Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (38 page)

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 fucking 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 fucking 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 fucking 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 fuck up. I know you don't mean that shit, but I'll be a goddamned devil before I let you say that fucking 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.

I didn't care what happened anymore. This hot and cold, good cop-bad cop act had to die, or else I would first. I flew out of my chair before he could grab me and hit the couch.

Rolling, I wondered why he wasn't holding me down, laying into me with words or worse.

What the hell?
Brass wasn't even looking at me.

He was staring at Jackie, who'd just come into the room and stood staring at us, one hand clenched on the corner of the wall.

“It's okay!” I spat, twisting my feet to take a normal sitting position. “We were just talking about work...a job opportunity...”

I looked at Brass, hoping he'd give me a little support. His face was completely cold, if it wasn't just pure fire.

“We're done talking. I'm heading out 'til later.” His eyes drilled deeper into mine. “I gave you some shit to think about and said everything I needed to. You're gonna mull it over and find a tutor for your sis while I take care of business.”

He turned, heading straight for the door, and slammed it behind him without another word.

I hated him even when he was gone. He'd just forced me into this hell's tightest corner: trying to convince my sister everything was all right when I didn't believe it for a second.

I didn't hear him come in that night. When I woke up and padded to the bathroom in the morning, I saw the lumpy blanket thrown across the couch, but he wasn't there either.

It wasn't until I went into the kitchen to check and see if we had any food that I finally saw him. He was leaning on the counter, shoveling a bowl of food into his mouth with a spoon.

“Eggs, hash, and sausage. There's more underneath those lids on the stove if you want it. You find a tutor for your sis, or what?”

“Just barely started looking,” I said. “Had other things on my mind.”

It had taken an hour just to calm down and convince Jackie everything was okay. By the time I got on the crappy old computer he'd left us and started to look, my brain was overwhelmed with my own selfish problems.

Rock met hard place the instant I held Brass' dirty money in my hands. The bastard made me realize there was no way out unless I did exactly what he said. I hated it, and hated even it more that I couldn't deny it.

Brass finished his last bite and dropped his bowl in the sink. It landed with a clatter that made me jump. Annoyed, I straightened my long pajama shirt and looked at him.

“Listen, I thought about what you said last night...” I waited until he looked up. “Your club's full of the most disgusting pigs I've ever seen. But that doesn't mean I want to live like this forever. I can't be a prisoner, and neither can Jackie. If I have to clean up their messes to get away from this and get on with my life...I'll do it.”

He cocked his head. Red shame flooded my cheeks. Jesus, who was actually saying these words? I felt disembodied.

“Good. Had a feeling you'd come to your senses eventually. Go clean up, babe. You're heading in with me today.”

Panic clogged my throat. “But...Jackie doesn't have a tutor yet...”

“So? You said you're working on that,” he said, taking a step closer. “I trust you're not shitting me about the girl talking, right?”

Part of me wished she would. If it wouldn't mean changing our names and hiding like rats for the rest of our lives, I wanted Jackie to freak out, run to the police. Anything to get this apartment and their clubhouse raided. My heart swelled with grim satisfaction when I imagined all the Grizzlies clapped in irons and loaded into a SWAT team's van.

Everybody except the bastard standing in front of me. For some unholy reason, imagining him in handcuffs tugged at my heart, filled me with a thick, sickly guilt.

Stepping up to him, I closed the distance between us, standing on my tip-toes until we were eyeball-to-eyeball. “I keep my promises. Neither of us will say anything to anyone. She can stay here...just let me talk to her before we leave.”

I turned before he could say anything and headed for her room. Knocking several times on her door gave no response. I grabbed the doorknob and pushed it open, finding her halfway awake, sprawled out on the narrow double bed.

“What's going on?” My sister sat up, her eyes wide. There'd been too much bad news lately not to panic when these unexpected visits happened.

“I'm going out for awhile. I need you to stay here. There's games and reading to do on the computer. I'd really appreciate it if you can do some math or history while I'm trying to get you the teacher we talked about.”

She wrinkled her nose and sat up, throwing off the covers. “You're working for him, aren't you? Are they even paying you, Missy, or are we just total slaves now?”

My lips tingled, ready to throw sisterly venom back at her. God damn it. It would've been so much easier if the question didn't strike so deep.

“We're working off daddy's debt. Think of it that way,” I said, sitting on the bed next to her. I reached out to touch her shoulder, but she pulled away, looking at me like I was covered in stinking motor oil.

“Is that why they took all the money and threatened to kill us? Was it all about the cash in that bag?” She leaned forward, clawing at the blanket. “You're treating me like shit! I'm not a little kid. I can handle the truth, Missy. Why won't you give it to me?”

