Outlaw's Vow: Grizzlies MC Romance (Outlaw Love)

by Snow, Nicole

  A couple minutes later, Brass and Rabid joined us. We bullshitted like we hadn't since the last big hog roast a couple months ago, and when the prospects told us everything was finished, we headed out to our bikes wearing shit-eating smiles.

  “Oh, God. What now?” Elle asked sadly, running her hands over my neck after we got on my bike.

  “Nothing, babe. Why do you look so worried?”

  She hesitated. “You're happy. Who did you kill to get a smile like that?”

  I turned around, fisted her sweet blonde hair, and smiled wider. “I'm grinning like a Cheshire fucking cat because everything's gonna be different now. We'll finally be living like a man and his wife should. There's more blood in the future, yeah, there always fucking is. But I'm gonna make you the happiest woman who ever wore a man's brand, and you're gonna love every single second. I'm smiling, thinking about all the ways you'll grin in the years to come, smile at me 'til your pretty white teeth fall out.”

  She laughed. It echoed like the best damned music I'd ever heard as we pulled out behind my brothers, tightening our formation on the road for the long trip home.

  * * * *

  Peace was waiting for all the brothers in Redding. No sooner than we rode through the gates, I saw all the old ladies file out, the prospects and a couple brothers at their sides. Stryker saluted the Prez, the only full patch brother who'd stayed behind, except for old Southpaw.

  The old ladies practically ran 'em all down in the rush to greet us.

  Christa for Rabid.

  Sally for Roman, cradling their son in her arms. The kid was getting bigger all the time.

  Missy blew a kiss for Brass. Even her kid sister, Jackie, was standing by her side. The teenager would have a rocking body in a few more years, and the Veep would probably have to fight off prospects from sniffing around her if she kept coming by the clubhouse.

  Lucky for me, I already had everything I needed on the back of my bike. I helped Elle off it like a queen and took her helmet while brothers went running to their girls. Tugging her close, I gave her a nuclear hot kiss that rivaled all of 'em, clutching her body like I couldn't believe it was real.

  Fuck, her ass was made for my hands. I held it tight, pulled her hips into mine, made her feel every inch of what she did to me.

  She'd never stop being the air in my lungs, and right now, I had to drink her deep.

  We kissed for what seemed like a million years, and it still wasn't enough. Didn't take my lips off hers 'til Roman barked at the prospects, telling them to get their asses in gear unloading our arms, and putting them to bed.

  Elle looked like she was about to fall over. I had something else to put to bed, and I led her into the clubhouse, trying to keep my eyes off the limp Chinese asshole a couple guys carried in ahead of us.

  We took the shitty bed in my old room, one of the last nights we'd camp here before I found us a real place to live.

  We were both too tired to fuck, but damn if my dick didn't hound me anyway. I held her close, feeling her curves as she mumbled nonsense, drifting off to sleep. She seemed trouble, tossing and turning in my arms. I stroked her brow, then ran my fingers softly through her hair.

  This was living. Before, I'd only been alive when I had some whore on my cock with Jack coursing through my veins, or else when some sick piece of shit who deserved to die was gurgling his death rattle.

  None of that shit even came close to what I had in this bed. Elle Jo slept like an angel.

  A battered, damaged angel who'd been fucked over one too many times by her dad's mistakes, and mine too.

  “Never again,” I whispered into her ear, not even caring she couldn't hear me.

  Never, never!

  “All you're gonna be doing for me is making money, making kids, and setting our bed on fire when I climb into it. You've suffered, Ell-Bell, hurt more than some brothers. That's a fucking crime, and it stops now. I'm telling you right through your dreams, babe, because I fucking own 'em. I'll make 'em happen. And I'll make sure you know how much I love you every single day when you're awake.”

  Pausing, I buried my nose in her hair, breathing her scent. Goddamn, she smelled good, even when she was fresh from being held by the mafia, without so much as a shower.

  I wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her senseless, fuck her 'til our bodies totally gave out. But she needed her beauty sleep, and I wasn't a total animal, even though I sometimes doubted it.

  “Sleep tight, Elle Jo. You can give me all the shit you want about how I saved your life. Truth is, you saved mine. I'd have wound up dead sooner or later with my temper, if I didn't have something to keep it in check.” I kissed her cheek, listening to her moan softly, nuzzling her face into me. “Only gonna let it loose one more time. Then it's done and gone forever, baby girl. I'm killing it for you.”

  I closed my eyes and slept like a dead man for several hours. When I woke up to the pounding on my door, I shifted outta bed carefully, leaving Elle deep in her dreams.

  “Yeah?” I cracked the door, and saw Brass' dark face looking at me.

  “Church, brother. Five minutes.”

  I nodded, closed the door, and pulled my cut off its hanger. I lingered a minute longer as I rolled it onto my shoulders, staring at the woman sleeping in my bed, the one who'd just handed me the rest of my life.

