Never Love an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (60 page)

Martin made tutoring easy. Only eight years old and obsessed with Napoleon, he wouldn't have needed me at all if the schools did a better job kindling his interests.

“His grades are already coming up! I dunno how you do it, lady, but you earned this. Here.” His mother, Shirley, gushed all over me, pushing the check in my hands.

“Thanks.” I was careful to make sure she didn't see how hard I pinched the scrap of paper when I stuffed it into my purse.

I didn't even take a second look to verify the right amount. There was no point when every single cent was going to an utter bastard who'd have me by the throat for the next ten years, no matter how much I earned.

Shirley gave me one last wave and I headed for my crappy old beater parked near the curb.

I got in my car and tried to collect my wits. It wasn't easy with the evening sun setting over Redding, casting its light across the dashboard. If there was one thing I hated as much as getting paid and forking it over to Big Ed, it was seeing my face in the rear view mirror.

The scars were still there. Visible reminders that the Grizzlies Motorcycle Club had wrecked my whole life, and it wasn't going to let up anytime soon.

Sure, they'd healed about as much as they were going to after a couple months, but my skin would never be the same. Fang robbed away what little beauty I had, torturing me in the back room of their clubhouse, all over an internal war I didn't even know about until he began to slice into my face and whisper death threats in my ear.

I pulled away from the curb and set off toward the nursing home, trying not to let my scars summon old ghosts. I'd survived Fang. Hell, I'd helped his own men kill him.

Missy, Brass, and that other man I didn't dare think about saved me from an agonizing end. And I returned the favor by marching out with them as living, breathing proof of everything the Grizzlies MC's old President had done.

Half his men couldn't take seeing me standing with Brass and his buddy, cut to pieces. They turned on the devil and his flock of demons. Rabid barely had time to escort me to safety when the shots started going off.

When it was all over, the man who pressed the knife into my face was dead. The Grizzlies MC chapter here in Redding began to change with new guys in charge.

Maybe their lives changed – I didn't care to know.

Mine didn't. Fang's death didn't change a thing. I was still knee deep in the same old shit that began long before the monster pressed his blade to my cheeks.

Big Ed answered to Redding, but he obviously wasn't interested in listening to the new crew leading their mother charter. He had his own agenda. All the bastards in the Klamath charter did, and they were going to make me pay until I was destitute and bloodless.

His bike was already parked outside the nursing home when I got there. A quick stop at the bank turned my hundred dollar check into cold cash, the only thing he'd accept. I added it to a couple hundred more I had waiting for him, hoping it'd be enough to make up for the payments I'd missed last month.

I parked and headed inside. Walking up those stairs was like going into hell. Without Ed, it would've been hard enough seeing my dad screwed up.

With the nasty looking biker hovering in the room like a total thug, it was much worse.

How bad would it be today? Would I have to listen to dad ask me who I was for the thousandth time while Ed stood by, cold and calculating, a grim reminder that there were worse things waiting for my dad than early onset Alzheimer's if I didn't pay up?

They sat in their usual spots when I opened the door to my father's room. There was dad, staring out the window in his wheelchair. Big Ed was sprawled out on the bed. He bounced up with a muscular jerk. His large gut got in the way, and his trademark handlebar mustache twitched angrily, the only thing drawing attention away from his dark eyes.

“What the fuck took so long? I got another run to make before I head home to Klamath tonight. Fucking bitch.” He spat on the floor. “You've been keeping me here all evening.”

I stepped over his spit and reached into my purse, digging for the money as quickly as I could. He watched me while I pulled out the little stash and tore off the money clip. I shoved it into his face, trying not to shake.

“Here. Count it. Everything I promised.”

He flipped through the twenties, letting out a loud snort when he finished counting. “That's it? Babe, you'd better start coughing up a whole lot more if you ever wanna skip these little visits. You're about one dollar over the threshold that keeps me from knocking his fucking teeth out. One.”

Ed growled, pointing to my father. Dad stayed mercifully oblivious, muttering to himself as a little bird landed on a tree branch outside.

“It's everything I have this week,” I whispered, trying to stay calm for my father's sake. “Don't know how I'm even going to make rent, to be honest. I'll have more for you later.”

Big Ed shot up, grabbed me by the shoulders. His hot breath reeked tobacco, sour whiskey, and something else I could never quite identify. It stank plenty.

I was scared for dad, but not for me. Not anymore. Surviving Fang's torture drove away the terror I used to feel when he got up in my face or slammed me against the nearest wall.

“Stop being such an ungrateful cunt! You know I'm doing you a big fucking favor, right? Because we could do things much differently, babe. Trust me.”

“Ed, please.” I pushed against his fat chest, but he only tightened his grip.

Bastard.
I pushed harder, the way he always made me struggle, before he finally cut me loose. Too bad it never shut him up.

“I could shut the door behind you, cut his fucking throat, and take you for a ride north on my bike. Shit, we'd probably be doing the old fart a favor. It's not like he knows who the fuck either of us are or what we're up to.” He paused.

My eyelids fluttered shut. I quietly prayed he'd stop. He never did.

“You're a little worn to be a good whore, Christa, but there are plenty brothers in Oregon who'd love to use that firecracker cunt between your legs. A redhead's still a redhead. Doesn't matter if she's got a few scrapes and scratches.” He licked his lips, eyeing the shameful lines on my face.

I shook my head. I was used to crude comments about my natural hair forever, but hearing about the scars was new. Hearing it from Ed's foul mouth was the worse.

“Tell me I'm being a good guy, Chrissy. I wanna hear you say it. You know how fucking easy I'm letting you off? I'm not even asking you to pay for the gas it takes to get down here just to put your tits into a vise. My bros would kick my ass if they knew what a softie I'm being.”

