Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (57 page)

Blackjack had every copy of the tape the Devils brought, and all the men were ready to ride.

Rabid was still milling around the beat up redhead. I walked over, more than a little nervous he was about to talk some sense into her. Fuck, I couldn't force her to do shit if she pulled out, but if she did...we'd be fucked so bad there was nothing left to do but ride into a massacre.

“You're sure you wanna do this?” Rabid watched her nod as I approached. “Fuck. You're a brave, brave girl. I'm gonna be right there with you, baby. No fucking way am I gonna let anybody drag you back where you don't belong. Those fucks will
never
get their paws on you again.”

I laid a hand on his shoulder. “Where is it?”

Rabid looked at me, smiled and pointed at the Harley several feet away. “She's all there. Got her out right in the nick of time, before Fang and company stole her, right before everything went to shit at the warehouse.”

“Thank fuck. I'd have to skin all their greedy asses for sitting on my baby.”

Rabid stayed with the redhead while I walked to my bike. Jesus, it had only been about a week, but it felt like half a fucking lifetime. The only thing sweeter than sliding onto my Harley again would be having Missy in my arms, and I was dead set on it.

I swore to heaven and hell I'd put
everything
in my life back where it belonged.

I couldn't wait to get my woman back, even more than I wanted to put a bullet in Fang's head for what he'd done. Love's a powerful fucking thing when it tames rage, tames hate, and everything else in between. There was a lot to snarl at in all this, but mostly, I just wanted her home.

She'd never get off my bike or outta my bed after this. Never. The first thing I was gonna do when I had her again was squeeze her so fucking tight she'd never dream about walking into harm's way for the rest of her life. Later, I'd spank her pretty ass raw for doing this.

What I really missed was those lips. Their taste, their softness, their sweet flutter on mine like honest-to-fuck pixie wings.

I'd been too soft, too distracted with club business. The realization hit me right between the eyes like a hot sword boring into my skull. Now, my entire soul bled for her, bled dirty red blood from a scalding wound that wouldn't close 'til I had what was mine pressed up against me again.

There was no other cure. Nothing else would undo the damage I'd taken, my failure to keep what was mine close as my own gun.

“Two hours!” Blackjack's voice howled near the front of the column. “Let's fucking go, boys.”

A dozen engines growled, igniting as one, joined by a few stragglers at the end. I strapped on my helmet and felt the comforting purr of my Harley beneath me. She'd always been a fine war horse, and now I needed her to carry me to my girl.

Blackjack pulled out first. We all hit the highway and rode down toward Redding. I was near the front with Rabid and the redhead on his bike, only separated by Blackjack and Blaze by Tank. It was a weird, motley platoon of sworn enemies riding toward hell, joined together in a fucked up marriage all about saving all the asses in the leather seats today. Motorcycles rumbled behind me, at least ten of them, and then a couple trucks from both clubs bringing up the rear.

Blackjack agreed to meet Fang near a hilly wilderness outside town. We'd promised him everything, but we knew he'd be on alert for us fucking him over. Hoped like hell the ruse I had planned would be such a shock he wouldn't see it coming.

It all came down to conscience. Fang didn't have one – some devil had ripped it outta him and chewed it up ages ago – but did the rest of the club? We were about to find out.

The column slowed when we roared onto the unpaved road, heading for the forest clearing. They were parked by the trees. Legions waiting for us.

Even my eyes bugged out when I saw how many Grizzlies Fang brought to cover his ass. Fuck, he must've had half the Tacoma and Portland charters, plus more brothers from Idaho. Basically, every able bodied man who wasn't busy getting killed down south by the cartel's raiders.

Shit. There must've been a hundred guys to our fifteen, possibly more, and he was fully surrounded. Protected.

Blaze and Blackjack stopped a few feet away, undaunted by the huge army facing them. I pulled up next to them and Rabid did too. My brother looked nervous as shit, keeping his hands on the redhead 'til she pulled away forcefully.

My eyes scanned the guys next to Fang and Crack. Fuck, they were supposed to do the exchange here!

Where the fuck was she? Where'd he put my girl? My heart forced adrenaline loaded waves into my blood. I shook, sweated, rubbed the nine millimeter in my belt.

Easy,
I told myself.
They'll see that shit and hit you between the eyes before you take a single step forward if you make a dumb move.