  It was gonna be absolutely fucking glorious.

  * * * *

  “Bring him in.” Blackjack clenched the bear paw so tight his fingers turned white.

  The tension was back in the room. Everybody in the Redding crew stared across to Tacoma. Not that the assholes would try anything, no matter how heated it got, because we outnumbered them in droves.

  Our prospects waited outside. Stryker and Southpaw held the door from our side, only stepping outta the way when Gil staggered in, taking the seat reserved next to our Prez.

  The motherfucker shuffled like a damned zombie. Plopping down into the empty seat, he gave the Prez that thousand yard stare I'd seen on guys before, when they'd been through too much shit. Usually, those guys snapped.

  I eyeballed Roman, and he looked at me. The Enforcer understood. He was more than ready for anything fucking crazy. The prospects had patted Gil down before he entered, but who the hell knew what a man might do when he had nothing left to lose.

  “You fucked up something awful, brother,” Blackjack growled, giving the Tacoma Prez a look straight from hell. “You put my whole club in peril. You're not a stupid man, though I've got to wonder with everything that's happened. You, Gil, know exactly what the rules say about mother charter and her right to reign in chapters going rogue. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, brother. It's all your –“

  “Shut up.”

  Two words, and I knew Elle's old man had lost his fucking mind forever. Nobody cut Blackjack off, and you sure as shit didn't tell him to shut up.

  All the Redding brothers bristled, including me.

  Across the table, Line looked nervous, torn between his loyalty to a man who'd flipped his shit, and the full Grizzlies MC assembly here.

  Slowly, Gil stood. Half the room was ready to pounce and knock him the fuck down if he so much as reached into his pockets. I didn't trust the pat check he'd received before coming in here one bit – a twenty year veteran in this club had plenty of ways to hide weapons if he wanted to kill a man bad enough.

  Gil reached for his own chest with his single good hand. We watched him grab the PRESIDENT patch by several loose stitches in the corner. He pulled hard, 'til we heard the tear ripping through the dead silence.

  It popped right off his leather cut without so much as a thread hanging. Shaking, Gil turned to Line, and opened his torn up lips.

  “Hand out,” he whispered.

  The Tacoma Veep did as he asked, and everybody calmed when we saw the patch passed to him. “This crown's yours now, brother. Remember my fucking mistakes.”

  Gil turned back to Blackjack. Our Prez nodded coldly.

  Deep
down, he was probably just as relieved as the rest of us, but his face didn't show it. The bastard had given up his power without a fight, and that was all that mattered.

  Blackjack looked merciless as the defeated asshole turned away, heading for the door. A lesser man would've felt sorry for the poor sonofabitch, but I had nothing except pure relief pumping through my blood.

  Maybe he'd actually paid the price for losing his post and a fully functional body, too. Maybe I wouldn't try to fuck him up, as soon as I dealt with Zee.

  “Let him through,” Blackjack ordered.

  The whole room watched while our boys stepped aside. Gil limped out, heading straight for the bar, ready to drown his agony in the only shit with a prayer of saving his miserable soul.

  It was Line's turn to look at Blackjack.

  “Tacoma's in your hands now,” the Prez said, studying the bear claw gavel in his hand. “Treat it right, and you won't wind up in his place.”

  “You've vetted me. Don't have to tell any of you what I can do. You can all count on me to set things right. I'll rebuild the Tacoma charter the way it should've been the first time, without any antsy fuckers ready to walk off a cliff. I won't do anything that'll bring down hell on the whole club.”

  “I believe you, brother,” Blackjack said sternly. “It isn't just the Grizzlies MC as a whole that's counting on you to act on your word. It's every man in this room who's ready for some peace and quiet. That means me, too. We want to make money, build real assets, and fire a few less bullets next year. We're tired. We've had our feast on blood, and we want to trade with our friends and run our empire in peace. Help make it a reality.”

  Fucking shit. The place was starting to sound like a hippie commune with everybody talking about putting down their guns and living the quiet life. Peace.

  Damn if it didn't sound good right now. I'd be ready for some of that, just as soon as I finished cleaning up the last mess dirtying this clubhouse.

  * * * *

  Church lasted for about an hour. The Prez debriefed us and told us he'd be working Zee over later – not that he expected to get much from the beaten mafia fuck.

  They had him tied up in the storage room, the same place we'd dealt with our enemies for years. Sometimes it was our own brothers who'd gone rotten, and other times it was the cartel, before we'd beaten their asses just the same.

  Underneath the table, I fingered the switchblade in my belt, imaging all the ways I'd gut the motherfucker waiting for my steel.

  I waited 'til church finished. The Prez disappeared for the night, and the rest of the boys gathered in the bar with their women, their kids. Family time was the real debriefing they all needed, far more meaningful than any club business we could hatch in the meeting room.

