Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(22)

Maybe Skin was a rare gem in a cesspool, a man with a heart in a world that wasn't supposed to have one. My eyes traced the edges of the patch on the back of the cut, the skull perched between two guns with smoke curling outta them.

God willing, I'd be out of this world soon, and I'd never have to worry about dealing with bikers again. I let the comforting roar of his engine and his warmth wash over me.

I must've dozed, because the trip seemed like it was over in the blink of an eye. Next thing I knew, we were past the state line, rumbling through Newport, on our way toward Knoxville as the sun came up.

Smiling, I leaned into him, just as we pulled into a gas station. As soon as he parked the bike to fill up, I reached into my purse, found his ring, and presented it to him like a soldier receiving a well-earned medal.

“I kept it safe. I just can't believe you kept your promise, Skin. How did you find me?” He gently took the ring.

I watched his strong hands move as he pushed it onto his finger, back in its rightful place. Just then, I swore those hands could've conquered the entire world, could've owned me – and I wouldn't resist.

“Wasn't hard after we caught up with that piece of shit, Ricky,” he rumbled.

My breath caught. Holy shit. Had he killed the pimp?

“Is he...?” I couldn't bring myself to say it.

Imagining Ricky dead excited me, but it was also like having a savage chapter in my life slammed shut. Far too soon for me to process.

“No. This is our home turf. We can't just go around snuffing people out like fire ants. Shit, I'd have loved to finish him myself, but not in front of the other girls there. We didn't have time to hide his f*cking carcass either – we had to catch up with you.” His eyes burned with a mad intensity, and he wrapped one arm around my neck, pulling me closer. “We'll deal with him, babe, on our own terms. I promise. He won't walk away free for what he's done to you. I'll make damned sure he never does this to somebody else.”

I'd never heard such dark, bloodthirsty sincerity.

Skin wouldn't disappoint me. I could tell by the tone in his voice. So firm, so decisive, so eager to kill.

I trusted him, and that scared me. He waited by his bike while I ran inside and used the bathroom, wringing the last of the cool rain out of my skirt.

Ugh. I couldn't wait to get home and change into something clean and dry. For the first time in months, I thought about the reunion with my parents, wondered how many tears would add their wetness to my sopping wet clothes before the day was through.

The other guys didn't say much. They cast friendly, but distant glances my way, and climbed on their bikes with some sodas while Skin started his engine.

We shared a water the rest of the way, the only thing I could force down my throat. The last twenty-four hours' jitters sent an entire swarm of butterflies flapping through my belly. I wondered if I'd even be able to choke down my mom's home cooked food, assuming she hadn't given up on cooking at all since I disappeared.

Six months. Just kill me.

I couldn't believe half a year of my life had been spent in pure hell.

If I was lucky, I'd lose a few more to intensive therapy. I didn't want to think about all the traumas blackening my brain, all the pieces of my young, innocent self the pimp and his * clients had stolen away forever.

You're safe. Think about that instead, I told myself, latching onto it for support.

About halfway through the trip, I leaned close to Skin, relishing his body underneath my hands. “Hey, let me know when you want my home address...I can give it to you anytime. It's not too far off the highway.”

He grunted, but didn't reply. Strange.

He had to have looked me up, I told myself, so maybe he already had it. That made sense. Just another half hour or so, and I'd be home.

If only it were so easy.

The knots in my belly deepened when we turned down a different exit, away from Knoxville proper, nowhere near the fancy estate where my parents lived. Another couple miles, and his bike rumbled down a short, unpaved service road, flanked by an overgrown forest crawling with kudzu vines.

“Um, Skin? I thought you were going to let me off at home? Where are we going?”

Again, silence. My fingers tightened on his stomach until I was clawing him.

No, no, no.

Please. Fuck. Please don't do this.

I trusted you.

I held my eyes shut as long as I could, praying I was wrong about my hero. I couldn't believe he'd lead me into yet another cavern of the hell I thought I'd left behind. But when the bike slowed down and I finally looked up, I couldn't ignore the stone cold truth.

If I had any tears left, they would've come spilling down my face when I saw the beat up looking clubhouse with a massive DEADLY PISTOLS MC logo painted across the wall. Two smoking pistols with a skull in the center, an emblem of death and destruction if there ever was one.

I couldn't cry anymore. I couldn't even breathe. I couldn't handle the truth ripping through me like daggers.

Skin wasn't what I thought.

My savior was just one more demon who was probably going to subject me to new tortures I couldn't imagine. The hero died that day. It didn't matter anymore that he'd been so kind, that he looked so handsome he'd thrown off all my instincts.

I hated him for betraying me, and his monstrous club too.