Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(127)

Thinking about that shit made me want to rip everything apart. Having Shelly as his wife – or Saffron as he called her, my sis' old stripper name – was the only f*cking reason Blaze agreed to talk to me at all. And I still didn't know how I was really gonna sit down with those *s without punching their teeth out.

I'd barely kept it together during their wedding in Reno. Two Prairie Pussies, Stinger and Tank, nearly beat me to a bloody pulp the minute they saw me. Thank f*ck their old ladies were there to talk sense to 'em.

We spent the next night in Coeur d'Alene. I got us all some grub at a sit down restaurant. It was strange to eat in public without my cut on over the tight gray shirt, but the Idaho panhandle was Grizzlies MC territory, and I damned well had to keep a low profile. There was no telling what the charters would do as news about the power struggle in Redding spread.

More than a few Prezes out there had axes to grind with Fang, and there was never a better opportunity. But the bastard also put plenty of loyal thugs in place over the years, far and wide, including * f*ckers who'd stay with him 'til the bitter end while the cartel had them scared shitless.

Dinner was good. The girls both seemed happier. They chatted and smiled, a welcome thaw in the tension I'd seen between them yesterday. Missy told me about her accounting shit while little Jackie rolled her eyes in boredom. Promised right then she'd be going back to school – shit, both of them – as soon as we were clear and free.

“Brass? This is it?” Jackie wrinkled her nose when we pulled up to the only hotel with vacancies.

The kid had good reason to whine. The place was a f*cking dump, and I seriously contemplated camping out in the truck for the night over staying here. Too bad a hot shower sounded like it was worth the price of admission alone.

I took a full lap around the place, looking for obvious signs of dangerous deals going down or bitches whoring themselves out. Any one of those things wasn't just bad for the kid – it could indicate a connection to the local MC. The Idaho crew made most of their money off women since the Devils' shipments west started to drain our old business.

I looked high and low, searching for skanks or unassuming bikes parked within a couple blocks. Nothing. Missy was leaning on my shoulder.

Stroking my arm, she whispered in my ear. “It's cheap. It's a warm bed. Let's just take it, Brass. Seriously. We've had worse.”

I nodded, parked the truck, and got out ahead of the girls. My ears matched my eyes – the place was eerily quiet.

Yeah, this is the time when most dudes would get in the truck and gun it, or else get gnawed to pieces by some f*cked up thing in a bad horror movie. I'd stopped being afraid of anything worse than the murderous freaks I'd run into over the years.

Missy and Jackie hung close while we checked in, right where I wanted them. It took a few rings to rouse the old goat from the back. He spoke in a thick accent – maybe Russian or Polish or some shit – and took my cash without even giving me the stink eye for skipping the card like most decent hotels.

I didn't like the way the f*ck's eyes wandered. One of them looked artificial. The other kept skipping me entirely and sinking to the side, staring at Jackie while she messed with a vending machine on the other side of the shitty lobby.

“Something else you need?” I growled, wishing he'd hurry the f*ck up.

The jackoff looked down sheepishly and shook his head, reassuring me everything was in order.

Soon as he passed me the keys, I grabbed Missy's hand and walked over to the little girl. “Let's get the f*ck inside and rest for a few hours. Don't forget to check for bed bugs.”

My girl gave me a worrying look. Jackie just laughed. The room was cramped, a little smoky, but surprisingly not bad.

The women showered, one after another, and then it was my turn. However shitty the place was, it had a working water tank. Feeling the hot jets racing down my muscles felt f*cking amazing after two days of pure hell. Only thing better would've been having Missy there with me, wet and slippery and sexy as the time I took her at the apartment, the first time we f*cked.

Fuck, my cock throbbed like mad. Had to fight hard to resist jerking it. No, I wasn't resorting to that teenage shit. Didn't care how many hours were left before I f*cked my woman – I wasn't gonna do anything but f*cking when the time came.

Truth time: I hadn't jerked my dick in years when there was always * waiting for it. But no * was more perfect than hers, and the need to be inside it almost put me in a straight jacket.

I was practically drooling by the time I stepped out, toweled off, and dried my hair. When I came out, the girls were already crashed out in two beds, exhausted after the day long drive.

I stayed shirtless and climbed in next to my old lady. For a few minutes, I laid there, listening for anything f*cked up going on outside the room, any sign I should pass on sleep and meet the Prairie Pussies tomorrow with bloodshot eyes.

My f*cking body didn't want to cooperate. The sandman yanked my eyelids like cheap shades. I ended up falling asleep without even realizing it.

I dreamed about anger, violence, and sex. Same shit that always rattled my brain at night. It was more feverish than usual, and at some point I rolled, opening my eyes.

The bed next to us was empty.

Fuck!

I shot up like a lightning bolt and reached for Missy first. She was still there – thank f*ck – rolling sharply when she felt my arm sweeping over her. She moaned, rubbing her eyes.