She's gotta be here somewhere. He wouldn't have left her at the clubhouse with nobody there on guard duty.

I counted all the bastards who'd stuck with him from my club. Rough, Gnaw, Pitbull, Chubb...five more prospects past them. No, they were all there. That meant Missy had to be with them, tucked back in the crowd, maybe bound up in one of their fucking trucks.

Blackjack looked at me and nodded. I walked with him and Blaze. Christa moved up several steps behind me. Rabid had to hang back, or else there'd be more guys on the other side coming to meet us besides Fang and Crack.

Nobody wanted that shit. More brothers eyeball-to-eyeball meant more danger.

“What the hell's this?” Fang grunted, stopping in the middle. “I asked for the video, the rats, and a confession. Didn't ask to see this fucking bitch again.”

He spat at the ground. Blaze grabbed the small black package underneath one arm and threw it on the ground.

“Here, asshole. Five copies. There's the master, plus the fucking camera it was shot on. That's everything.”

Fang reached down and picked it up, grinning on his way up. He looked at me, and then at Blackjack.

“Okay. Let's go, boys. We've got a nice trial ready out back with all your brothers. Promise we'll make it quick, just as soon as one of you fucks tells us straight up where that video came from.”

Trial. Right. Never heard the shallow graves he probably had waiting in the woods called that before.

I looked him in the eye and reached for the redhead, grabbing her hand. “I shot that fucking video,” I said loudly, making sure everybody could hear.

“You never ordered the hit. The bastard was just a fucking freak trying to fuck my old lady's little sis. I killed him. I framed you. I fucked up.”

Fang let out an angry laugh. “Damned right you did, kid! Hmmm, I suppose that's confession enough, but I'm still gonna want it on camera before we decide how to end this. Didn't think you'd give it up so easy.”

He licked his lips. Fucker had murder written all over them.

I smiled. “That's because I thought this was all harder and more complicated than it really is. I didn't see all the evidence of the shit you've done right underneath my nose.”

“What fucking evidence?”

I reached behind me and grabbed her, holding her in front of my chest. Christa flinched once, but then stood still, staring at the monster through her swollen eyes.

“
This.
Take a good, long look, everybody. This is why we turned on national! This is why we'll never follow this motherfucker, as long as he's Prez!” I was screaming.

Crack looked at me in a stupor, and Fang's eyes darkened. Didn't think it was possible for him to beam more hate, but he sure as fuck did. My hands loosened near her belly, holding on tight, ready to throw her down as soon as he let the demon inside him off its chain.

“This is what our Prez does. He rips innocent girls to pieces. He kills anybody who disagrees with that shit, frames 'em as rats. He's too fucking busy fattening his own wallet off the blood this club's spilled to inspire us, and that's exactly why the cartel's running over our bodies. We beat 'em by being better than vermin. Right now, this club's just as brutal. Just as fucked up. Is that what you wanted for the Grizzlies MC when you put on that patch?”

Silence. A long, tense, fiery quiet.

The surprise on Fang's face shrank, slow and vicious, turning into volcanic anger. His hand flew to his hip, surprisingly spry for a man his age. I had exactly one second to throw Christa to the ground and keep her there while he fired.

The gunshot echoed loud over the horizon. I waited for more, holding my breath, wondering if we were all about to die.

“Shit!” Blaze cursed.

I rolled, looked up, and saw the hole in Blackjack's thigh. He hit the ground, clenching his leg, blood pooling between his fingers. Fuck! Fang missed us, and hit the only man worth serving in this fucking club instead.

One 'shit' spoken, and about a thousand more to go. Only way to describe the situation.

Blackjack clenched his leg harder, a sinister smile on his face. Blaze crouched with his gun, and everybody in our crew behind us locked and loaded. I was reaching for my own sidearm, ready to blow Crack's fucking head off.

Except I didn't have to. The bastard's skull exploded before he could draw on me, and it came from behind him.

Fang spun, stunned silence twisting the sneer on his face. The huge throng of Grizzlies serving him had their guns drawn on each other. Another shot exploded. Another guy went down, one of Fang's men.

Total fucking chaos.

