Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(95)

We stepped inside. The biggest surprise was seeing the place fully furnished. The couch, chairs, and little dining table next to the kitchen weren't going to win any awards for fashion, but they looked clean and functional. I walked around, eyeing my new home, leaning close to the tacky brown sofa and giving it a sniff.

Thank God. The smoky old stink of the clubhouse wasn't bleeding out the cushions, so he hadn't gotten it from there.

Jackie walked straight into the little hall. I joined her a second later, wondering why she looked so perked up.

“Two bedrooms!” she chirped. “That's a lot better than the crap I thought he'd –“

She stopped, swallowing her words. Brass stood at the other end of the hall, his arms folded, looking seriously scary in the darkness.

I reached for a switch in the bathroom and flipped it on. The light did a lot to take the evil edge off him, but he still looked like he'd leave scorch marks if I got too close. He was all muscle, all fire rippling in his flesh, and he held every last key to our fate in his big calloused hand.

“Catch.” He threw me the small bundle of keys and I threw my hands out, wrapping my fingers around it.

“You're paid up through the end of the month, and I'll chip in something for next month too, as needed.” He turned.

I followed him into the living room while Jackie lingered in the bigger bedroom. She'd already claimed hers. Not something I was going to fight her about.

“The couch folds down,” he said, flopping on it in front of me. His leather cut jumped up his stomach for a second, revealing a tight set of abs I hadn't seen on a man outside underwear ads in magazines.

I quirked an eyebrow. “Does it matter? Something tells me we're not allowed to have any guests.”

“Fuck, yes, it matters. This is where I'm gonna crash while I keep an eye on you two.”

My heart sank. Of course. Just because he'd moved us to a better prison, didn't mean we were home and free.

And why not? My first instinct alone would've been to grab Jackie, head for a hotel, and spill my guts about this nightmare to the first cop I saw.

“It's been a long f*cking time since I lived in an apartment,” he said, stretching his huge body out on the cushions. “You'll have the place to yourselves most of the time. Club business keeps me busy during the day, you know.”

Duh. We'd been left alone for days, never knowing when he'd blow in, or what he'd do with us. His 'business' only fed the hellish uncertainty filling our lives.

I cautiously planted my butt in the wicker rocking chair next to him. “Fine. What about school for Jackie? She's been out all week dealing with my father's death, but she's supposed to be back on Monday...”

He shrugged. “Tell 'em she's sick. I f*cked off in school all the time and turned out fine. Guess I'm lucky nobody asked any questions in those days.”

I wanted to burst out laughing. Was he f*cking serious? Whatever he'd been when he was young, he was an outlaw biker now!

A killer. A thief. A brute.

All the evil things it was hard to visualize when he was right in front of me, looking sexier than any criminal should.

Somehow, I held the crazed, panicky laugh in my chest. Good thing too because if it got started, I knew it wouldn't stop until I was paralyzed on the floor in tears.

“Brass, she's fourteen years old. Her father just died from cancer and her older sister led her right into a pack of –“

Devils. Fuckers. Assholes.

No words were adequate for how the Grizzlies treated us. And I still got angry and sad every time I thought about daddy too.

Leaving us with nothing would've been better than what he'd dropped in my lap – why the f*ck did he think I'd have any idea how to handle this? Why did he die painting a target on his daughters' backs?

Because the cancer rotted his brain. Or maybe desperation did. I didn't like that answer. It filled my skull with cruel cement.

Brass threw his feet on the floor and straightened up. “What were you gonna say? You don't have to self-censor here, babe. I've heard it all. You think calling me a rude name's gonna hurt my widdle feelings?”

Bastard. He made a puppy dog face and grinned. I shrugged, guessing it was better than having him jump on me and throw his hand on my throat for the stifled insult.

“We both know what happened,” I snapped. “There's no need to resort to name calling. I don't need to sink to your level.”

He laughed. A low, rich, smoky baritone sound, older sounding than his face suggested.

“Sure wish you would. Might help you blow off some f*cking steam. Christ, I know I need to. If you think I like having to deal with this shit – hostages – you're wrong. Deadly f*cking wrong. I'm doing the best I can to make my brothers happy and keep you alive.”

He had me there. After bringing us here, I was starting to believe his bullshit, and that made me hate him even more. I shot daggers out of my eyes as I looked at him, annoyed that his face looked too handsome to cut.

If only he could've been a total gargoyle...feeding the hatred would've been so much easier.

Damn it, why did he look so different from most of the other guys in his club? Rude, savage bikers who acted like demons shouldn't wear the faces of angels.

“You've done enough. I don't like this crap, but I'm not an idiot, Brass. I won't go out. I won't say anything unless I get your permission, sir.” I practically stuck out my tongue when I said it. “But Jackie...I can't give up on her when she hasn't gotten started yet. She needs an education.”