Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(148)
The man groaned. I saw he was bleeding out from a hole in his stomach, barely even conscious. The soon-to-be-dead Prez was still berating the poor bastard. Suddenly, Fang pulled his gun, pressed it to the man's temple, and fired.
“Fucking useless! All of you! This is what I get for thirty f*ckin' years of glory? I made this club. It was all me – me! And now you bastards are tearing it to pieces, turning over like snakes and cowards, ruining everything I gave you...”
I told Blackjack to hang back and pushed through the weeds first. He fired at the weeds I rustled, and a new emotion I'd never seen entered his eyes: fear.
Arctic terror. And it was goddamned beautiful.
Two bullets buried themselves in the mud, dangerously close to my leg. I kept going. His gun was clicking on empty by the time I stood over him.
Blackjack pushed his way to my side, breathing a little heavier than before. Both our guns were trained on him. I got ready to squeeze the trigger first and take flak later. Blackjack deserved the kill almost as much as me, but no f*cking way was I letting someone else hand Fang his one way ticket to hell.
“Don't!” Fang roared, throwing a hand up, as if he still had a choice. “We can figure something out. Take my patch, drain my money, ship my ass to Alaska...you can't f*cking kill me. You know I built this thing from my bare hands, Blackjack. I built you!”
“You built yourself a tower of shit, Fang,” the old man said. “There was a time when we needed a man like you in charge. Not anymore. You spilled too much blood, carved too much flesh. It's no wonder we've got wolves at our gates.”
“You want to live?” I stepped up, pressing my gun to his temple. He nodded, shifting his evil head against my gun. “Then tell me where you've got her. Where's my old lady?”
Fang licked his lips. “There's a van parked about a mile from here. Nobody in it but her, tied up and gagged in the trunk. I was gonna send my guys to get her if you hadn't f*cked me over...but I knew you would. I knew it. I keep my f*cking word. Always. Do you, Brass?”
I looked at Blackjack. He nodded.
“You do the honors, son.”
“No. But I'm gonna say thanks for being honest just once in your life,” I growled to Fang.
He was shaking. I pulled the gun back, stuck it in my holster, and brought out my knife. Let him feel a second of misplaced relief before I let him see it. The fear in the ex-Prez's eyes swelled, and then it was just a reflection of murder.
I did everything he threatened to do to my girl, piece by f*cking piece. Blackjack watched for five grisly minutes before I finally slammed my blade into Fang's skull.
When it was over, I cut away his patch, and threw one arm over the old man, helping him struggle back through the brush.
“Put me down,” he said, as soon as we saw the Devils and our crew again. “They'll take it from here. Go. Go find your woman.”
I didn't need to be told twice.
I found the worn blue van parked off a little service road, right where the * indicated. All my muscles tensed up as I approached the trunk.
A man never knows what he'll find in the back of a car in this world. If the lying bastard hurt her, killed her, then I'd run right back into the woods and dismember his ass all over again. What little was left to slice and dice, anyway. Shit, if he'd lied to me, I'd learn the darkest black magic I could to make sure his soul suffered worse in Satan's care than it already deserved.
I shook my head, pushing away the f*cked up thoughts. The glass was dirty and I couldn't see inside. There was no sign of anyone screaming or banging within.
My hand caught the handle and pulled. It was unlocked, and it popped open with a whoosh.
Fuck. There she was. Gagged, red eyed, balled up in the tiny space next to some old oil bottles, her hands and feet bound. But she was alive.
Missy tried to scream through the dirty rag in her mouth when she saw me. I threw myself in, pulling her into my arms, reaching for the same knife I'd just used to send Fang to justice. I cut her bindings first, then sliced carefully past her hair, ripping away the shitty cloth blocking her sweet lips.
“Baby girl.” I said it softly, just as she sucked in a huge breath and started to cry.
I flattened her on my chest, stroking the soft brown hair I was damned lucky to feel once again. I wondered how the hell it always stayed magnificent, sexy, even when she'd just been on a round trip through Hades.
“The *'s dead. So are all the shits who did this to you. It's over, babe. There's nothing left for you to fear.”
“Brass.” She croaked my name and I helped pivot her face up to mine. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so f*cking sorry. I had to do the right thing. I didn't realize saving her and putting myself on the line would hurt you, hurt Jackie.”
She shuddered. Her face scrunched up and I thought the waterworks were gonna keep flowing, but she caught herself at the last second, drawing in a deep breath.
“I'm a screwed up mess. I thought I was strong, but I cracked in there.” She gestured to the van. “They left me bound up, and then I heard the gunshots...look at me. I'm a f*cking mess.”
“Quiet, babe,” I growled, a little more angrily than I intended. She blinked. “It's okay to scream and scratch the ground when some f*ck keeps you under the gun. You're doing what comes natural. But I want you to listen real f*cking close and get this through your head.”