Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(96)

Brass stood up, growling. He moved fast, pacing the room like a frustrated tiger in its cage. I wondered if he was about to kick over the brand new coffee table next to my legs when he stopped next to me and reached for his wallet.

“Here!” Crumpled up bills landed at my feet. “It's all I got 'til the next share comes in from the club. Pull the girl outta school and buy her some f*cking lessons. Five hundred's gotta get something. I can't f*cking risk her breaking down and tattling to teacher. You'll listen to these lessons and make sure she doesn't say anything she shouldn't.”

I was frozen in disbelief for at least a solid minute, looking at his dark, angry eyes. Jesus.

He was very, very good at making it hard to hate him, especially when the way he'd given me the money should've made it easy. Hell, five hundred dollars didn't make a dent in the two million we'd lost.

It wasn't yours, a sad voice in my head reminded me. You didn't do anything to deserve it, and whatever your father did was evil.

Ignoring the sly voice in my head, I scooped up the money, stuffing it into my pocket. Brass took two more long walks through the room, shaking his head. It was like watching a grenade having its pin stuffed in before it went off.

“Look, I'm really f*cking sorry all this shit had to come down like this. I know it was your daddy who sold us out and not you. You and your sis got in the way. The guys are so f*cked up and stretched to their limits they would've killed you if I hadn't been there...I stopped it. I saved you.” He held up a hand as I opened my lips. “I'm not looking for any gratitude, so you can shove that shit right back down your throat. I'm just looking for an understanding, babe. You gotta tell me you get what I'm trying to do here. This little tango is all that's gonna save all our lives – including mine – because I'm the lucky f*ck who's responsible for you two. You f*ck up, hurt the club, and we all die together.”

My eyes burned hard, just looking at him, thinking even harder.

Ugh. He'd never stop being a bastard, but right now, he was right.

“I understand, Brass. I hate to admit it, but I do. I'll try to cooperate.”

“Try?” He snorted. “You're gonna have to do better than that, babe. If you ever wanna go free, you're gonna have to prove to the club you can be trusted.”

No! There's no f*cking way...

My head started spinning all over again. “And how the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“You saw the state the clubhouse was in – shit, you smelled it.” He paused. “You need money, right? I talked to Blackjack, and he's willing to have you around to clean shit up. We'll pay you two or three times what some maid would get because you've got extra incentive to keep your pretty pink mouth shut.”

I was shaking my head before he finished. Started shaking it even harder when he added that last part.

I couldn't go to that stinking, filthy, evil place again. And I definitely didn't need this sick attraction going both ways.

“No.” Brass blinked in surprise after I said it. “I'll wait this out. I'll find a different job. I can't go back there again...I just –“

“You can, and you will,” he growled. “Babe, much as I wish I was offering you a real choice, it's a f*cking illusion. You're gonna do this for me, and you're gonna do it right. If we're lucky, we'll be too busy focusing on our war to get in your hair. If the guys believe you're really my old lady, they won't give a shit if you fade into the background, and neither will I.”

Old lady? He'd said that word before. It was strange – crude like everything else that came from his wicked lips.

“Okay, you need to tell me what that means. You talked about me with that man, Crack, like I was your...” The word stuck in my throat. I had to force it out. “Property. Does old lady mean slave, Brass?”

“Slave to the heart, maybe. Being claimed is the best damned thing a girl can hope for hanging around men like us. You become an old lady, you get special privileges. You're not like the rest of the whores and sluts.” He grunted, struggling to explain, his face turning red as he eyed the confusion on mine. “I didn't marry you or nothing, babe. But if you still don't get it, taking a wife's the closest equivalent in your world.”

My heart skipped a beat. Shit, maybe ten.

I started to slump back in the chair, feeling the tremor rising in my body. Horror, rage, and hate shot to my throat. I coughed once to push it down. No use.

“You can't be serious! And you waited until now to tell me this?” I shook my head for the hundredth time that night, feeling blood rattle in my temples. “You're sick. This whole f*cking thing is. God, I'm starting to wish you'd let the rest of those animals pull the trigger.”

Brass moved like lightning. The rocking chair was tipped back and he was face to face with me, all rage, a rough glint in his dark green eyes that turned my skin into goosebumps.

“Shut the f*ck up. I know you don't mean that shit, but I'll be a goddamned devil before I let you say that f*cking bullshit to my face again. You'd better learn to control your tongue, babe, or someone a whole lot shorter fused than me's gonna cut it right off.”

I stopped thinking. My hand went up and grazed his face, slapping him across the cheek.