Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(122)

Somebody had to witness what I had in my heart, the only thing I was sure about, other than protecting Jackie on this emotional roller coaster making my heart howl.

“Whatever, princess. Guess f*cking a rat's in your blood knowing who your daddy was.” Serial walked over to what looked like a small black bag on a nearby table. “You wanna play Romeo and Juliet, I honestly don't give a shit. Those f*cks both died in the end, didn't they? Shakespeare was a mean sonofabitch. So am I. Thing is, you don't have to die with him. Neither does the little chick if you stuff that bitch tongue and cooperate.”

A zipper opened. The men behind Jackie shifted uncomfortably, their heads turned toward whatever the hell Serial was taking out of the bag.

He spun. The tangle of sharp metal made me want to scream, but then my brain froze, struggling to understand what it was seeing.

Jesus Christ. Was he really wearing that thing on his hand?

It looked like a mess of knives, corkscrews, daggers, and hooks attached to an old baseball glove. Some sicko's f*cked up idea of what a Swiss Army knife should look like if it were designed to be worn for flaying skin.

“You like it, cunt?” Serial sniffed, taking a step closer. “We call this nasty f*cking thing the Mauler. It's the club's pride and joy, and she only comes out when a bullet to the brain isn't good enough. Sometimes I wish there were a few more rats crawling around. This poor baby goes a long time between her meals, and when she finally gets some blood, she's f*cking hungry.”

His eyes weren't so dark anymore. Now, there was a monstrous pleasure shining in his eyes. Somehow, I held it together, feeling myself leave my body, hovering over all this. I guess it was my natural defense against breaking down in tears or screaming my lungs out in front of this maniac.

No, maniacs, plural. Splitter laughed behind me again, low and nasty, and the four shapes behind my sister stood like statues.

One of the silhouettes had long hair hanging down his shoulders. If it was Blackjack – and it probably was – then Brass had been dead wrong him being a decent man.

Jesus, he'd been wrong about how swift they'd move on us too. Well, right or wrong, it was much too late to be upset about it when there was way more horror in front of me.

God. Realizing the only man who could protect us f*cked up this bad hurt worse than the demon shaking his murderous glove in my face.

I looked into his dead eyes and cracked. “Don't do this. Please. I'll tell you anything you want to know...”

“You don't know shit, bitch. Neither does your dumb sister. If we wanted you to talk, we'd have stripped you down and mounted both your asses about five minutes ago. You're here to loosen his lips. Don't you get it?” He stared into my eyes like a frustrated teacher looking at a dense pupil. “Everything that happens from this point hinges on the f*cking rat telling us what we want to know about his involvement with the Mexican cartel or – more likely – the Prairie Devils MC. We'll find out right here how much he loves you. Maybe he'll talk fast, get himself a merciful death, and do the right thing by us. Or, he'll cry and plead, keeping his rat lips shut while we rip you and the baby girl over there to shreds.”

He turned away, fixing his eyes on Jackie. I wasn't sure whether I should be happy or horrified she was still out. I sniffed hard, blinking back tears when he stopped behind her, gingerly putting the heavy weapon attached to his hand on her shoulder.

“I think I'll start on the little one first. Just on the off chance you were nothing more than an easy f*ck to our boy.” Serial turned, sweeping the claw away. Jackie twisted her head and groaned.

Don't wake up...don't wake up...

Please, sis. Don't wake up.

“Rabid!” he barked to one of the men behind him. “Go drag that turd in here. You're used to smelling his shit anyway after all the times you hung around him. Move.”

One of the figures hesitated for a good ten seconds, and then finally moved.

I closed my eyes, praying Jackie wouldn't wake up with that *'s claw next to her. Even if we somehow got out of this alive, she'd be traumatized for life. It was a small miracle watching dad die and being captured by the Grizzlies hadn't made her comatose by now.

But this would be the final straw. I just knew it.

The sound of feet shuffling made me look up. Rabid and another dead eyed man with long hair were carrying Brass in. My heart bled hate and pain all over again when I saw my man.

They'd bruised his face. Scratched it. His wrists and feet were bound by crude cables.

Growling, Serial stepped away from my sister. He walked behind Brass and pushed him out of the other men's arms. He hit the cement floor hard, making an oomph sound barely louder than the rattle of his bones.

“Get up, *!” Serial kicked him in the ribs. “Don't think you're gonna make this shit any easier playing possum, you f*cking rat. I told the wrecking crew out there not to beat you senseless. They took it light. I know you're f*cking awake. Look up! Look at me, before I make your girls bleed.”

Brass grunted, leaned down, and spat a long, sticky trail of blood. My fingers went numb. I rocked in my chair, wanting so bad to look away from all this. But ignoring the grisly sight in front of me was even worse than seeing dead on.

He turned, forcing himself up when the trickle was done running out his mouth. If he saw me at his side, or Jackie at the other, he showed no sign of it.