Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(99)
This wasn't a man to reason with sober, let alone tripping out of his mind. I reached for the nearest whiskey bottle I could find and shoved it across the counter.
He popped the cap and took a long swig, pouring the crap down his throat like it was cream soda. “You remember who you're working for. I would've blown your girl's brains out if Brass and Blackjack hadn't pussied out. You're here at our mercy. This club doesn't need any parasites when it's fighting for its life. We f*cking own you, and your little girl. We can stomp you both like a f*cking flea any time we choose.”
He winked, and pointed his free hand at me like a gun. “BANG BANG! You're dead, cunt. Think I'd start on little sissy first, though.” he growled.
Pretty sure my heart stopped then. My fingers trembled as I heard his death threat echoing in my head, the cold, calm closeness to murder. I was still pinching the rag in my burning fingers when he was finally gone.
“Missy.”
I nearly hit the ceiling. I threw the rag on the counter and spun. Angry, shaken, and ready to face trouble. Brass was there on the other side of the bar, one hand braced against the granite.
“How'd it go?” he asked, smooth as an assistant manager checking in on me at some bullshit job.
“Your friend with the thorns on his face just told me how much he'd like to kill Jackie. How the hell do you think?”
Anger roiled his face, a more violent, masculine mirror of mine. “Fuck. Don't listen to that shithead. He's always been a twisted little f*ck since the minute I got to Redding. Come on. Let's f*cking go.”
He grabbed the rag and cleaner off the counter and held them for me while I quickly pushed dusty bottles back into place. I'd have to pick up on this nightmare job tomorrow.
When our stuff was put away, we left, riding along the bluish fading horizon on his Harley. This time, I practically jabbed my nails into his stomach, trying to hurt him whenever he made a turn.
I never asked for any of this shit. And I definitely wasn't cut out for it – not for dealing with these animals.
It was just my first day on the 'job' – and calling it that was being painfully generous – and I was totally ready to lose it.
Jackie's words stabbed deep in my mind over and over. Slaves. That's exactly what we were, shackled to work with these brutes until we were dead or they finally got tired of us.
And what then? I thought about Serial.
BANG BANG!
I pressed my hands tight around Brass' waist. Rage churned in my veins, so potent I refused to recognize how seductive his stupid sexy abs were beneath my hands.
What if we never came back? Jackie would eventually break, leave the apartment, and run, wouldn't she?
I chewed my lip, seriously considering hurling my fingernails into Brass' eyes, making him wreck the bike before we got off the highway. But killing him and snapping my own neck wouldn't get us out of this. Not without giving my sister more hellish memories that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
I wanted it to be easy with him. Just once. I wanted to treat him like one of them, an easy target for my hatred, my pain, my will to survive.
Brass parked the Harley next to the apartment and switched it off. Quickly climbing off, he faced me, ripping off my helmet before I could work off the strap myself.
“Fucking shit, babe. I thought you were gonna tear a hole in my guts the whole ride here. What's eating you?”
I turned away. The painful lump in my throat made it impossible to speak – not without crying, anyway.
“Don't do this, Missy,” he growled, throwing one strong hand on my shoulder. “I need you to either keep it together or let me know what the f*ck's going on so I can fix it. If you're upset about Serial, I'll break his f*cking nose next time I see him. Brother or no, I'm not gonna let that psycho f*ckwit shit all over my old –“
“Don't say it!” I snapped.
He tried to hold on, but I was too quick and his grip too tentative. I ripped myself away, climbing off the bike, throwing my hands into my pockets for the apartment's keys.
He knew better than to follow me inside when I was this upset. Jackie was locked in her room, refusing to respond every time I knocked. I left her a thick sandwich I threw together and a tall water bottle outside her door.
Then I cleaned up and turned in. The stink of cleaner and old smoke came off easy enough, but the putrid reek of bad luck didn't. Practically scrubbed my skin raw, wishing I could wipe away every trace of evil.
But it wasn't all on the outside, was it? Of course not, because that would be too convenient.
The real problem was the corruption inside me, the way Brass had gotten underneath my skin. I had my chance to kill him for Jackie's sake, and I knew there'd be more. Maybe there'd be a dozen chances, and I'd pass them all up, wouldn't I?
All because I didn't have a clue how to relate to this * who should've disgusted me just as much as Serial.
It was f*cking sick. And so was I. My * betrayed me every time I got close to him, tingling while my nipples hardened, begging to be f*cked by King Asshole.
Unfortunately, this * saved us. He'd delayed our doom while he continued to drag me back to his sick brothers every f*cking day. He was the last little thread that held me together, kept me from lashing out, doing something stupid and getting us all killed.