Outlaw

OUTLAW

Nicole James

Published by Nicole James

Copyright
2013 Nicole James

All
Rights Reserved

Cover
Art by Viola Estrella

Cover
Photography by Jenn LeBlanc

He was on his eighth life, with one more to
go-

Chapter
One

“You serious?”

Cole Austin took a hit off his cigarette, watching
the sunset. He looked over at the man who questioned him. The man who
apparently was not too happy with the news he was delivering.

Cole had come up here into the mountains of
California on the Nevada border, to the Dead Souls remote clubhouse to deliver
the news in person. The Evil Dead motorcycle club was about to patch over the
Dead Souls MC. He looked over at Wyatt, the Dead Souls’ club president. He was
in his mid-forties. His dark hair was starting to grey, but he was still in the
prime of his life. Still had the women flocking to him. Cole had known him for
years now, considered him a friend, a good friend.

“Thought you’d be happy about this. Ain’t nobody I’d
rather share a patch with than you, brother,” Cole argued.

Wyatt looked at Cole. He’d known Cole since he first
met him as a prospect. What, ten years ago? Then Cole had been a
wet-behind-the-ears kid. He had grown into a man, a good-looking man. He was as
tall as Wyatt’s six-foot height, blonde hair falling past his collar, golden
facial hair growing along his jaw and mouth. Hell, every time he came to visit
the Dead Souls, Wyatt noticed he lost one of their girls to him. Whenever Cole
pulled away on his bike, sure enough, one of their girls was on the back,
leaving with him.

Wyatt turned away. “Hell, I figured it’d come to
this eventually, just not now. Goddamn, Cole! We’re in the middle of it with
the damned Hyenas. You sure this is a good time?”

Cole shrugged. “It’s what Mack wants. You don’t
really have a choice, man.” Cole looked him in the eye. “Look on the bright
side, it’ll help that situation. You know, back ‘em off.”

“Maybe,” Wyatt conceded.

“Hell, we both know they’ll back down once you’re
part of the Evil Dead.” Cole picked his bottle of beer up off the porch railing
of the old house that the Dead Souls used for their clubhouse. It was out in
the middle of nowhere. He looked out over the grounds as darkness began to
fall. There was a bonfire going, and about fifty members standing around, along
with some women, some just hangers-on, some ol’ ladies. The Dead Souls were
having a rally this weekend, so there was quite a crowd. Some staying all week
long, crashing in sleeping bags wherever they found a spot. Bikes were parked in
a long row to the side of the dirt drive that ran down to the road.

Wyatt reached down, and picked up a glass jar off
the railing. “Take a hit off this,” he offered, holding the jar out to Cole.

Cole took it, looked at it dubiously for a moment,
gave Wyatt a suspicious look, and asked, “Home brew?”

Wyatt nodded toward the jar. “Just take a hit.”

Cole raised it to his lips.

Wyatt laughed softly as Cole took a swallow, and
choked on the harsh liquor. “Burns a little bit, don’t it?”

Cole sucked in a breath. “Goddamn, old man. What the
hell is that? It tastes like piss.”

“Grand daddy’s moonshine recipe. What, you don’t
like it?”

Cole handed the jar back with a grimace. “Thanks,
but I think I’ll stick with bourbon.”

Wyatt’s laugh rumbled in his chest.

Cole took a hit off his cigarette as he and Wyatt
both noticed the crowd parting for something. As guys stepped out of the way,
they noticed one of Wyatt’s crew walking through, pulling a girl behind him. As
the guy got to the edge of the crowd, he pulled the girl to his side, and Cole
and Wyatt could see from where they were standing up on the porch, that her
hands were cuffed in front of her.

Cole turned to Wyatt, stunned. “What the fuck is
this shit?” he whispered to him.

Wyatt shook his head, and blew out a breath.
“Chucky’s got a sick little habit. Likes ‘em, shall we say, unwilling. Sadistic
son-of-a-bitch.”

Cole started to move toward the guy, but Wyatt put
his arm out to stop him. “Let me handle this.”

Cole turned to stare at him. “What, you good with
this?”

Wyatt smiled back. “You got a soft heart, Cole.”

Cole stared him down with a warning look. “You
better remember who you’re talkin’ to, ol’ man.”

Wyatt blew out a slow breath. He knew better than to
give a member of the Evil Dead any shit. They ran things around here, as well
he knew. Even if Cole was a good friend, there was a pecking order, and it had
to be respected. “Look, I know. Chuck’s given this club more trouble than he’s
worth, but-”

“Then let me have him,” Cole ground out.

“I need him for the hit on Fat Tony next week,
Cole,” Wyatt reasoned. “He’s the best explosives guy I’ve got.”

Cole took another hit off his cigarette, and slowly
blew the smoke out, trying to hold his temper. He stared over at Chuck. “What’s
the plan on that?”

“Lucky for us, Fat Tony broke his hand about a week
ago.”

Cole nodded, understanding. “Can’t work the
throttle, can’t ride.”

“Exactly. So, he’s been ridin’ in his cage the last
week. I figure a car bomb’s a nice way to take him out. Sends a nice message.”

“Retaliation for that shit that went down in Reno?”
Cole questioned, glancing over at Wyatt.

“Yeah.”

“Bombs. That’s Homeland Security shit. Brings down
all kinds of heat. You sure that’s your best move?”

