Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(2)

Bikers? Ugh. I remembered the last time I had to service them, the hard, vicious men from the Deadhands MC.

Their VP, Big Vic, was the only man who managed to scare me besides Ricky. The bastard grinned the entire time as he slammed my face into his crotch, hard enough to leave me sore for a couple days. Once, he leaned down and cursed in my ear between his ragged breaths, told me how much he'd like to shoot Ricky in the head and take me away forever.

I feared the day he'd actually come back and do it. The pimp was bad, but there were bigger bastards than him in this world, and that included everyone with a Deadhands' patch on their leather cut.

Ricky hit me with his dead-eyed what-the-f*ck-are-you-waiting-for? stare.

I gave him another fake little smile, a nod, and then retreated into the bathroom. I heard my cot creek outside as he settled into it, humming lullabies to himself while he flipped his gun in his hands.

Those tunes made me think he had a soul once. The first few times I'd heard them, I thought maybe I could convince him to let me go once he was done with me. Maybe this was just business to him, money, and he didn't really want to hurt me unless he needed to.

Of course, the real Ricky wasn't like that at all. It was the ultimate wishful thinking. I had too many bruises and scars to prove it, too many nightmares that broke the only peace I got from hard labor in this miserable trucker whorehouse.

How many months has it been? I wondered, leaning into the shower to clean myself, loving the way the hissing shower head temporarily drowned out the horror of my life.

I couldn't figure out how much time had passed since my first day here, and I doubted I ever would. It had to be months, maybe years.

My reflection told the full story. The beautiful, confident, playful girl who used to stare back at me in the mirror turned into a dead-eyed whore with sunken cheeks, one I hated to even acknowledge.

Megan the socialite, the flirt, the dreamer, was dead. Long live the whore.

“Hey, Fresh! Hurry your sweet ass up! Don't bother with the f*cking fishnets.” He yelled it so loud I could practically feel the tremor in the tile underneath my feet.

Wincing, I dried myself quickly, and then slipped into a fresh change of clothes he'd laid out the day before. Calling it an outfit would be generous.

The purple lace bra was too damned tight. The Johns who managed to break them open always did me a favor, lending some relief to my poor boobs. Not that it mattered.

He had a near endless supply of the same cheap, suffocating lingerie for all the girls, including me.

“Yo, lady, hurry the f*ck up!” This time, he slapped the wall. “I wanna get this show on the road. We don't got no time to dilly-dally, bitch, you hear me?”

“One more minute, Ricky. Almost ready. I promise.”

The nervous bite in his voice made me smile. It never took much to upset him, really, and nothing did more than dealing with the Deadhands MC.

I couldn't completely blame the bastard for being worried. Hell, I wondered if this would be the day they decided to burn this place down and take the girls for themselves, including me. My heart pumped terror every time I remembered Big Vic's big, ugly grin, the nose ring in the middle of his fat face twitching every time he roared some new humiliation.

Bitch! Cunt! Whore!

Ricky called me all the same names as the biker, but he didn't have a tenth of the wicked outlaw's hateful energy when he said them.

Shimmying my panties up one more time, I slid into my heels, and stepped outside. Ricky leaned on the frame leading into the hall, making hushed words with some man I couldn't see.

“Look, buddy, you can have her tongue any way you want. Grab her hair and f*ck her 'til she gags. If you haven't heard our Fresh is the best little cocksucker this side of the mountains, then you've been living under a rock. But I need to be there for security.”

“Security.” A low, dark voice repeated the word, dripping sarcasm. “What the f*ck do I look like, pimp? Some chump who's going to stand there getting sucked off while you watch?”

“It's not like that, mister. I'm just hanging out to protect my property. Hell, I'll put my eyes on the ground. You pay up, and you can do anything you want to her –“

“And I'm telling you I want some goddamned privacy. Don't make us turn this place upside down more than we already are, *.” My jaw dropped as I watched two huge tattooed arms shove Ricky against the wall. “You're a clueless little shit, aren't you, pimp? There's a lot you don't get if you're not following what's going down here today. I f*ck the way I want and take whatever I need, and so does every other man in this club. Yeah, yeah, I know you've got Deadhands' protection. Your first mistake was thinking any of us gave a shit the minute we walked in here.”

They scuffled again, spilling their noise into the hallway.

“Hey!” Ricky let out a yelp and desperately grabbed for the man. The biker ripped his gun out of his hands first.

I backed into a corner, my mouth still hanging open, watching as the stranger's hands flung Ricky's handgun around like a toy.

“Play nice. Go mop the toilets or some shit like a good little boy, and maybe you can have this back. Give all the brothers some peace and quiet, stay the f*ck outta our way, and you'll walk outta here today without a hole in your head.”

“Skin, you're making a big mistake. I didn't know this was a f*cking shakedown. I thought you guys were just here for the regional fees or some shit. We can work this out. Just let me talk to your chief and explain –“