Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(27)

No more. I reached for her chin and grabbed it hard. She gasped, but the spitfire met my eyes, and I held her gaze.

I let it all come out in my stare. The anger, the frustration, the sheer need I had to save her while I prevented my club from getting completely shredded by Deads, without any funds to buy enough ammo to fight back...

Fuck, I knew she saw the desire too. I couldn't hide shit from this girl. If she didn't know how bad I wanted to rip her clothes off and stuff my cock in her mouth to shut her up, then she had to be blind.

“I don't need you to understand, babe. I need you to listen. This isn't a goddamned sex trade, and you know it. I'm not your new pimp.”

“Do I?” The hateful confusion in her eyes almost made me question it too.

“If you don't know, you'll find out fast. Right now, you're looking at me like I'm one more twisted f*ck who's here to pour gasoline on your life and watch it burn down. I'm no hero. I never said I was. But I'm your only ticket to true freedom. Just like you're my only way to save my ass, and maybe everybody wearing this patch. Go ahead and hate me like I'm nothing but another pimp, or a Deadhand limpdick piece of shit sent to drag you away. Doesn't change the fact that we're up the same creek, and we can either sink our hands into the water together or drown.”

She broke my gaze first. I watched her little jaw clench. At first, I thought she was going to fire back again.

No, she was fighting back tears instead, begging every instinct I had to pull her up, yank her into my arms, and brush away each poison tear sliding down her cheek.

My hand went to her shoulder and I squeezed. That did it, caused her to surrender.

Fuck it. She didn't fight as I drew her into my embrace, squeezed her so tight I threatened to crush the air outta her lungs.

I didn't understand what this strange, beautiful chick was doing to me. I wanted to protect her, break her, and scream in her face all at once. I wanted to f*ck her as bad as I wanted to wipe away her tears.

Worst of all, I barely even knew her, and she had my ass invested like a gambler chasing penny stocks.

The outcome wouldn't be any better either. Christ, no.

I'd grown up a heartbreaker, and this girl sure as shit didn't need that. I resisted the urge to put my lips on her skin, tracing those fiery tears racing down her. She gushed sorrow and shame for the next couple minutes while I held her, stroked her hair.

I wished to high heaven I really was her hero, instead of her f*cking warden.

I'd made peace with being the bad guy, the outlaw, a long time ago. So, why the f*ck did I actually feel bad with her?

“Work with me, babe,” I whispered. “This can all be over faster than you think. You can rebuild your life.”

“Okay!” she hissed at last, jerking away from me. “I'm sorry. It's been such a long day. I don't want your sympathy or your help. I'll work with you, Skin, but that's it...just enough to get your money.”

The distance between us was suddenly like a gulf. Still, I stared at her, smiled, and nodded.

“That's all I'm asking. You get yourself square with the club, and you're free. This time, for real. You'll never have to hear shit from a man on a motorcycle or sleep in a dirty room again.” I saw her look at the food on the table, probably getting ice cold. “You want me to warm that shit up for you, or what? You're not going back to bed 'til you put something in your stomach.”

“I'll eat. Just not...that. It's the last meal I had before I was kidnapped. Ricky put something in my food at this diner. Doubt I'll ever enjoy a hamburger again. His trick worked to get me in his truck, and...“

She stopped, catching a lump of pure sadness in her throat.

Fucking shit. My heart sank. I held up a hand, silencing her, then walked over to the table and ripped it up. I crushed the whole bag into a tight ball and opened the door, hurling it into the garbage outside.

“If I take you out for something different, will you promise not to f*ck me and try to run away?”

She shrugged. “Whatever. You know I won't. Even if your club isn't like the Deads, I know I'll have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life if I squeal or turn you guys in. That's not what I call freedom.”

My jaw clenched. She gave me the answer I needed to grab her by the hand and lead her to my bike. Didn't make me stop wishing the entire time that she saw me as something other than a cruel, calculating motherf*cker.

Someday, I'd make her. One more promise piled onto my long list of impossible obligations.

We hit the local taco shack for a couple hours. I sucked on Mexican beers while I watched her pick at her food like a bird, but by the time we left, she'd finally eaten enough to make me happy.

I paid the tab and watched her slump across from me in her seat, her eyes half-closed, digesting more than just her food. Shit, the girl probably needed a solid year to process all the crap she'd been dragged through the last forty-eight hours.

I stared into my half-empty beer, watching the pale gold swirl, all I could do to keep my eyes off her curves.

My dick turned me into a monster. I couldn't stop imagining f*cking her, even after all she'd been through.

And if we actually f*cked, I'd be sure to f*ck her over too. She needed something soft after the hell she'd suffered.

Too bad tender, gentle, soft wasn't in my damned vocabulary. The only thing swirling through my skull was rough, hard, and rougher. I wanted to take her so hard I left marks, stamped her skin from head to toe, let the entire world know she was mine.