My head snapped up, and we locked eyes. Was he fucking serious? As if this wasn't humiliating enough...

Sigh. I had to spit it out, if only to make him leave sooner.

“You're doing me a favor. You're playing nice. You're the best debt collector a girl could ask for.” I could barely force the words through my clenched teeth.

There. Is that what you wanted, you fucking asshole?
I hated when my brain felt like burning coal. Every thought hurt, hot and fierce as moving fire.

Big Ed laughed. He walked past me though, moving through the narrow space between dad's bed and the TV stand. His arm went out and gave me a rough shove on his way out.

“Don't you fucking forget it, bitch!” I steadied myself against the wall, hoping I wouldn't have to turn around before he was finally gone. Then he opened his fat mouth again, and I knew luck wasn't on my side today.

“Oh, and don't you dare think about going to any of the Redding boys with this. It won't help your ass – it'll just be more trouble. Rip's never backing down. He doesn't give a fucking shit what Blackjack or any of those other cocksuckers say. We don't take our orders from this town. We're free men. And if you stir up trouble, you'll just cause a damned war on your doorstep. Your job's easy. Fucking remember it.”

Easy? Easy?!

Now, I had to turn around. I wanted to throw myself at him, scream, jab my fingernails into his eyeballs and tear his stupid mustache off.

But it wouldn't do any good.

If I somehow survived and got him arrested, his brothers would come to town. They'd know who did it. And everything I'd heard said the bastard was right – the new Grizzlies leadership in Redding was too busy finding its footing.

My problems weren't theirs, if they even cared. Besides, I wouldn't dare drag Rabid and his brothers into this, though he'd jump at the chance. They saved me once. I'd already screwed over my dad, and I'd rather die than see anybody else get killed for my screw ups, my debt.

“Ed – we're done. Please.” He wanted me to beg him, so I did.

The asshole stopped, stood up straight, pulled on his cut. He was coming toward me again.

No, no, no...

“What'sa matter, Chrissy? Seriously?” His voice was so soft, but the way he grabbed my chin and tilted my head revealed his inner demon. “You ought to work your little ass off and go on a retreat. You're so fuckin' stressed. It's no good for your heart, you know.”

He thumped his chest. The sound was the first thing to really make me shake. It reminded me how huge, dangerous, and ruthless these men really were.

“Life gives do overs if you play your cards right. Keep coughing up the dough. Keep doing everything I say. The old fuck over there'll get to live out his days in peace. You'll get to live another week without my boys running a train on your sweet ass, wearing nothing but their cuts. God, I bet you fuck
good
– even if you look like you stuck your fucking face into a cat fight.”

Laughing, he reached for my ass, pulled me to him. I had to fight to make sure his disgusting tongue never contacted my skin.

Ass. Hole.

He let me go at just the right time. I went spinning toward the wall and crashed, hit the TV hard with my hip. Big Ed roared, stomping past me again, this time ripping open the door to the hall.

“You take care of yourself, Chrissy. Who the fuck knows. The universe works in mysterious ways. You keep working with a fire under your ass, maybe you'll get to have a little biker bar up by Crater Lake again one of these days. We'd
love
to give you the fucking money to get it off the ground again, soon as you pay this shit off.”

I closed my eyes. Finally, he was gone, leaving the thunderous echo of the door slamming behind him in his wake. Just before he disappeared, I caught the roaring grizzly bear on his back, hateful symbol of all my terrible mistakes.

Christ. Seriously. He'd gotten to me again, even though it took a lot these days. My hand was squeezing my purse for dear life, and that made me realize how fucking empty it was. Just then, dad chose to turn around and look at me with his vacant eyes.

“You lost, lady? Can I help you?”

I stopped and stared up at the ceiling for a full minute. There was one more thing in my purse, something I'd bought with a couple bucks I hadn't forked over to Big Ed.

“Here, dad. Your favorite candy.” It was a dark chocolate bar I'd gotten at the gas station, something he always liked in better times when he could still fish and ride his bike.

With any luck, it might slow the weight melting off him too. Dad didn't look like the man who raised me anymore. He used to be big and strong and muscular, ready to lift the world. Now, he couldn't even lift his own legs to walk.

He sniffed, gave me the look that hurt the most – the vacant one that reminded me he really had no clue who I was, and probably never would again. The lucid moments were so rare these days. It wasn't fair, damn it.

He wasn't even sixty. Four or five years ago, he'd been enjoying his first year of early retirement, and now everything he'd scrimped and saved was being used to support him while every last light went out in his head forever.

“Hm.” He unwrapped the chocolate slowly, something that had become our ritual for the last six months. “Oh, yeah. Hell yeah. Tastes good.”

He chewed a square and looked up at me, wonder in his eyes. I sniffed back more tears. He didn't remember his daughter, but I'd managed to make him truly happy with this little thing.

That counted for something wherever my worldly karma was being tallied up, right?

“What was your name again, dear?”

“Christa. Christa Kimmel. You can count on me to be here next week, dad, same as always.” I leaned down and gave him a quick peck on the forehead as his lips formed a confused smile. “I don't care how hard anybody makes it. I'm never going to stop loving you.”

That night, I stared into my empty refrigerator. My stomach growled, pissed that I hadn't fed it anything since the roast beef sandwich Shirley gave me. I turned away in disgust, gulping two big cups of water to take the edge off.

Dad was safe for another week, the only thing that really mattered. But I couldn't stop wondering how
I
was going to keep living like this.

Something had to give. It always did. Bad luck caught up to me with trouble right by its side, always wearing a Grizzlies MC cut.

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