Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(44)

No, no, f*ck no. I won't let that happen.

“You'll pay your debt one way or another,” I growled, looking around the room for anything else she'd left behind. I saw her mystery magazine and threw it in the bag too, plus a bottle of water for the road.

“What's that supposed to mean? Should I be worried? Looking over my shoulder?” Her questions ended in a hiss of resignation. “Just tell me one thing...are you actually setting me free, or not? I can't tell.”

Shit. I didn't say anything for several seconds, not 'til I turned and handed her the heavy bag.

“Make sure everything's in there. Next stop is my bike so I can take you home.” Her face wilted, and she nodded glumly as she realized I wasn't gonna tell her shit. Not before we got outside, anyway.

When her bag was stuffed into my Harley's trunk and I handed her the helmet, I let it spill. None of the brothers were around to hear shit, but I still would've said it, even if they were.

“Babe, I'm dead serious about you figuring out the reward. I threw the club a bone to get them off your ass, but they're gonna be right back on it soon if you delay too long. Here's a burner.” I reached into my pocket, and passed her a cheap pre-paid flip phone, the kind we always used for jobs that had to stay anonymous. “You call me anytime. Any trouble, any update, or when you've got the cash, ready to go. And yeah, it's gotta be cash, stacked up neatly in a briefcase or thrown into a damned barrel. I don't give a shit. Just get it to me, and you'll never hear from me again.”

“Understood.” She took the phone and pinched her eyes shut. I couldn't tell if she was sick from the renewed worries I'd just given her, or if it seriously hurt her to think about a life without me.

I inwardly snorted. Dream on, you poor, lovestruck bastard.

“Hope you don't need to give them much notice. I'll drop you off wherever, right outside the gate or in your own driveway, just say the word. Hold on tight.” I made sure she had her hands around my waist before my bike's engine roared.

We headed out into the mountains, the autumn breeze nipping at my cheeks. At least it wasn't raining like the night I'd rescued her, soaking us all down to the bone.

I tried to think about anything except the beautiful, broken woman riding on my bike. She'd come through for us in a few days. I didn't doubt it one bit. I'd meet her one more time, then drop the money for the Prez, and he'd throw one f*ck of a party.

We'd have girls, booze, more hogs and steaks on the fire than we could even eat. We'd gorge ourselves on good times and brotherly love. We'd drink the evening away, and f*ck ourselves raw at night, cuddling up with two or three girls at a time, just like the good old days.

I'd have some hot brunette with ice blue eyes riding my dick while another one bucked her * on my mouth. It should've been enough to make my dick throb while we bounced up and down the mountain roads.

It always was before. Hell, it was all I'd ever known before Megan, before killing Ricky, before I fell on my ass into this big goddamned mess.

So, why the f*ck didn't it cut it anymore? Why did thinking beyond this bullshit just fill me with numb, gray dread?

I clenched my jaw, gritting my teeth, throttling the bike harder on the next bend. She held me tighter, pulling herself instinctively closer to stay steady and safe. I slowed as soon as I realized she didn't need to ride this hard.

But damn if her hands didn't stay tight when we were coming off the highest slopes. If anything, she was digging her fingers into me, just like she'd done last night.

Last night, our only night together. All I'd have to remember her by, and all I'd ever give her to remember me.

I'd f*cked her so damned hard, but I wanted to do more. I wanted to f*ck her a dozen times more, each time harder than the last, the only thing that might stand a tiny chance at driving her outta my system.

I knew then I was really and truly f*cked.

Thinking about the woman riding bitch behind me was what really set my balls on fire. Not an orgy with three whores wearing too much lip gloss and silicon in their tits.

Meg was all natural, all woman, and I wanted her to be mine.

She turned me on like no woman ever had. When we f*cked, I was f*cking to leave marks, a makeshift brand on her that would tell the whole damned world I owned her. I f*cked to make her convulse and scream herself hoarse. Mostly, I f*cked to make her shout my name, the only name I ever wanted hanging on her lips while she pinched her arms and legs around me tight and lost control.

Yeah, it was insane, stupid, and a thousand shades of wrong. Just then, I didn't give a single shit.

I squeezed my bike's bars so damned hard the vibrations of the road shook my heart, and it still wasn't enough to wipe her outta my system.

I didn't give a f*ck about senseless. I only cared about keeping her safe, keeping her in my world, never letting go. My eyes followed the faded lines on the road 'til I was almost in a trance, all I could do to keep myself from pulling into the nearest lookout, dragging her into the woods, and making her realize I hadn't said shit about my payment.

The money was for the club. She'd handle that one way or another. Me?

I wanted her naked and fused to my cock, legs spread wide while I rammed my dick into her and emptied every last drop of come from my balls in her *, her mouth, all over her perfect f*cking skin.