Because some truths are so fucking brutal it's blinding to look at them head on,
I thought. I had to think fast, scramble to find my words, something to shut down the battle brewing.

“I already told you. Before he died, dad made some big mistakes. Terrible mistakes. The cancer really screwed up his head. He took some things from people he really shouldn't have. I don't like them either – they're bastards. But they've got their reasons for being pissed...”

Jackie closed her eyes and shook her head, annoyed with all my half-answers. If only she knew the half-assed answers really were the best ones I had. I didn't have a clue what was going on with Brass' MC, the cartel, and the money, not to mention all those phantom whispers about a war. A big part of me didn't even want to know
why
we were in this shit storm.

What did it matter? Knowledge wasn't power here. Right now, all I cared about was clawing my way out, and dragging Jackie with me to the safe, distant shore.

“Reasons?” Jackie repeated, rolling the word sarcastically on her tongue. “They must be pretty fucking good to go along with this and live here with this asshole like nothing happened.”

My face tightened. “Knock it off. Daddy wouldn't approve of that language, and neither do I. You've still got some growing up to do, sis. I know this doesn't make sense right now. One day, it will. I'm trying to do what's best and it's
really
fucking hard.”

I ran a hand over my face. So much for leading by example.

Jackie turned away from me, pulling her feet up to her chest. It was over. When she went fetal, I knew we were done talking.

Damn. Not at all the way I wanted this to go, but staying here trying to reason with the most flawed logic in the world wasn't going to help us get away from the Grizzlies' claws faster.

I got up and padded to the door, stopping one more time on my way out. “Stay here. Be good. I promise I'll keep working on the tutor thing so you'll have something to pass the time without thinking about this crap.”

No response. I pulled the door shut behind me and headed for the bathroom. It was a quick shower, cranked up as high as the building's water heater could manage. I let the hot droplets steam off my skin, ignoring the tears mingling with the shower near the end.

When I cleaned up and changed, Brass was waiting for me near the door.

We got on his bike and headed for the clubhouse. It was getting easier to keep my small hands around him, secretly admiring his taut muscles beneath my fingertips. Of course, I hated myself for loving anything at all about this asshole taking me to a job I never asked for.

Just before we hit the highway, he told me to cover my eyes. The man still didn't trust me to see where his clubhouse was. I did what he asked, tucking my face deep into his back. Hot, angry breaths steamed up around his neck, and I knew he could feel them when his skin rippled, the stubble on his face brushing my cheek several times.

Monsters shouldn't feel this good.

When we pulled into the massive garage, I got off and followed him inside. Brass led me to a small closet in the smelly hallway. I found a bunch of long neglected cleaning crap inside, but at least it contained all the gear I needed to make a dent in this place's filth.

“You know how to use this shit?” he asked.

“I'm not a moron. I mopped floors and wiped toilets part-time for my college before I quit. I don't think cleaning up after bikers is worse than a man with terminal cancer either...”

Brass nodded. “Got you. Well, start on the floors and then hit the bar. Fucking thing hasn't been wiped down since well before I got here. If anybody gives you any shit, tell 'em you're Brass' old lady.”

We shared an awkward look. Brass looked like he was about to say something else, but then he turned and left just as mysteriously.

The day went about as well as I expected. By afternoon, my shoulders were aching, but the entire clubhouse had gotten fresh Pine Sol swept over its floors. Everything except the rooms where the men smoked, slept, and fucked. I looked at Brass' room and cringed, amazed we'd stayed there for three days.

I couldn't help but wonder what else went on in there when we weren't around.

The men weren't shy about sex. Doors opened and closed at odd hours, releasing men with sweat still shining on their foreheads, or half-dressed girls barely older than me.

They all headed to the bar to pick up whiskey and water, hauling it back to their rooms to resume the insatiable passions happening inside. Some of them looked like they were drugged out of their minds. It was late when I finally started on the bar counter.

I cleared off the bottles, gingerly wiping them down, when I heard footsteps behind me. I would've preferred just about anything standing behind me except for the nasty freak with the barbed wire tattooed on his face.

“Whiskey, bitch,” Serial barked.

I held up my hands. “I'm not a bartender. Brass didn't tell me to touch any of this stuff –“

His arms twitched, and then his palms slapped the counter like lightning. “You fucking heard me. Don't make me ask again. I want a bottle of Jack to go, and I want it right fucking now.”

His eyes were stranger than the pitch black pools I'd seen on the night he wanted to kill us. They were brighter, but still so vacant, like light reflecting off a marionette's marble eyes.

His sleeve was pushed up. Several patches of skin were gray, discolored, dull red holes along their edges. Unmistakable bruises left behind by a junkie shooting up. I'd seen it plenty of times on ride alongs with daddy as a little girl.