Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (5 page)

Too many wanted to bag themselves a biker boy and turn into proper old ladies when times were better. Ever since our budget dived into the red, the real sluts didn't come around no more. They gave it up for easy, free flowing booze or bud, and that shit was the first to go when I delivered the financials last month, and the Prez laid down the law.

Speaking of the Prez...shit, he stomped through the garage looking like he had a fire breathing dragon crawling underneath his skin. Every man who heard his name before they saw him expected someone older, weaker, a stallion put out to pasture.

But Dust had been running this club since my balls dropped. He'd ridden with my old man and squeezed my shoulder at Dad's funeral. He'd given me my prospect patch and my bottom rocker. He'd killed more sonsofbitches than all of us combined.

Fun wasn't this man's specialty. He was all business, all the fucking time, and he looked more intense than ever today, slowing his walk as he stepped past us, hitting us with those dark gray eyes like a commander inspecting his troops.

He fit the part. And he left Crawl and Sixty mumbling apologies as they swung their legs over their bikes, making excuses about being late because they had a call, or the coffeepot was broken or some shit.

I rolled my eyes. Firefly pulled his helmet down and stubbed out his cigarette, flashing me an energetic look that said it was about to get all too real.

“All right, boys, you know the drill! The Prez, the Veep, and the prospects are gonna hit the little cock stops on the edge of town, and fan out toward Tri Cities today. As for the rest of us, we're taking on the big one run by that goddamned viper, Ricky McNumbnuts or whatever the fuck his name is.”

The brothers laughed. Even I cracked a smile, not that the dirtiest pimp in the county was a laughing matter.

“Any questions? Hit 'em now or I'll hit all you sorry fucks later for not asking me or the Prez.”

We waited about ten seconds, and nobody had anything. The Prez pulled up on his bike and the VP followed, everyone filing into formation, before we split into two groups on the highway.

Attack mode. We'd done this drill before. I'd been through it a couple dozen times over the years, and it still got the adrenaline flowing, which meant more testosterone and more raging hard-ons if shit got heated enough.

Fuck.
I regretted not beating off a few more times last night, or trying to track down that Stockings chick to fuck and dump again.

“Ya'll heard the man,” Dust growled, stopping at our open gate and looking over his shoulder. “Shut those shitholes down for a day. Don't come back 'til you do. They're human toilets, and we've let 'em troll for the Deadhands for too damned long in our own backyard. They ought to be paying us for the privilege of operating in our territory. They owe us big for hosting our enemies on our turf, and we're not walking away 'til they pay up. You know what we accept – talk, blood, or cold hard cash.”

Men cheered. I just nodded, having a funny feeling the last one excited the Prez the most.

“Remember, boys – forever deadly, forever pistols.” With our battle cry, the Prez surged ahead, and we all rode out behind him, a flock of roaring motorcycles gunning into the mountains.

We split into two teams several miles down the road, our group heading for the massive trucker spa. A man couldn't miss the damned place – the billboards only got closer together and more outrageous the closer we came.

I'd never stepped foot inside it before. I looked up at the plastic-looking models on the billboards and clenched my teeth, unsure whether to laugh or rage.

I'd bet my left nut there wouldn't be a single chick there half that good-looking. I'd heard all about these places before. They were nasty little rat nests full of greasy pimps and desperate girls, usually chicks being paid in booze, crystal, or smack, while the shitheads controlling them pocketed all the money.

Some guys said Ricky's joint had women there unwillingly. He'd have his day of reckoning one way or another, if that was true, but the club couldn't bring him down while we were flat out broke.

We needed to rattle the bastard first. Scope the place out, see how well armed he was or how much he'd let his guard down. The Deads taking him under their wing couldn't fly either.

We should've run the fuckers outta our territory the first time we caught a whiff of them coming across the state line. But the club was distracted then, putting its fingers into too many projects in a desperate shot at going legit.

Dust had two auto chop shops, a strip club, and a bar going. Everything except our main garage went bust in less than a year. I knew it better than anybody, handling the financials as the club's Treasurer.

Talk about a goddamned train wreck. Nobody blamed the Prez for trying. We had to find something after Dust's old man decided to wind down the drug trade before passing the gavel to his son, and we did our damnedest to keep ourselves clean.

