Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(35)
“Just shut your mouth and watch,” he growled, pushing the phone into my hands.
A video started to play. I saw Skin's unmistakably huge hand gripped around a handgun. A man was down on the ground in front of him, looking miserable and dejected. It only took me a second to recognize Ricky's long, greasy locks. The pimp crouched on his knees, shaking, dead silent except for some distant fluttering birds off in the forest surrounding them.
“Don't do this, don't do this, please don't f*cking do this – for the love of God!” The pimp sounded terrified.
Adrenaline shot through my chest. I watched as Skin brought the hand with his gun violently across the back of his head, knocking him to the ground. The camera shook, lost its frame, and came back about ten seconds later.
“Stop begging and die like a man, *,” the biker snarled. “I'll bet she begged for mercy too. Of course she did, her and how many others? You reap what you sow, motherf*cker, and now it's your turn to pay in blood, in pain, in your worthless life.”
The pimp's face was in front of the camera now. He had hot, angry tears in his eyes, bruises all over his face. I gasped, completely blown away by seeing my old tormentor so beaten.
“You're gonna regret this, Skin. The Deads know all about the guys you killed. They'll come looking for me too, and when they find out what you did, they'll f*ck up every last cowardly little shit in your club. The Pistols won't even f*cking exist in a month's time – just wait!” His lips trembled and he drew a long, agonizing breath. “Just wait, Skin. You know I'm talking sense. It's not too late to throttle back, save your own ass instead of putting it on the line for that mangy, stupid, miserable little cunt. Christ, I should've f*cked her and buried her in the brush a long time ago.”
“Nah.” Skin's voice sounded cooler all of a sudden. My eyes burned as he shoved the barrel of his gun into the pimp's bloody mouth. “It was too f*cking late for you the instant I saw her. She's got time on her side, time to sort her shit out and heal. I'd say it's too bad your clock's run out, pimp, but, you know – it isn't. Eat shit.”
I jumped when I heard the gunshot. Blood flew everywhere.
A few droplets spattered the camera, but most of it ran to the ground in the steady red trickle. What was left of the pimp's head slumped over the log where he'd been propped up and pinned down.
“Useless sack of shit,” Skin muttered, right before the camera went black.
The last thing I heard was the shuffling of his boots and a nearby shovel plunging into the cold Smoky Mountain dirt.
My hands were shaking when he reached from behind me, gingerly taking his phone back, taking away the video forever. He gave me a squeeze as I fought the tears, the insane flood of emotion over what I'd seen, and then he stepped out in front of me.
I watched the big man put the phone flat on the floor, lift one leg, and bring it down hard. It crunched like nothing more than decayed wood, but he stomped it a few more times just to be sure.
“Skin...” his name left my lips before I even knew what else to say.
His dark brown eyes bathed me in their energy, safe and determined as ever. “You only gotta see that once, babe, but I had to show you. I had to prove to you he's been dealt with, just like I promised.”
I could manage several steps to the bed before I collapsed, sitting with my hands across my face.
“I can't believe you did this,” I said finally, meeting his fiery eyes.
“Believe it, babe. The bastard's dead, buried where nobody'll ever find him. My only regret's not dragging it out and making the worthless piece of shit suffer more for what he did to you and those other girls.”
“The other girls – shit!” I sat up, suddenly in a panic, wondering what would become of them.
None of the other whores were slaves like me, at least not in the same way. The drugs the pimp offered up with their meager salaries were the only master they had to worry about. But addiction was a powerful one, and half of them would starve in their beds, waiting for Ricky to come back and get them their next hits.
“Already taken care of.” Skin folded his arms. “I went through the place and handed them their pink slips personally before I went to the pimp's house. His ratty little book keeper will find 'em, or else the girls will sober up in the morning. I gave all of 'em a shelter in Knoxville, not too far away, where they can go to get clean.”
No f*cking way. Smiling, I shook my head, scared I'd break down and start crying all over again.
“What? Don't tell me you're having regrets.”
“No, Skin, you just really thought of everything. I'm impressed.” I leaned forward and grabbed his hand.
He didn't pull it away as I moved it to my face. I took my time just holding it there, savoring his warmth, his energy, the raw power in the fingers that had held the gun when he blew Ricky's evil brains out.
“Something like that,” he whispered, his face darkening. “He wasn't bullshitting me when he talked about the Deads before I ended him. But those f*ckers were gonna come after us anyway. Killing the pimp won't change that, it'll just give them something else to dig into, maybe buy us a little more time.”
I looked at him for a second before I jerked my head away. It was too hard to hide the worry. I didn't want to get caught in the middle of a raging war between outlaw motorcycle clubs. But I couldn't ask him to put me ahead of himself, or ahead of this group he'd sworn an oath to.