Unattainable (Undeniable, #3)(18)
She was a cold-blooded killer; a bitch who had tortured and killed without remorse, a bitch who deserved to go out in the worst possible way, and women like her, Dirty didn’t lose any sleep over what he was about to do.
But he never initiated it. He let Tap or Bucket or Dimebag take the lead. Deuce already knew he was f*cked in the head. He didn’t want his prez thinking he was a loose cannon, giving Deuce a reason to strip his patch.
“I’m in,” Dirty said, joining Tap. He kneeled down beside Mama Vi and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head up. “Don’t let the lack of a mustache fool ya, baby,” he said, grinning, stroking his full beard. “I’m always down for a gang bang.”
“There ain’t nothin’ you can do to me,” she hissed, “that ain’t already been done.”
Dirty’s grin grew wider. That’s what she thought. His foster mother had proven useful in situations such as these. The sick bitch had an imagination to rival that of anything he’d ever read about.
“Yeah?” he asked. “You hear that, Tap? Guess we’re gonna have to get creative.”
Whatever, as long as he got to hurt her. Because he needed to hurt her; he needed to hurt someone, anyone, because he hurt so f*cking bad all the damn time and it never left him, not once, he didn’t get even five f*cking seconds of peace, never, f*cking ever. It was always there, a constant reminder that he was a worthless piece of f*cking shit, a blight on humanity, that he was trash, used up and broken, unfixable, worse even, because he’d become the monster he’d hated most of all.
“Brother, I am all about creative.”
“Have at her,” Deuce said. Grabbing hold of her bound hands, Deuce yanked her to her feet and shoved her forward into Dirty’s arms. “But it’s me who’s gonna be puttin’ her to ground.”
Dirty didn’t waste any time ripping Mama Vi’s shirt open. Then, while Tap was unbuttoning his leathers, Dirty pulled her jeans down.
“You go right ahead and scream, bitch,” Tap growled, grabbing her neck, squeezing tightly and forcing her to bend over.
And when it was Dirty’s turn, he damn sure made that bitch scream.
But this was different.
Dirty didn’t want to hurt Ellie, he didn’t want to make her scream.
Did he?
Fuck.
She looked so soft and warm. She looked the complete opposite of the women he f*cked; the women who reminded him of…
HER.
Jesus f*cking Christ.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d looked upon the front of a naked woman’s body for any length of time. He’d never f*cked a woman on her back. Not since…
He couldn’t look at them. It was too…
It was disgusting and beautiful all at the same time.
Fuck, he couldn’t look at their breasts, their *, without getting nauseous, without his body growing clammy and paralyzing panic taking root inside of him. It didn’t even matter that he dosed the women he f*cked, he still couldn’t look at them, even unconscious. Fuck, for the most part he couldn’t even touch a conscious woman without feeling the overwhelming urge to bolt. Or jerk off. Or puke. Or knock her out and f*ck her. Or kill them, someone, himself. Or all of the above.
None of which he wanted to do in front of Ellie. Or to Ellie. Jesus Christ, why was he suddenly all f*cked-up and confused? Why had it been him to find her? This was the very last thing he needed. He had to get the f*ck away from her before he did something very stupid.
“I’ll call Deuce,” he said, hearing the agony he was feeling in his voice. “Tell him to come here, okay?”
For a moment he didn’t think she was going to respond, but there was no f*cking way in hell he was going to turn around. In fact, he was going to go sit in the kitchen, in a corner, facing the wall until Deuce got here.
“Okay,” she finally whispered. “Thank you.”
Dirty hightailed it down the hallway, already dialing Deuce. Hitting the kitchen, he fell to his knees and waited for his prez to pick up.
“Yeah?”
“Got a problem.”
“What?”
His voice shaking, Dirty did his best to explain everything that had transpired since last night and then he waited for Deuce to respond.
“Ellie?” Deuce asked. “As in Danny’s Ellie?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure it was Mooresville?”
“She is,” Dirty said. “I didn’t get a good look at him.”
“Fuck,” Deuce growled. “I don’t need this shit. We got a huge deal about to go down and I need that f*cker in place, and I’m thinkin’ he ain’t gonna be in place if he’s too busy worryin’ ’bout Ellie rattin’ him out.”
That was not what Dirty wanted to hear.
“She can’t stay here, Prez,” he whispered. “You gotta get her outta my place.”
Deuce went silent.
“Brother,” Deuce said after several moments. “Did you do somethin’ I need to know about?”
“No,” he gritted out. “But I need her the f*ck outta here.”
“Gimme fifteen,” Deuce said quickly. “And I’ll be there.”
Trembling, Dirty let his phone fall to the linoleum with a loud clatter and then his head dropped and he pressed his forehead against the wall. Fifteen minutes. He could keep his shit together for fifteen minutes.