The guys who'd decided they didn't want any part of serving the asshole hit the dirt. Some ran toward us, only to be mowed down by the bastards staying loyal. They were brutal fucks, men like Serial, who loved everything Fang did to drive this club into the ground, hungry for more of it to satisfy their sadistic urges.

I struggled to stay down, protecting Christa, but I had to see what the fuck was going on. All that mattered to us was numbers. If enough of them mutinied, especially in this storm, we had a chance.

Looking to my other side, I saw Blackjack keeping focus, pressing both hands tight to his wound. Blaze had his gun trained on Fang, who was high-tailing it back to the guys he had left.

Shit! The Devils' Prez emptied his clip and one hit the bastard in the leg. Fang dropped, grunted, and started to crawl. He was on the ground, roughing his way forward, when several goons ran toward him and picked him up.

Our guys were pouring past me now. Rabid leaned down to me, reaching for the woman's hand.

“Let her go, bro. I got her. Need to get her to the rear.”

I nodded. Good. Now, I was free to go, following the long push toward the woods, where lots of vehicles were abandoned in all the commotion.

“Missy! Missy!” I screamed her name when I got closer, looking all over for anything bigger than a bike, or maybe a pit where they'd thrown her for the exchange.

Nothing. More shots rang out around me, and several brothers wrestled on the ground, Grizzlies and the odd Devil doing close combat.

A dead eyed fuck popped out of the trees and lunged with his dagger drawn. I blew his head off and went forward, forward, heading for the place where I'd seen them dragging Fang.

No fucking way was he getting away alive. Not today.

Someone tugged on the back of my cut. I spun, pressed my gun to his head, and felt my heart stick in my throat when I saw it was Blackjack, struggling to upright.

“Christ! You should've stayed back. What the fuck's going on?”

“Keep going, son,” he growled. “Don't fucking worry about me. I can't rest until I see him dead. We have to find him.”

I nodded. The gunfire was dying down around us, and I was relieved to see mutineers and Devils standing around prisoners, gathering the fucks together who'd thrown down their arms.

Blackjack hung close to me. We walked through the trees, and I cleared a path for him through the brush. Almost tripped on a dead man with a  hole through his chest. Shit, it was one of the bastards who'd grabbed Fang. He had to be somewhere.

I heard him before we caught up through the brush. He'd rolled through the weeds toward a shitty little pond, and he was holding his leg, screaming at the asshole who'd gone with him.

“Come on! Keep fucking moving. We can't stop. We've gotta get outta here.”

The man groaned. I saw he was bleeding out from a hole in his stomach, barely even conscious. The soon-to-be-dead Prez was still berating the poor bastard. Suddenly, Fang pulled his gun, pressed it to the man's temple, and fired.

“Fucking useless! All of you! This is what I get for thirty fuckin' years of glory? I
made
this club. It was all me – me! And now you bastards are tearing it to pieces, turning over like snakes and cowards, ruining
everything
I gave you...”

I told Blackjack to hang back and pushed through the weeds first. He fired at the weeds I rustled, and a new emotion I'd never seen entered his eyes: fear.

Arctic terror. And it was goddamned beautiful.

Two bullets buried themselves in the mud, dangerously close to my leg. I kept going. His gun was clicking on empty by the time I stood over him.

Blackjack pushed his way to my side, breathing a little heavier than before. Both our guns were trained on him. I got ready to squeeze the trigger first and take flak later. Blackjack deserved the kill almost as much as me, but no fucking way was I letting someone else hand Fang his one way ticket to hell.

“Don't!” Fang roared, throwing a hand up, as if he still had a choice. “We can figure something out. Take my patch, drain my money, ship my ass to Alaska...you can't fucking kill me. You know I built this thing from my bare hands, Blackjack. I built you!”

“You built yourself a tower of shit, Fang,” the old man said. “There was a time when we needed a man like you in charge. Not anymore. You spilled too much blood, carved too much flesh. It's no wonder we've got wolves at our gates.”

“You want to live?” I stepped up, pressing my gun to his temple. He nodded, shifting his evil head against my gun. “Then tell me where you've got her. Where's my old lady?”

Fang licked his lips. “There's a van parked about a mile from here. Nobody in it but her, tied up and gagged in the trunk. I was gonna send my guys to get her if you hadn't fucked me over...but I knew you would. I
knew it.
I keep my fucking word. Always. Do you, Brass?”