Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(52)

For a detective, he didn't hide his frustration well. “I'm going to review the files again, Miss Wilder. If I find any discrepancies, rest assured our next chat will be taking place down at the station, rather than in the comfort of your own home.”

Daddy shot up like a bolt of lightning. “Are you really threatening my daughter with a prison interrogation in my own house? Sir, I'll remind you who was the top contributor to the Senior Senator from the great state of Tennessee last year – you're looking at him. Don't make me get some calls flying back and forth between Washington and FBI headquarters. We wouldn't want to soil the nice, professional relationship here. But I'll do what I need to, if you leave me no choice.”

Harlow looked genuinely disturbed. I tried not to laugh, loving how my father brought the hammer down when it really mattered.

Of course, I felt even worse about the lies I'd just told.

Had Skin already dragged me too deep into his world, away from the normal, law abiding life I'd known before? Or had Ricky damaged me forever before the biker even got his hands on me?

I didn't know, but one thing was clear – I'd never settle for a quiet, normal life again. I'd plunge into the darkness and navigate the lesser evils if it brought me closer to him.

Therapy in a Georgia spa wouldn't do anything for me. Nothing would, except feeling Skin's powerful, tattooed arms around me, pressing my face into his rock hard chest, inhaling his earthy, masculine scent.

“We'll talk again when she's back from her retreat. Good day.” Harlow packed up his things and scuttled like a scorned cat.

“The nerve of that man...” Dad walked to the small liquor cabinet in our kitchen and poured himself a drink, ripping off his spectacles.

I felt bad. But I felt worse about my plans to sneak out later with the cash in hand, right after I used the burner phone hidden in my dresser to call Skin to the gate.

“Daddy, don't worry about him. Seriously. I'm going to be okay, no matter what happens. He has to give up sometime. I don't know why he's so adamant about tying what happened to me to these dead bikers in North Carolina.”

“He says it's important, something about drug and terrorism laws. I really don't care, Megan.” I watched him knock straight bourbon down his throat and slam the glass on the counter. “You're home, you're going to get some help, and that's all that matters. If there was more to your escape like the good detective thinks, I don't care. You're here. You're safe. And one day, you'll open up and tell me, won't you?”

My heart skipped a beat. Shit.

He knew. Somehow, Dad knew I wasn't being completely honest. My stomach turned to lead, and I wanted to crawl into the kudzu tangled forest out back and die.

“We'll just see about that,” I told him. “I promise I'm going to be okay. Don't worry about me, whatever happens. I'm going to get well again, and you're right, whatever happens from here is going to be between family. Not this nosy detective who won't let me get on with my life.”

He stared at me for about a minute, piercing me with his bright blue eyes, the same ones I saw staring back at me in the mirror every day. He hoped I'd give him more, but I couldn't.

If I told him about Skin, about the club, all about how I wouldn't be standing here alive if it wasn't for the hardened biker and his Pistols...I'd never get away tonight.

Dad broke and looked out the window while I grabbed a drink of water and slipped away upstairs. Someday, I'd tell him the truth. He deserved it.

I needed to face it all, open and honest, the truth about myself and the last six brutal months of my life.

I was ready. I had to be if Skin decided to make me his. And that was one thing I was ready to discover, no matter the price.





VIII: Made Whole (Skin)


Four days. Almost an entire f*cking week since I'd dropped her off at her parents' door, never to be seen again.

I didn't give a shit about the money. I missed her, and I couldn't stop, not even among all the brotherly backslapping and celebrations for our coming windfall.

Dust put my down payment to good use, working on plans for the new strip joint and holding nightly bashes to raise moral.

Girls threw themselves at me, just like they always had. I shoved them the f*ck away.

I didn't want to do anything but drink. We finally had Jack and Jim flowing by the gallon again. I took bottles to my room and sauced myself to sleep, usually after long rides into the mountains. I always stopped when I came near the half-covered path leading down to the hollow where I'd dismembered the pimp.

His rotting flesh and bones were stuffed into a hole where nobody but the black bears would ever find him. They'd gnaw his bones 'til it was like the f*ck never existed. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

Good f*cking riddance. I'd saved her several times over. I'd killed for that chick. And I just had one regret.

What I regretted was letting go. I never should've taken her home without one more kiss, asking her to be my old lady.

I didn't think she'd actually accept. Shit, the girl was from another world, a rich family who'd probably sweat a little bit and pull over if they saw us coming down the highway next to them. She'd been beaten, used, and abused by the bastard I'd killed and the scum who gave him money.