Naturally, it didn't work, and now the only path open to us was guns. Too bad we were lined in by enemies like the Deadhands, and we'd have to fight our way through them to the coast if we ever wanted a shot at trading with the bigger, more powerful clubs out West. The Prairie Devils and Grizzlies wouldn't give us the time of day unless they respected us – and right now we ended up in fistfights at Sturgis because the other bastards didn't even know our name.

I watched Firefly make a sharp turn in front of me, going down the exit. I held onto my bike and gunned it, feeling the Harley's comforting growl between my legs. The ride gave everything below my waist the most excitement I was likely to see all week – unless the whorehouse had even one fuckable woman worth paying for.

We pulled into the cracked parking lot. Sixty whistled, pulled off his helmet, and squinted at me, stroking his goatee.

“Fuck a duck. Am I the only one who expected this place to look like a carnival on the inside only?”

Crawl and I both snorted. He wasn't wrong.

The outside walls were flaking neon pink paint. The entrance was flanked with four big circus poles painted barber shop red-white-and-blue. Didn't notice they were round at the top like dicks 'til we got off our bikes and started heading for the door.

I pushed my way in first, hand at my hip. The entryway looked like a run down lobby, and I rang the bell, taking a careful look to make sure we hadn't missed any girls or Johns loitering out front.

When we did this housecleaning shit, we put everybody on lockdown. No stragglers.

“Hey, gents. You here as a group, or are you looking for some one-on-one action?”

A thin, wiry man came walking up. Skinny, ugly, and too damned young to be working in a shithole like this.

Didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. I reached for the nine millimeter on my hip and drew. All three of my brothers pulled their guns too, and I heard them click behind me, aiming all our firepower at the gawky-looking asshole who came up to the front desk.

“Hands in front of you where we can see 'em,” I growled, locking my eyes on his wrists.

“Whoa!” The snake looked like he was about to shit. He listened, though, and that was all that mattered. “Can I
help
you guys? I'm real sorry, I don't recognize your patches...you're not with the Deadhands, are you?”

“No.” Firefly stepped in front of me, lowering his gun and slapping the counter. “Get your boss, Ricky, out here right fucking now. We've got business.”

The man licked his pale lips. “Uh, mind if I ask what it's all about?”

“We're not asking you again!” I snarled. “If you don't get his ass out here in the next thirty seconds, we're gonna be talking to you. Oh, and make sure he comes out with his hands up. Wouldn't want any misunderstandings, you dig?”

We waited. Our guns went up the second Ricky came trotting in. Bastard was tall, pot-bellied, and weaselly as ever. I'd only seen the pimp a couple times, back when he'd come to our clubhouse, fishing for protection.

The club didn't owe him shit. He owed us for pushing pussy in our territory, and now he'd wound up on our bad side by hosting our fiercest enemies.

“Hold up, pimp.” I pointed my gun at his head, freezing him in his tracks. “Don't even think about reaching under your belt.”

“What? Not even for a condom?” The pimp gave us a crooked smile. “I'm happy to have you boys as customers or –“

“Shut the fuck up. We're not here for pleasure.” Firefly stepped up, pulled out his phone, and thumbed the camera lens on it.

Crawl cleared his throat. “Well, Prez didn't say anything about sampling the goods while we're taking inventory...”

Ricky laughed. My heart throbbed. Goddammit.

My horny, older brother was just as hard up as everybody else for pussy since our parties dried up and the girls stopped coming to the clubhouse. Only difference was he'd fuck anything that moved, and I'd always had high standards.

“My house is your house, boys. Anything you want. Neighborly discount. Just, come on, put the guns down, guys.” Ricky's voice trembled.

“We'll think about it once we've decided you're not storing shit for the Deads.” Firefly moved his gun down to Ricky's chest and spat at the floor, before he turned to me. “Skin, take this sorry sonofabitch in the back and make sure he doesn't get smart. The rest of us are gonna comb through these rooms and hit his office. We'll save the red meat on paper for you to dig through later.”

