Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(53)
She'd need a good shrink and a lot of f*cking money to get her life on track. Fortunately, thanks to her rich folks, she had both of those.
I was the worst kinda medicine she could swallow, bitter and wrong. I wasn't blind, but it didn't make me wanna lay off her any less. Damn if I didn't want to pour every drop of myself down her system. I wanted to overload her with desire, make her crave me, flatten her against the cracked wall out back, rip her panties off, and f*ck her 'til she screamed my name.
I was completely, irreversibly screwed, and the rest of the guys knew it too.
They kept their distance during the wild nights when the girls came flooding in. Sixty and Crawl gave me nothing more than a wink and a brotherly nod when I threw my unwanted women their way.
A lot of the familiar faces who'd sucked me off before wanted another crack at my dick. The other boys were plenty easy on women's eyes too, but they liked the silent, brooding type, I guess. I'd always fit the bill, second only to the Prez himself and Joker.
Unfortunately for the girls, the Prez was too damned busy to spend time f*cking them. And Joker – if he still had any marbles at all, they were all below the belt. He f*cked like no tomorrow, and sometimes the bitches in his room screamed like he was taking 'em apart.
The crazy bastard had lost his mind a long time ago, turned into a dead-eyed killer. Fuck if he'd lost his wild oats, and everybody was surprised he didn't have a few dozen bastards running around town by now at the rate he pounded *.
I walked through the clubhouse after sunset, having the bar almost to myself. Firefly was over in the corner, a hot little blonde on his lap, playing games with her lips and the dark wings tattooed around his neck. He always did the same shit with his girls, and they were all over him as soon as they had their legs around his waist.
I fished out a fresh bottle of whiskey and popped the cap, ready to head for my room after a few swigs. Loud country blasted on the old jukebox, the kinda shit my old man used to listen to, back when the club's biggest worry was throwing bonfires. It was ancient history now, before any brother realized the danger settling in, before they figured out how big and aggressive the bastards outside Tennessee had grown, how they were dead set on making a run for our territory.
“Hey, what the f*ck, Skin?” Firefly called to me, tugging at Goldie's locks as she giggled on his lap. “Lighten up and have a little fun. You look like you're gonna pass the f*ck out if you don't whip that bottle at the wall first. Don't get any bright ideas. Just because I'm partying doesn't mean I'm not on the job.”
I rolled my eyes. He took the Enforcer role deadly serious, playing hall monitor when he wasn't breaking up fights between brothers or drilling us to see how fast we could get our guns.
“Here, your majesty, have another drink so you can relax,” I growled, sloshing whiskey sloppily into his glass, and then hers. “One for the lady, too. It's the least I can do to take the edge off this blowhard, yeah?”
She looked at me and giggled, slapping Firefly's shoulders. “Oh my God, fireball! Why didn't you tell me your friends were so hilarious?”
“It's Firefly, baby, and don't you f*cking forget it.” He shot her a stern look. “Here, looks like you need something to remember me by.”
I snorted as he jerked her hair tight and gave her a long, hard kiss.
Fuck if I didn't think about Meg, though, having her beautiful chestnut locks tangled around my fingers again, the other hand on the small of her back, pumping her hips up and down on my cock.
So many ways I hadn't taken her yet. So many ways I wanted to the second I got her sweet ass back here.
“Shit, Skinny Boy, don't you have some numbers to punch on a computer or something?” He looked away from me at his ditzy date for the night. “I've never been shy about having an audience 'round these parts, but it's kinda creepy if it's just you.”
Christ. That meant he was going to f*ck her behind the bar, if he didn't just shove his cock into her right here. He wasn't wrong – I didn't need to see that shit.
Watching Firefly f*ck a girl barely old enough to drink wasn't my kinda porn. I had plenty of that shit waiting in my room, but even the perfect Dixie girls on the screen with their ruby red lips and fake tits didn't hold a goddamned candle to the woman turning my crank.
“I'm not gonna cramp you, brother,” I told him, deciding to leave the whiskey with them. “You're right. I've got more important biz to settle. Somebody's gotta keep this club from going up in flames, after all.”
Firefly gave me a sharp look, but he decided to let it go, too obsessed with Blondie wiggling on his lap. I was halfway to my room when I heard her hit the counter and cry out as he sank into her.
Irony was an absolute bitch tonight. Before Meg, getting my dick wet was the only motivation I had to bring the club more cash. Now, there was * galore, and it still felt like being stranded in the desert because none of those hot, pink holes were the ones I really wanted.
They only belonged to one woman. Not even the buxom young redhead I found stretched out in my bed, naked from the waist down.
The used condom on my floor told the full story, as did the bright red hand prints left all over her ass. Snarling, I grabbed her by both hands and whirled her around, shaking her outta her stupor.
“Okay, who the f*ck was in here and left their trash in my f*cking room?” She yelped and looked at me like I'd just jumped out of her nightmares.