Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(109)

He closed his eyes and didn't finish. I had to keep my eyes fixed on the road, refusing to look over. Hearing him regret claiming me as his hurt.

It defied common sense, but it did, and it shook me to the core too. I leaned in my seat and pushed on, following the narrow streets through Redding toward our apartment. There was nothing left to say. Breathing another word would've only upset somebody, and we'd had enough heartache for one night.

I pulled into a parking space and got out, waiting for him to follow. The whole way upstairs and down the hall, I hoped like hell Jackie would be asleep. When I got inside, one more prayer was answered, and I was left alone to pad off to my room, alone with my fears and forbidden desires.

I woke up sometime before dawn and ran to the bathroom. It was still dark. The water I'd downed before I went to sleep helped kill the hunger pangs nipping at my stomach. I was too upset to eat earlier, worried I'd wake up with my stomach twisted in knots as I slid through my nightmares.

Brass was snoring lightly on the couch, a thin blanket thrown across him, his cut and jeans hanging on the chair next to him. I looked at the coffee table and saw his wallet. There was something else too, thick and shiny, even in the pre-dawn darkness...

I crept up, quiet as a cat, reaching out when I was close. It was the skinny switchblade he'd wrestled away from Serial. My thumb brushed the handle, running over the small bear claw pressed into the handle, one more cruel mark left by the Grizzlies MC.

My finger gently moved along the edge and pushed a small button. The sharp blade jumped out, dangerous as ever in the darkness.

I looked up, studying him in the shadows. He was huge, and right now...completely at my mercy.

The old, frightened, vengeful Missy Thomas inside me stomped her feet, begging me to end this right now. If I killed him here, nobody would ever know. Jackie and I could take off with his vehicle, find our way to Mexico or something.

But the way he'd gotten underneath my skin – God!

Killing him was the last thing I wanted. How could I spill his blood when he'd already given his for me? For Jackie?

He'd sliced into my soul, sure, but he'd ripped his own open and bled ten times more. I wanted to take the easy way. I wanted to be free. But I also wanted him, alive and well, and so much more. Primal greed grabbed me by the throat and forced me to look at him, a rugged manly mirror for all my feverish desires.

I wanted him on top of me, hot and throbbing, slamming me into the floor while he worked between my legs. I wanted to smell our sweat mingle when he was deep inside me, claiming me for real, shattering the game of pretend we'd been playing with insatiable lust and twitching flesh.

Honestly, I'd already lost my mind. Now the only question was whether I'd walk into the madness losing him, or else losing myself on his flesh, losing my entire world on him as he filled me, stretched me, clawed at my flesh, and split my mind in two on his dick.

I couldn't kill him. No f*cking way. This whole thing was crazy and I didn't know if there even was a way out alive anymore, but more bloodshed wasn't the answer.

I turned the knife over in my hand, holding it up. With a heavy sigh, I lowered it, trying to find some way to retract the blade.

I never heard him wake up, much less climb off the sofa. He crashed into me from behind, flattening my hand holding the blade. I jerked once and flipped over, surprised I hadn't screamed.

We were face to face. He was shirtless and magnificent, pure hellfire in his expression, dark tattoos running up and down his muscular chest. He'd landed between my legs – the last place in the world he should be, especially when I had nothing on underneath my long sleeping shirt except my panties and filthy desires blazing in my belly.

“What the f*ck are you doing?” he growled, eyeing the blade in my hand.

It was still tilted up, sturdy, his hand pinning down my wrist. “I don't...I just saw it laying there and wanted to see what it was. I didn't mean to do anything, Brass. Honest.”

He stared deep into my eyes and shook his head. Finally, he threw his hand away, but not before pulling my wrist up, aiming the dagger at the tight packed muscles on his abdomen.

“Bullshit. I know a person mulling a kill when I see one.” His breaths came heavy, and he spoke slow, soft. “Fucking do it if this is what you want. Put me outta my goddamned misery and leave. Do it!”

My hand shook against his. I tried to release my fingers, drop the knife, get away from him, but he wouldn't let me. He pulled it closer, dragging the very tip of the killer blade to his chest, right above his heart.

“One more f*cking push, and you're free. This is what you want, right, babe?”

“No!” I wasn't sure how I managed to keep my voice down without screaming in his face.

It came out sharp, hit him in the face. Brass' hand squeezed, bending my knuckles in, and then let go. The knife fell onto the carpet next to me. When I looked down to see it, I realized my whole body was shaking underneath him.

“Can't say I never gave you a chance, Missy,” he said, peeling back and hovering over me, his hands planted on the floor. “Wake me up when you know what you want.”

The smug tension in his voice struck deep, setting off a bomb inside me. Next thing I knew, I jerked up, threw my arms around his neck, and smashed my mouth on his.

Our lips touched like lightning criss-crossing the sky.

Brass' mouth was hard, unmoving for a single second, and then he parted his lips and grunted. His arms slid around me, pulling me up, smashing my breasts against his chest as he pushed my lips apart with his tongue.