Wyatt smiled. “I don’t give a shit. They’ll never
tie it to us. Make those damned Hyenas think twice about messing with us.”

“Your club. Your decision, brother,” Cole conceded.
He lifted his chin towards Chucky. “I want to talk to him.”

“About what?” Wyatt asked.

Cole looked over at Wyatt. “He owes me money.”

Wyatt stared back at him wondering how much shit was
about to hit the fan. “Yeah. Okay. Use the chapel.”

Cole took another hit off his cigarette, and looked
back at Chuck and the girl. “Have him bring the girl.”

Wyatt’s eyes narrowed understanding now where he was
going with this, and he nodded slowly.

Cole threw his cigarette over the porch rail,
turned, and walked inside, the screen door slamming behind him.

He walked into the room that the Dead Souls used for
club meetings. There wasn’t much décor. Beat up wood paneling, some club photos
in cheap frames on the wall, an old light that belonged over a pool table hung
over the long wooden table that took up most of the room. There were about a
dozen mismatched, old, executive chairs around the table.

Cole strolled around to the far end of the table,
and sat down in the chair to the left of the head of the table, facing the
door.

He didn’t have long to wait.

The door opened, and in walked Wyatt. Chuck followed
behind him dragging the girl. She stumbled, and Chuck yanked her to her feet.
She tried to pull away, and he backhanded her. She fell to the floor in the
corner across from Cole.

Cole’s gaze traveled over her. She was dressed in a
short sleeve shirt, which was hanging open, revealing a pink bra. She had on
cut-off shorts, and Cole’s eyes traveled over her long, slender, tanned legs.
He noticed several bruises on the inside of her thighs. She was barefoot. Her
long, honey-blonde hair was hanging in her face. She raised her head, and
tossed her hair back, and Cole found himself staring into the prettiest green
eyes he’d ever seen.

He sucked in his breath.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he noticed her
lip was split and bleeding. She glared back at him. Cole thought she looked
half terrified, half defiant, and about seventeen.

Shit.

He was not a man who usually got involved in other
people’s problems. He stayed clear of what didn’t directly concern him, having
learned in this life that he couldn’t afford to let himself be affected by a
lot of the shit he saw, but this? Fuck. This he couldn’t stomach. As he looked
down at her, something twisted painfully in his chest.

Chuck took a seat opposite Cole, leaving her lying
on the floor.

Wyatt looked at Cole. “You want me here or not?”

Cole slowly tore his gaze away from the girl, and
looked at Wyatt, and nodded once.

Wyatt sat down at the head of the table between the
two men.

“Hey, Cole,” Chuck drawled.

Cole’s mouth formed a smile that didn’t reach his
eyes. “Chucky.”

“So, how ya been, man?”

Cole just stared at him. “Ya got that two grand you
owe me, Chucky?”

Chuck looked from Cole to Wyatt, and the smile faded
from his face.

“Don’t look at him, man. He can’t save you,” Cole
warned with an evil smile.

“Two grand?”

“Yeah. Two grand,” Cole repeated. “You do remember
that little gambling debt don’t you?”

“Yeah, Cole. I know, but I thought we were just
joking around, ya know?”

“No, man. We weren’t just ‘joking around’, Chucky. I
don’t fuckin’ joke about money.” Cole leveled him with a hard stare, his brows
arching. “Do I look like a man who fucking jokes about money?”

“No. I guess not.”

“So, you got it?”

“Well, no. Not on me. Not all of it.”

Cole watched Chuck start to sweat. “Well, how much
you got?”

Chuck looked at him, and took a second to answer.
“Ah, hundred. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Cole stared at him, and then leaned forward
putting his elbows on the table.

“Yeah, probably.”

Cole smiled. “Now why do I get the feelin’ you’re
holdin’ out on me, huh? Put your wallet on the table.”

Again Chuck looked to Wyatt.

“Why do you keep lookin’ at him?” Cole demanded.
“He’s not the one you owe. Now put your Goddamn wallet on the table.”

Chuck huffed out a long breath, and pulled his
wallet out, and tossed it down.

Cole stared at him a long moment, and then reached
for the wallet. He pulled all the cash out spreading it on the table. “Well,
well. You
were
holdin’ out on me.
Looks like more than a hundred. Or can’t you count?”

Chuck just glared back at him.

“I count five hundred here,” Cole said, scooping up
the money. “So, now I just need fifteen more.” He stared at Chuck waiting for a
response. “What’re we gonna do about that, Chuck?”

“I can get it for you. I just need more time.”

“Time? You’ve had enough time. I want my money.
Now.”

“Well, I haven’t got it, man.”

“Yeah. I see that.”

Wyatt glanced at Cole.

Cole slid him a look. “Maybe I’ll just have to take
your bike.”

“My bike?” Chuck blurted. “You’re shittin’ me,
right? You can’t take my bike, man.”

“I can do anything I Goddamn want!” Cole shouted
back at him, noticing out of the corner of his eye the girl flinch at his
raised, angry voice.

Chuck looked to Wyatt, and he realized that he
wasn’t going to stop Cole. He looked back at Cole. “Come on. Please, man. Don’t
take my bike.”

“You got anything else of value?” Cole asked as his
eyes slid to the girl.

Chuck saw where he was looking, and glanced down at
her, and then back at Cole. “The girl,” he offered.

Cole looked at him, and smirked, “The girl?”

“Yeah, man. Take the girl.”