Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (41 page)

It was the little flashes of Missy I caught moving through the crowd, bending over to give brothers their drinks and pick up the shit they'd left on the floor. Christ. Her ripe, round ass did more to feed my furnace than all these other bitches would've buck naked, all of 'em wrapped around me, eager and ready at the same damned time.

The
only
chick I wanted was out there, doing her job like a robot, and she'd been programmed to spit pure fire my way. Especially if I wandered up to her in this state.

Shit. My brain turned to mush an hour ago, sprouting the happy fuzz I always got when I marinated my guts in too much booze. I stayed well away from the assholes flopped on the floor with their girls, pushing nasty shit into their veins.

More guys were drugged and fucking in their rooms, their doors left wide open. I walked down the hallway, dick straining when I saw all the hot, sweaty bodies pumping. The thought of having mine between one special pair of legs got me harder than granite, my dick and nobody else's going in her sweet pussy, claiming what should've been mine by rights for throwing the old lady label on her.

If I ever got a piece of her naked, it wouldn't be slow, sweaty, or loving. It was going to be a raw, ruthless, mind-bending fuck, a fuck that would leave her shaking long after I erupted in her pussy, splitting her whole fucking world apart and filling it with me. Really, truly making her
mine.

Fuck, my dick ached like it was recovering from a lightning strike. Guess it was – thinking about Missy's warm pussy without having it hurt just as bad.

I tipped my bottle to my lips and poured more napalm down the hatch, stopping in front of Rabid's half-cracked door to watch him empty his nuts in Red. His bare ass bobbed between her legs, twitching with pleasure as he cursed and tweaked her nipples, blowing his load deep in her cunt.

Shit, shit, shit...

The flap of my boxers was soaked. I'd lost so much pre-come thinking about her, wandering around like the drunken fuck I was, that I was starting to figure out how strippers felt after dancing in their thongs all night.

Halfway down the hall, a hand reached out and jerked my cut. I couldn't resist the pull, growling as I spun and hit the wall. Whoever the fuck did it put their hand way too close to my name patch. Nothing pissed a brother off more than having his colors messed with, front or back. I was just as ready to fight for 'em with my life as anybody here.

“Hey! You better have a damned good reason for fucking with me like –“

Before I could get another word out, a small flash of curves smashed against me, and lukewarm heat covered my lips. Twinkie's kiss was all tongue and teeth, so warm and wet my dick jerked in recognition.

Fuck me if my arms didn't fold right over the small of her back. Big mistake. The slut took that as a signal to grind right into me, pushing her pussy against my jeans, nothing between her slick little slit except a pair of lacy black panties with GRIZZLIES MC stamped in red on the ass.

I knew those panties well. I'd ripped them off and pushed them in her mouth while we'd fucked a dozen times before.

Her tongue was darting in and out my lips, urging me to tongue-fuck her back, when I finally opened my drunken eyes. The door was still open. Somebody was standing out there watching us, and my vision narrowed on
her
standing there, mouth hanging open and eyes wide in shock.

Missy looked like she'd seen a fucking ghost. Her fist wrapped around the broom so tight her knuckles were like ivory.

The raging bull in my pants collapsed and started to go soft. I tore my mouth away from Twinkie's and gave her a rough push. Bitch had a powerful hold with her fingernails. She spun around and was still hanging on me when I was halfway into the hall, her bare legs sliding seductively on mine.

Enough.

I bucked my hips hard, shoving her to the wall. I'd never hurt a woman, but I wanted her the fuck off me. I used one hand to steady her, making sure she wasn't gonna fall, and then ripped myself away.

“Baby? What the fuck!” Her face wrinkled up in confusion and disappointment.

“I can't do this shit tonight. Find somebody else to suck and ride...”

“This is fucking insane! She's not even your old lady...not really...god damn it, Brass! You're really going to say no for some bitch who won't even get you laid?”

Fuck. Even the slut knew it. I almost turned around and marched back over to her, making her say that shit to my face. But I had to go after Missy, who'd bolted toward the bar like a startled cat.

It was tough going through the club. Too many bodies packed into too small a space. Brothers, bottles, and girls everywhere, standing or else lying on the floor, too fucking easy to stumble on.