“You got it, Sarge.” I walked up and shoved the barrel of my gun into the pimp's skin. “Start walking, asshole. I wanna see your whores and make sure there's nobody else hiding out in those dirty rooms. You'd better be honest, starting right now. If I find anything I shouldn't, I fucking swear to God...”

I stopped, pushing the gun harder into his scrawny back, 'til the metal rubbed on bone. Ricky jerked forward, throwing his arms up in the air.

“Okay, okay! Christ, man. Cut me some fucking slack. It's not like I expected any of this shit today. If you'd given me some kinda heads-up, I'd have –“

“Bite your damned tongue and walk. I don't have time for these bullshit excuses.”

He led me forward. The place was big, but it wasn't half the size I'd expected. If this truly was the biggest trucker spa on this side of the state, it made me wonder what ugly little sewers the rest of them were.

The first two rooms we walked through were about what I expected. Girls in cheap, torn hose and ratty fishnets, slumped on even cheaper beds. They barely cracked their eyes when he opened their doors and smiled at them.

They gave their boss a look like he'd just told them the whorehouse was going clean. One of them moaned, something soft and incoherent about being a good girl for good ice. She looked at me and licked her pale lips.

“My, you're a mean-looking one. Why don't you come in here and let my tongue do the talking, sugar? Shit, I bet you pay in that nice, pure stuff too, don't ya? Listen, if you've got any of that on you, I don't even need cash. I'll do anything and everything for a few more hits of heaven.”

Fuck.
If only I could've put a bag with holes over her head and pray my dick didn't fall out after I screwed her mouth. She had a sexy voice, but that body was thin, blotchy, clammy.

My sex deprived dick stopped right in its tracks. I'd had a long dry spell, but I wasn't
that
fucking desperate.

“Shut your whore mouth, Hazel,” Ricky snapped, turning to me with nervous shame in his eyes. “She's had a slow week. I'm sorry about that, you can take a lap around if you wanna make sure there's no guns and shit inside. I'm going across the hall, just for a second...next girl's a softie. Scares easy. She needs a little prepping before you barge in. She's the best I've got.”

I ignored the whore, Hazel, and did exactly that. Kept my eye on the pimp outside the door, wondering why the fuck he was bent on giving so much special attention to this new chick, when he'd shown all the others nothing but scorn.

Ricky's girls barely seemed to own anything. I looked for telltale signs of chains, handcuffs, anything that might tell me they were slaves. I had a serious urge to unchain any whores there being kept prisoner.

Not because I wanted to play hero. No, I wanted to spite the miserable piece of shit for prowling around underneath our noses, spite this whole fucking place for teasing me with sex when I hadn't gotten my cock soaked and sucked for at least a solid month.

But I didn't see any slave girls. I started to doubt the rumors were even true.

The sluts in the other rooms whined or buried their faces in their pillows. They were miserable, but only because I wasn't bringing them drugs. They wanted business – not freedom.

Soon as I saw there wasn't any contraband hidden for the Deads, I stepped out into the hallway, just as that greasy little prick came walking toward me again.

“If you're here for pussy, I'm down with that, but you've got to be careful with this girl.”

“Careful?” I cocked my head.

My gut told me this fuck was hiding something. I didn't come here looking for a hot, warm hole – especially after I'd seen the run down tramps this asshole had on market.

“Yeah,” Ricky clucked anxiously. “Just...don't be too hard on her. You can only have her mouth. Everything below the waist is off limits with this bitch. Her choice, not mine, and I respect it. Use a condom too.”

Bullshit,
I thought, studying his face.

Okay, now I was totally convinced. The way that smirk disappeared when he talked about her told me something was up.

He was feeding me a steaming load of crap, and I decided there was no good reason I couldn't do the same.

“Outta my way,” I growled, shoving my hand into his chest so hard he flew back and slapped the wall.

“Wait, Skin! You can't go in there without me. Wait, wait, wait...”

I let him catch up before I looked him dead in the eyes. “You've got five seconds. Hearing you flapping your gums just makes me want to fuck her even harder. I'll have her, and I'll do it alone. You think I give a fuck about your roles, you're flat out wrong.”

He winced. The pimp's nervousness doubled, and he started giving me some shit about how he had to hang out and watch, for 'security' purposes, telling me again I could use her mouth, but not anything else.