I catch a goddamned break just one time?

I thought my ship was sliding into happy harbor that morning, when she'd settled the hell down, agreeing to work on the one and only path that might set us all free. Then Serial had to stick his f*cked up nose into it.

Shit! I should've rode straight to the clubhouse, kicked down the door, and pummeled his ugly face 'til it shattered. Too bad the * was the best shot this club had, and the Prez made it crystal f*cking clear we'd need a good sniper on the roof if the cartel ever got the balls to attack our clubhouse.

Didn't stop me from wanting to beat him raw. It'd be satisfying for the first sixty seconds, before all the brothers descended on me, beating my ass to death before they dragged the girls away to the warehouse to be slaughtered like animals.

I hadn't been so frustrated since sitting through sis' wedding reception, surrounded by Prairie Pussies. I'd kept it together in Reno without taking a hit. But f*ck, my whole body ached for one right now.

At least shooting smack up my veins would've cut my fuming body a break. I couldn't lose the hard-on turning my cock to steel no matter how many miles I rode, fighting to push Missy outta my mind like a madman stuck on OCD.

How f*cked up was I for wanting her to scratch through my clothes on that tense ride home? If she would've gone at it a little harder, a little lower, I would've parked the bike on the side of the road and thrown her to the ground.

Tossing her to the earth and ripping off her pants sounded better than a shot of pure f*cking heaven right about now. What I wouldn't give to feel her, f*ck her, mark her with my teeth...I hadn't even given her a proper brand yet.

No, she wasn't really my old lady, but damn if I didn't want to make her f*ck like one.

Just the thought of claiming that * as mine, stuffing her up to the hilt with my big dick, was the match that lit me on fire. I raced down the highway like an * who'd had one too many, weaving in and out the empty lanes, pushing my engine to its limits.

The cold wind couldn't do shit to calm me down. Nothing would. Nothing except ripping her panties off with my bare hands and sinking into that hot, pink, arrogant slit, fisting her hair and grinding my teeth while I f*cked her to the earth's core.

Didn't she understand her life and death was in my f*cking hands? Christ, I wanted to drive it home, drive it deep, drive it hard and rough 'til she lost control and gushed all over my dick.

If she was gonna keep screaming and snarling in my face, then I wanted to give her a damned good reason to.

My balls were still on fire on the way back, hoping enough time had passed to put her down for the night so I could collapse on the couch like a zombie. I was afraid for what I'd do if I saw her again in this state.

My hands and my cock were done listening to my head for the night. They wanted to send a message one way or another, something she'd never forget, something to tell her this old lady shit wasn't a f*cking game.

I stopped off at the liquor store for a six pack and barreled back to the apartment. Place was mercifully empty when I got inside. I chugged the brews fast, letting cheap carbonation and alcohol burn my throat, waiting 'til the booze punched me in the stomach and put me down for the night.

I never asked for any of this shit. I was coming apart a little more day by day, caught between my club and this beautiful chick with the bratty sister, without any room for mistakes that would end in us being buried together.

At some point, I passed out, wondering if I'd wake up and find out it was all a bad dream. But then, I would've had to wake up about five years earlier, about the time my life went to shit.