Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(106)

Damn it. I started to relax, but I didn't stop kicking 'til I saw Missy behind all the brothers staggering around us. The men were either laughing or giving me the evil eye.

She was safe – for now.

I tried to relax, much as I wanted to break their hold and continue beating the f*ckface on the floor. He tried to take her, against her f*cking will. He tried to take what's mine.

“I'll leave his ass alone. Just let me f*cking go,” I growled, forcing myself to break eye contact with Serial.

His lip was bloodied and a couple brothers helped him up. He shot me one more vicious look with those dark, merciless eyes. The urge to rip 'em outta his head and blind his evil ass forever was overwhelming.

“Jesus.” Blackjack spat contempt in my face. “I can smell the whiskey rolling off you. Drunk as a damned skunk. I'm gonna let this ride, long as I don't find out you hit that other shit.”

I shook my head. “You know I wouldn't do that. I'd rather die, brother.”

“Nobody's f*cking dying here today,” he snapped. “In another couple seconds, I'm gonna let you go. Rabid's gonna walk you out to the garages with the girl, and you're heading straight home. Got it? Don't show your f*cking face around here again until you sober up and know how to handle everybody in this club – including the brothers you don't like.”

I snorted. Blackjack's fingers tightened on my shoulders and he cocked his head, studying me, a stark warning written in his weathered face.

“Really, Brass? You know this kinda shit happens in this club all the time. Brothers get drunk. Some of them let their girls stray. And that baby faced brunette back there isn't even yours. Nobody believes this stage show you're putting on. It's gonna be a long time before we ever turn 'em loose. I'll tell you that much. You don't trust this bitch as far as you can throw her – how do you expect us to?”

My heart sank. Fuck. Saving Missy in the scuffle just brought another consequence that activated pure fire in my chest. My heart slapped my ribs like a heavy pendulum, ready to kill and crush.

He eased up. My cue to turn, rip myself away from him. Rabid still had me by one arm – annoying as f*ck.

“I'll go,” I said, giving Blackjack one more icy stare. “I'll get my shit together like you want. But, you know, it's a sad f*cking day around here when you're admitting defeat and letting rapist lunatics f*ck this club over from the inside out. Big surprise we're easy pickings for the cartel. We're rotten to the goddamned core.”

Blackjack's mouth twisted in a frown. He was about to lay into me, but my parting shot to Serial set the maniac off. He threw himself at me, too slow for the brothers surrounding him.

“Knock it off, *! I'm not gonna tell you again!” Blackjack howled, getting in his face as the brothers held him back, trying to bring some permanent peace for the night.

Rabid kept his grip tight while I circled around and grabbed Missy with my free hand. She followed along limply, matching my steps with Rabid toward the door.

It was a huge relief when the stink of grease and motor oil outside coiled up my nostrils.

I headed for the truck. When we were a few steps away, I let Missy's hand go and reached into my pocket, handing her the keys.

“You drive. I'm too f*cked up to get us home.”

She blinked, and then nodded. I hated looking into her eyes too long, not when they were all red and shocked to hell after Serial worked his black magic.

At the passenger door, Rabid still hadn't let me go, so I jerked hard. He flew forward, knocked himself into the truck's metal before he released my leather.

“Shit, dude. Take it easy. I'm following orders.”

“I know. I just wanna get the f*ck outta here.” I put my hand on the door handle and felt my knuckles throb where I'd pounded Serial's face.

It hurt like hell, but damn if it didn't feel good too. Just wished my fists had gotten a chance to finish the job before these other f*cks broke it up.

“Hey,” Rabid threw his hand over mine on the door, causing me to growl. “I'm hoping you can figure this shit out, brother. You know I would've been right with you, kicking Serial's ass, if everybody knew she was your old lady? I mean, if that's what she really was, and you weren't just doing this for show.”

“Yeah? Well, thanks for the support.” I stopped just short of adding '*.' There was no point in alienating the last man here who really had my back, even if he half-assed it.

“Brass, you know it's not like that,” he said, stepping away. “I'm trying to put the club first, same as Blackjack. You and these girls...it's one more f*cked up complication. I want them gone just as quick as you do...but not if there's a tiny chance they're gonna f*ck us by blabbing to the police.”

“And I'll tell you the same thing I told Blackjack.” I paused, pressing my teeth together tight. “This club's f*cked up. Rotting, from the inside out, infested with junkies and psycho *s like Serial. Ask yourself how f*cked up it is that you care more about keeping shit together to fight the cartel when we've got guys who are supposed to be our f*cking brothers acting just like a buncha thugs from below the border.”

His face tightened in anger, but it faded fast. My eyes were fixed on him the whole time as I climbed into the truck and Missy started the engine, slowly putting some distance between us and the hellish scene.