A bottle caught me right as I saw her through two big Sacramento dudes gabbing away. I slipped and fell on my fucking ass. My body spun, the whiskey slowing my reflexes. Hit my head on a chair's leg and slumped.

Missy!
God dammit.

I tried to call to her, but my lips wouldn't work. The whole world was just spinning, spinning, collapsing in on itself. My vision darkened just as I started to feel the wicked bump by my temple.

My head rolled and I saw the Prez sitting on the old sofa, two sluts on his lap, his hands pinching their thighs so hard they looked like they were in pain. Fang looked right at me and smiled, showing the broken, oversized canine in his mouth. He'd supposedly used it to bite a few men to death in the old days. Same fucked up snaggle tooth that gave him his road name.

Shit, why did he look so fucking evil? His eyes were always dark with anger, and stress pulled his face tight. But he never looked like this...he looked like Satan himself, high and pompous on his throne somewhere in hell.

He lifted a hand. The dim light overhead reflected off the blade in his hand. He pressed it dangerously close to one girl's thigh, sliding higher between her legs, ready to sever a critical vein or shoot up and split her in two if he chose.

Fuck, fuck, fuck...

That's when I knew I was losing my mind. I was fucking hallucinating. Had to be!

Too much Jack and grief on an empty stomach could really twist a man's brain to knots. I blacked out on the floor, right next to two more girls thrashing with pleasure on the ground, drooling the same way I used to when I felt the heroin's coarse purr surging through my veins.

Somebody was crying.

I rolled, threw my hands on the ground, and tried to stand up. The liquor in my veins became a half-faded hangover. The weird near silence in the bar told me I must've lost a couple hours – brothers were long gone with their girls, or else in an even deeper coma than I'd been in a second ago.

I looked at the sofa. The Prez was gone, if he'd ever been there at all with those poor scared bitches.

“Let me go! I'm just here to work. I'm not a whore!” I turned toward the high, feminine distress.

“Heh. Could've fooled me with that fucking mouth, begging to be tamed. He hasn't done shit, has he, girl?” The rough voice paused. “Nobody's buying Brass' bullshit, least of all me. I've seen through that asshole from the very beginning. Fang fucked up failing to burn his junkie ass back in Montana, and now he thinks he's gonna get one over on his brothers, claiming your pussy's his when it really isn't? Shut the fuck up, beautiful, and enjoy yourself. You're nobody's old lady, and that means it's open season on your sweet looking ass.”

“Let. Go.”

“Not 'til you give it up on top of this bar, baby girl. I'm gonna rip you right open. Show you what a real man wearing these fucking colors can do. You owe me anyway for not pulling the trigger on your little girl...”

“No! No!”

My screwed up brain finally got its shit together. I recognized those voices.

Missy. Serial.

Fuck!

I shot up, ignoring the savage vertigo twisting my brain upside down. Couldn't see anything except pure blood red when I saw him backing my girl against the wall, trying to pull her toward the messy bar top, one of his evil hands pinching her thigh.

I charged him from the side and knocked his ass flat on the ground. Missy screamed. I fell on top of him, hoping like hell I could aim my fists at his face, knock him out before he knew what hit him. I got in two good punches before I felt him moving beneath me, one hand in his pocket.

Motherfucker pulled his switchblade and hurled it at my guts. I barely swerved again, deaf as another one of Missy's screams ripped through my ears. I caught a blur, just her circling around us, shaking and holding an empty beer bottle like a club.

Serial tried to stab my ass again. Too fucking slow. Adrenaline howled through me and I caught his wrist with both hands, forcing the bundle to his throat. It was all down to arm wrestling now, and I wanted to push that knife through his jugular so fucking bad.

“Brothers, no! Get the fuck up! Both you assholes!”

Two hands caught my shoulders and shook. I kicked like mad as they tried to pull me to my feet, throwing my head down one more time. I slapped Serial's forehead so hard with mine the sickening slap echoed in my skull, followed by the dull pain.

More hands landed on me. Dark shapes moved all around us, cutting me off from Missy, taking me away from my target.

I wouldn't stop flipping my shit 'til Blackjack and Rabid had me pressed to the wall, holding me down with everything they had.

