Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(34)

“Jesus,” I whispered, sitting up when I saw the fury in his eyes in the full morning light. “Don't tell me you've been awake all night thinking about everything I said. You don't need to do anything, Skin. I just cracked last night, said too much. Can't we forget it?”

“Come on, babe. You already know the answer.” A smirk twisted his dangerously kissable lips. “Let me get you some breakfast. Then I'll let you shower and get to work on the ransom plan, while I handle business.”

He slid out of bed and began to dress, throwing on a clean shirt and his cut. I watched him the entire time, feeling my heart slip into my stomach, pulsing black, guilty blood.

“Don't do this. Please don't. I know I've given you a hard time because I'm all screwed up, but Skin, if I lost you –“

A wave of his hand cut me off. “Unless the next words out of your mouth have to do with how you're gonna convince your folks to get us the money, I don't wanna hear it. Mind's made up, babe, and nobody changes it once I've decided.”

“Skin!” I jumped up and called out to him one more time before he adjusted the leather vest on his shoulders, and then marched out, locking the door behind him in one brutal twist.

He was gone. And unfortunately, the beautiful bastard was right again.

I had to accept whatever he was up to, even though it meant suffering alone all day worrying about him.

By the time the sun set and I had to switch the lamp on, I couldn't take it. I'd done nothing since he dropped off coffee and a sandwich this morning, without so much as a goodbye.

The paper sat gloriously empty, except for several lines I'd scribbled about how to save him. How ironic that he'd gotten me to care more about pulling his stupid butt out of the fire than my own.

I couldn't shake the exhaustion. The last few days had absolutely fried my brain.

I'd been too open with Skin last night. I never should've let my guard down. Never should've tempted him to bring more trouble down by wiping out Ricky.

Once he had his target, he was like an angry pitbull. There wasn't any holding back. He'd left for his destiny, and there was nothing I could do.

Nothing besides cloister myself in the corner and wait, praying the pimp wouldn't get to him first.

Another hour slipped by. Then two more. Panic crept in.

What the hell is happening out there? I wondered, biting my lip.

I wanted to do something. My hands and feet burned. They begged me to run to the door, pound on it and scream until somebody opened up, and tell them everything about what Skin was about to do.

But if his brothers weren't in on the scheme, then I'd only be giving him more grief, possibly putting him in greater danger.

I still didn't know anything about this MC. From what I could see, they barely tolerated me. The brothers gave Skin just enough space to watch over me as their personal cash cow.

Whatever, at least they hadn't demanded other favors. I shook my head sadly, wondering if I'd ever be able to think normally about any strange man again after what I'd been through.

Ricky f*cked me up. Ricky, the Johns, and his nasty friends in the Deadhands, brutes who wouldn't think twice about using my mouth, or choking me until I complied with the next set of tricks they wanted me to turn.

I remembered Big Vic's vile cock in my mouth and cringed. He liked choking me, making me worry that he'd squeeze his fingers around my throat just a little bit tighter while he f*cked me deep, filled my entire mouth with every evil inch of him.

He always laughed when I tore his floppy dick out of my mouth too, after he'd finished. I'd be on the ground, gasping for air, trying desperately not to panic. He'd roll off his condom slowly, making me worry he'd dump his waste all over me before he left.

You're a lucky bitch, he always said. Goddamned lucky we like working with this pimp. One of these days, we just might decide to haul you back to the Carolinas to work for us instead, baby girl. Then you can suck this shit down your throat 'til you f*ckin' drown.

“No.” I covered my eyes, mumbling, pushing away the bitter memory.

They couldn't hurt me anymore, whatever happened to Skin. Oh, God, what if something really did happen to him out there!?

He was the only man who'd been remotely kind to me in ages. And I wasn't even sure that was accurate. My brain was too screwed up to think.

I wanted somebody to slap me across the face, shake me, sort the rights from the wrongs. My own judgment was shot, destroyed forever by the deranged madman who'd had me for six months, the bastard I still couldn't hide from in my dreams.

Clenching my fists, I tried to breathe deep, anything to slow my shaking heart. I was getting worked up to the verge of tears when I heard the lock jingle.

My heartbeat thudded ten times faster when Skin ripped the door open and slammed it shut behind him, another bag from the taco place in hand, and something else. His phone?

“Oh my God,” I whispered softly to him, standing up. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He didn't say anything at first. The biker with the savage scar on his beautiful face approached me like a lion, reserving his pride, stopping only to set the food on the table and lift up his phone.

“Skin? Skin?” I said his name a couple more times, studying him for telltale signs of blood, dirt, injuries – anything that might give me a clue what happened while he was out all day. “Talk to me!”