Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(124)

Brass didn't wait for him to finish. As soon as Blackjack finished with the bindings holding his boots, he bolted up, amazingly fast for a man who'd just taken a beating.

He lunged, landed on Serial, snarling like a wild cougar. The psycho couldn't put up much of a fight. Brass ripped the Mauler off his hand and quickly pushed his own fingers into it, holding it over Serial's face for one agonizing second.

“No, Brass! No, brother...”

With his free hand, Brass ripped him up, bashing his forehead on Serial's before letting his head slump again. “Don't you ever f*cking call me that again. You were never my brother, and you never will be. Not even in hell...”

I looked away as he tore into the psychopath's face. Serial only shrieked for about a minute before his cries became gurgling rasps. Then there was nothing at all.

I opened my eyes, first checking to make sure Jackie was still out. Thank God for small favors, because she was.

Blackjack stood over my man and extended a hand. Brass ripped off the blood covered Mauler glove and let it fall on Serial's corpse.

“Why, brother?” Brass asked, taking his hand and standing on his feet again.

“Because I'm tired of watching my club turn into a sadistic freak show under Fang. I've made my choice. Let's kick his ass off the throne. We already tried the democratic way, and it didn't work. It never does when brothers are shaking in their boots while they vote. Here.”

The older man reached into his pocket and handed Brass something. It must've been a set of keys by the way they jingled.

“Get the f*ck out of here,” Blackjack growled. “Take the girls somewhere safe. Use my truck. Head north to Oregon – Klamath – and don't do anything 'til you hear more from me. Rabid and I are gonna stay behind and clean this mess up while we figure out who we can trust.”

Brass looked back at me, his eyes wide. He was full killer then, his face spattered with dead Serial's blood, and it was all over his cut, his jeans, and his shirt too. He stopped, giving Blackjack a big hug, pounding his back until the old man fought him off.

“Go. We've got surprise on our side. Now we just need time.”

Brass ran to me. I shook when he wrapped his arms around me, loosening my restraints with the knife in his hand. As soon as I was free, he passed me the switchblade and I ran to Jackie, getting her untied and then lifting her into my arms.

I checked her pulse and breathing. Normal.

“Brass?” I turned.

He was right behind me, waiting in all his blood flecked glory. “You heard the man. We gotta f*cking go. No time to stop at the apartment or anywhere else. You got her?”

I nodded. Brass made one more stop near the door, giving Rabid a manly slap on the shoulder.

“Told you I had your back, brother. Me and Blackjack both, soon as we found out what was coming tonight.”

Brass nodded at the lean, muscular man, the way a man can only look at a true brother. I understood then: these guys were family after all. And if the last few weeks taught me anything, it's that there's nothing like embracing family when you don't know if you'll see them alive again.

Jackie was a heavy load in my arms. She'd grown since the last time I ever moved her, years ago at this point. When Brass turned, he saw me struggling, and reached out. I passed her into his strong arms, and we were off.

The place they'd been holding us was huge. It looked like an old abandoned factory, or maybe a shipping center. Rusted metal and cracked cement were everywhere.

I saw the truck parked between a gaggle of bikes. We headed right for it, and Brass handed me the keys to open the door. He passed Jackie back to me when I was in my seat. She barely fit on my lap in the truck.

The dream-like coma my brain was in while I was on that chair started lifting. I looked at him and blinked, feeling the life come back into my tongue.

“Jesus, Brass. Can you believe what just –“

“Don't talk yet, babe. Not 'til we're on the road heading for the state line.”

He pushed the key into the ignition. The truck growled to life, and Jackie twitched in my arms as he peeled a tight circle, aiming for an old gate.

Shit. My sister's eyes lit up and she shook her head, trying to comprehend what she was seeing.

“Hold onto her tight!” Brass growled. “We're gonna hit a little bump when we go over.”

I backed up in my seat and clutched Jackie tight, burying her face in my chest. Bump was an understatement. The truck bounced in the air as it flattened the chain link fence, bounding over a depression in the ground, then tearing through the tall overgrown grass outside for several feet before we hit the road.

Jackie clawed at me like a scared kitten. “Missy? What the f*ck?!”

“Shhh. Easy, sis. We're almost home.”

The warehouse – factory? – whatever the hell it was, the place was just a small dot by the time she finally got herself seated between us. My little sister's eyes were bugged out, looking between me and Brass.

“What happened to those men? They knocked out Christa and grabbed me, held something strong to my face so I couldn't breathe...”

I didn't want to say. How was I supposed to explain away the ruthless bastards who'd punched her tutor out and dragged her to the shitty warehouse, where she'd mercifully slept during the torture and death I'd witnessed? But silence was going to panic her. I swallowed hard, trying to make my brain work.