“Let me fucking go! That asshole tried to rape my old lady. I'm gonna put his ass in the ground!”

“You've lost your mind, son!” Blackjack roared in my face. “If you think you're gonna deal justice without running it by your brothers, we'll take you out to meet the Mauler right now. Stop it!”

Rabid's eyes met mine.
Come on, man. I don't wanna fucking hurt you,
they said.
Calm the fuck down.

Damn it. I started to relax, but I didn't stop kicking 'til I saw Missy behind all the brothers staggering around us. The men were either laughing or giving me the evil eye.

She was safe – for now.

I tried to relax, much as I wanted to break their hold and continue beating the fuckface on the floor. He tried to take her, against her fucking will. He tried to take what's
mine.

“I'll leave his ass alone. Just let me fucking go,” I growled, forcing myself to break eye contact with Serial.

His lip was bloodied and a couple brothers helped him up. He shot me one more vicious look with those dark, merciless eyes. The urge to rip 'em outta his head and blind his evil ass forever was overwhelming.

“Jesus.” Blackjack spat contempt in my face. “I can smell the whiskey rolling off you. Drunk as a damned skunk. I'm gonna let this ride, long as I don't find out you hit that other shit.”

I shook my head. “You know I wouldn't do that. I'd rather die, brother.”

“Nobody's fucking dying here today,” he snapped. “In another couple seconds, I'm gonna let you go. Rabid's gonna walk you out to the garages with the girl, and you're heading straight home. Got it? Don't show your fucking face around here again until you sober up and know how to handle everybody in this club – including the brothers you don't like.”

I snorted. Blackjack's fingers tightened on my shoulders and he cocked his head, studying me, a stark warning written in his weathered face.

“Really, Brass? You know this kinda shit happens in this club all the time. Brothers get drunk. Some of them let their girls stray. And that baby faced brunette back there isn't even yours. Nobody believes this stage show you're putting on. It's gonna be a long time before we ever turn 'em loose. I'll tell you that much. You don't trust this bitch as far as you can throw her – how do you expect us to?”

My heart sank. Fuck. Saving Missy in the scuffle just brought another consequence that activated pure fire in my chest. My heart slapped my ribs like a heavy pendulum, ready to kill and crush.

He eased up. My cue to turn, rip myself away from him. Rabid still had me by one arm – annoying as fuck.

“I'll go,” I said, giving Blackjack one more icy stare. “I'll get my shit together like you want. But, you know, it's a sad fucking day around here when you're admitting defeat and letting rapist lunatics fuck this club over from the inside out. Big surprise we're easy pickings for the cartel. We're rotten to the goddamned core.”

Blackjack's mouth twisted in a frown. He was about to lay into me, but my parting shot to Serial set the maniac off. He threw himself at me, too slow for the brothers surrounding him.

“Knock it off, asshole! I'm not gonna tell you again!” Blackjack howled, getting in his face as the brothers held him back, trying to bring some permanent peace for the night.

Rabid kept his grip tight while I circled around and grabbed Missy with my free hand. She followed along limply, matching my steps with Rabid toward the door.

It was a huge relief when the stink of grease and motor oil outside coiled up my nostrils.

I headed for the truck. When we were a few steps away, I let Missy's hand go and reached into my pocket, handing her the keys.

“You drive. I'm too fucked up to get us home.”

She blinked, and then nodded. I hated looking into her eyes too long, not when they were all red and shocked to hell after Serial worked his black magic.

At the passenger door, Rabid still hadn't let me go, so I jerked hard. He flew forward, knocked himself into the truck's metal before he released my leather.

“Shit, dude. Take it easy. I'm following orders.”

“I know. I just wanna get the fuck outta here.” I put my hand on the door handle and felt my knuckles throb where I'd pounded Serial's face.

It hurt like hell, but damn if it didn't feel good too. Just wished my fists had gotten a chance to finish the job before these other fucks broke it up.

“Hey,” Rabid threw his hand over mine on the door, causing me to growl. “I'm hoping you can figure this shit out, brother. You know I would've been right with you, kicking Serial's ass, if everybody knew she was your old lady? I mean, if that's what she really was, and you weren't just doing this for show.”