Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(55)

I'd never been ready to share that shit with anybody 'til her. Not 'til tonight.

We got to the clubhouse in record time. I parked my bike and grabbed her hand, leading her inside. Loud classic rock bounced through the air, the latest tempo the brothers inside were drinking and f*cking to.

A loud moan greeted us behind the bar. My eyes darted to the spot where Firefly had his bitch for the night bent over, slamming his cock into her and growling every time he went deep. The Enforcer never stopped being a hothead even when he f*cked, taking his girls out in the open, and hanging 'em out wet to dry the next day.

The bastard looked up, his eyes dark with sex. I gave him a knowing stare. He snorted, never skipping a beat with the slut under him.

“Wow, you weren't kidding about the party!” Meg smiled, so excited and seductive I wanted to drag her out back right there, behind the trees, and put my mouth on hers 'til she couldn't show any teeth the rest of the night.

I didn't like the way Firefly was looking at her. The f*ck had a taste for threesomes sometimes – who among us didn't? – but there was no way in hell I'd let him ask my girl.

“Something like that,” I growled, leading her toward the hall hand-in-hand. “We're just here for business. I've got a better place for us to go after this. Let's get this over with.”

The cash stuffed bag sagged in my hand. I carried it in and headed for the Prez's office, hoping he hadn't gone home yet. I sure as hell didn't want to deal with Joker after he'd borrowed my bed for his nasty fun.

Firefly sat at the bar and fixed his eyes on Meg as we stepped inside. We exchanged a look and he nodded. He wore that tired, satisfied glaze in his eyes that he always had after he'd f*cked his testosterone calm for awhile. I noticed Blondie snoozing in his lap as we walked by, heading for Dust's office.

“Leave the talkin' to me,” I said between taps on the door. “This is club business, baby, even though it involves you too.”

“Yeah, about that...I was hoping we could get some reassurance from your boss about what's going to happen to me.”

“What?” I shot her a sharp look, just as the door opened.

The Prez had a beer in his hand. He squinted at us like two trick-or-treaters who'd just shown up on his doorstep on the Fourth of July.

“What's she doing back here?” His eyes instantly fell to the big black bag in my hand. “Holy Moses. Is that what I think it is?”

I nodded. All it took for the Prez to reach for Meg and pull her into his office without another word, while I followed them in.

He walked behind his desk, sucking down his beer and hurling the can in the garbage. The bag hit his desk with a plop. His thick, scarred hands landed on it and I watched his fingers give it a squeeze, shaking almost imperceptibly while he went for the zipper, looking like a man about to pull down a lady's dress.

Fat stacks of twenties and hundreds wrapped in bands spilled out the opening. He pursed his lips and whistled, so sharp and unexpected Meg barely suppressed a laugh.

“It's all there, Prez. You can count it down to the dollar. She says it is, and I trust her.” Smiling, our eyes met, and I tried to lay off thinking about how bad I wanted to be inside her just then.

Come on. Hurry the f*ck up. You've got your business here, man, and we've got ours.

The excitement in Dust's cool gray eyes raged louder. Then he said the words I dreaded.

“Skin, have a seat. Help me count this loot and get it inventoried for the vault.”

Megan took one look at the sparks in my eyes turning to smoke. This time, she couldn't hold it. She laughed, high and sweet and beautiful, and kept on doing it when the Prez looked at her like she'd lost her mind.

About an hour later, I couldn't get the stink of fresh money off my hands. “It's all there, Prez, see? Just like I told you. Right down to the final dollar.”

“Yeah, yeah. You weren't bullshitting. We've got our second chance for this club right here, and it's all thanks to turning your mistake into a miracle.”

“Mistake?” Meg spoke for the first time in forever, sitting in the corner, next to the club's old filing cabinet.

“My words, not his, beautiful.” Dust thumped his chest. “Our boy's got too big a hard-on for him to realize you're trouble, sweets. You oughta be thankful.”

“Yeah, trouble...about that.” She stood up and walked over.

I grabbed her hand, trying to stall her out. She wanted her assurances, but there was a right way to approach the Prez and a wrong one. I didn't want him chewing into her, no matter how good his mood was from our newly fat cash supply.

“Now that you've got your money, I need to know that you're never going to come after me again, Dust.” She walked past me and stared at him like a wildcat. “I want assurances that we're good on both sides. I need to know I've paid my debt, and whatever trouble Skin caused is done.”

“Assurances?” The Prez glared at her, considering her request.

The girl had courage, I had to give her that. 'Course, she didn't realize what he'd done. She hadn't seen him throttle bastards to death with his bare hands, or take rival prospects out back when his old man led the club, making them scream louder than anybody else could, 'til they sang and gave us whatever we wanted.