Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(114)
His face darkened. He leaned in, resting his forehead against mine.
“No.” Brass paused, as if he was mulling his words. “I've been wrong about most of my brothers for so long. Everybody except Rabid, Blackjack, maybe a couple other guys...they're all f*cked. Fucked up and sick. And it's only gonna get worse.”
I shook my head, trying to understand. What was he saying?
“Babe, I'm gonna take you somewhere far away. You and Jackie both. Somewhere you can be safe and live your lives without worrying about a buncha *s pushing the knife into your throats.”
I shuddered. The crude imagery wasn't just an exaggeration. Then I thought about his words, reading between the lines. My heart skipped a beat when I saw it laid out in front of me.
Holy shit.
“You mean you're going to –“
“Leave? Yeah. If that's what it takes to protect you, so be it. We'll head north, all the way through Oregon and Washington. Maybe find some place way up near Canada where nobody's gotta worry about MCs or cartels tearing each other to bloody pieces.”
“Brass...” My voice hitched. I started to slide down, but he caught me, laying my cheek on his chest.
“Shhh,” he whispered, running his fingers softly through my wet hair. “All we gotta do's go through the motions 'til I figure shit out. One week. That's all it's gonna take to get shit in order and go. I just need to work the logistics and tell a couple guys I can trust what's up. I can't come right away, though. Got some unfinished business with the club, and if I take off permanently, I'd like to leave on good terms.”
“Won't they make things worse for all of us when they find out what you're planning?”
“I don't give a shit,” he growled. “You're my old lady and I can do whatever the f*ck I want with you. If nobody understands that – if I don't have a single f*cking brother sticking up for me – then I'll know everything my club represents is a goddamned sham.”
He turned, holding my hand, twisting the shower faucet until the steady warm rain stopped. I pulled away, folding my arms over my breasts in the steam, wiping my eyes.
His arm swept the shower curtain aside. He looked at our clothes strewn over the floor, his gaze zeroing in on his cut. I watched his magnificent hard ass as he stepped out, pulling his cut off the ground and letting it fall open in his hands.
“I gave my life and cost some other people theirs trying to do right by this patch.” A sad tone darkened his voice. “Maybe one day, I'll be able to. Maybe after the cartel's done thinning out the trash. But not while this club's controlled by a buncha greedy f*cking maniacs who think it's okay to kill, rape, and burn the whole world for no good reason.”
The leather vest dropped and hit the floor. He turned toward me, naked in the steam, eyes shining brighter than I'd ever seen them.
“Don't worry. I'm not going back on anything I said while I was wearing these colors, proud and stupid. I'm still a full patch member in the Grizzlies MC. I vote, I fight for the honest brothers, and everything I've said and done since wearing this patch belongs to me.” He stepped forward, helping me over the tub's edge to the tile floor. “You're my old lady, babe, come heaven or hell. I don't need any f*cking club behind me to back that up. Long as you're willing to have me, I'm gonna have you...every way that's beautiful and dirty and f*cking sweet. You and me, Missy. Just us against the whole f*cking world, if that's the way it's gotta be.”
He took my hand. In the last two hours, everything went crazy. The man I'd thought about killing was staring at me like I was an angel. If it wasn't for the warmth filling my heart, the guilt there would've caused it to sink like a lead weight.
I swallowed the thick lump in my throat and mustered my most serious stare. “I'm ready, Brass. I want you to set things right...and I'm ready to run away if it means we can finally be together, start over, keep my sister safe...”
He tugged me closer, one strong arm around me, pushing a sturdy finger to my lips. “Stop. There's no f*cking ifs in what we're gonna do. You, girl, are coming with me no matter what's up ahead. You're mine, dammit, and once I lay claim, I don't let go. Not for the club. Not for the cartel. Not for my own f*cking mistakes. Not even for the awesome f*cking French toast I'm gonna make when we get outta here.”
It took me a minute to figure out that last part. Then I remembered Jackie was still outside in the living room, waiting for us and the breakfast he'd promised. Smiling like an idiot, I punched him in the side.
“Jerk. We'll judge how awesome this stuff's going to be.”
He grinned. “Dry your hair and get dressed. You'll find out.”
We were stuffed around the little breakfast table about thirty minutes later. The entire apartment smelled like warm bread, cinnamon, and syrup, sweet as it was comforting.
Jackie dove into hers with a teenager's appetite, eyeing the big stack of breakfast on the serving plate. He served up eggs to go with the toast and a pitcher of coffee. It looked as good as it smelled.
Brass didn't touch his food. He sat across from me, his Grizzlies MC t-shirt clinging to his chest, waiting for me to have a bite.
I dipped my toast in syrup and brought it to my lips. One crunch, and I was in pure heaven. I think I moaned – dangerously close to the sound I'd made in the shower, when he pushed me over the edge.