  I nursed a single beer by myself, hiding in a corner while the brothers enjoyed themselves. They all started to taper off a little later. First Brass and Roman with their old ladies and the young ones. Then Rabid and Christa, leaving nobody but the prospects and the club whores.

  They'd be retiring behind closed doors to put their kids to bed, or suck and fuck themselves to sleep soon enough.

  Another half hour, and I made my move. I headed down the hallway, stepping over Stryker, who lay smack in the middle of the floor, locking tongues with some dark haired bitch in his lap. Glassy was passed out in the corner, his fake eye open, staring lifelessly across the clubhouse.

  The lone Tacoma prospect standing in front of the storage room looked at me like he'd seen a ghost, and smiled. “You taking the next shift? Fuck, man, I've been listening to the party all night. I could really use a smoke.”

  “Go.” I slapped him on the back. “Fill your lungs out back and have some fun. I'll take over from here.”

  He didn't even give me a second glance. Just handed me the key and took off.

  Sometimes, the universe just hands you a kill on a silver-fucking-platter.

  The storage room was permanently lit with several loud, fluorescent bulbs. The pieces of shit we kept in here didn't deserve a good night's sleep, but damn if their bodies didn't try.

  Zee slumped in a chair, his head hanging down like a bird's. He didn't look up 'til he heard the door snap shut behind me.

  “Asshole,” he said. “You're the one who shot me. Come to finish things, yes?”

  I looked him dead in the eye without saying shit. He didn't deserve any idle chit-chat. I was about to give him the last thing he needed, all he deserved before his worthless carcass wound up buried in an unmarked grave.

  “You got anything else to tell the club, or should I try to beat it the fuck outta you?”

  One question. The only one I'd ask before I did his ass in.

  “No. All the treasure you'd ever want to plunder is safe in Shanghai, where your pissy little club will never reach.”

  Fuck, did I hate the bastard's smug ass smile. Even worse that he was right.

  The savage punch I slammed into his gut killed the grin instantly. He tensed up, spat blood, and tried to breathe.

  “Say it again, fucknut. Men like you always think you're hot shit when you're in control, chopping hands and threatening innocent girls. You always go coward in the end, shitting your pants and begging for your life. Same fucking thing I've seen dozens of times before I send men like you to hell.”

  Motherfucker smiled. Again.

  The asshole was tougher than most, or maybe just crazy, I'd give him that. The cartel boss we'd had back here last time cried like a bitch when the knife went through his ear, and he was one of the rare birds who'd gotten out alive because we used him as an olive branch.

  “She...didn't tell...you?” Asshole spoke slow, struggling over every word when he'd had all the wind knocked outta him. “You...you were too late...asshole. You think you saved her? You fucked up. I left her with things she'll never forget...never. Your little bitch will remember choking on my dick for the rest of her life. She'll remember her daddy watched, but I wish it had been you.”

  What the fuck?!

  I couldn't tell if the asshole was taunting me, trying to make me finish him faster so he wouldn't suffer, or if he'd really stained my girl.

  No bullshit, he'd shaken me. Fucking rattled my bones real bad.

  I had poison tears ready to burn trails down my face when I heard the door close behind me, spun around, and saw Blackjack standing with Elle Jo.

  The Prez had murder written on his face. My woman cried, covered her face, torture and hot shame overwhelming her.

  Zee just smiled. That same arrogant, wicked, demonic fucking smile that I could only kill once, when I wanted to do it a thousand fucking times, and it still wouldn't be enough.

  I dropped the fucking switchblade burning in my hand. The Dragon boss laughed through the blood streaming out between his teeth.

  “You prick. Stupid fuck. Thought you'd just kill me and get a neat, happy ending, didn't you?”

  I'd fucking failed her. I could stand up and gut this asshole, rip his fucking throat out with my bare hands, but it wouldn't do shit. I couldn't change the nightmare that had already happened.

  The asshole grinning in his hell seat would die just the same. But I'd fucking die right there on the dirty floor with him.

  XI: Undefeated (Elle Jo)

  Fifteen Minutes Earlier

  I woke up and ran straight to the bathroom. Asphalt wasn't laying with me anymore, and I'd known it for at least an hour, suffering through a fitful half-sleep while I tried to fight the vomit churning in my guts.

  I'd lied to him so well, hid what happened. I'd lied to myself, and I would've lied to daddy too, if he hadn't been forced to see it all.

  My stomach couldn't empty itself enough. Mind and body tried to expel the poison in my system, the hellish memory of what happened in that run down power plant, but this wouldn't do it. Never.

  The room spun, colliding over and over again in my head, and I retched pure stomach acid. I'd never get the taste of Zee's disgusting cock out of my mouth.

>   I staggered up to the sink, jerked on the faucets, and drank so many handfuls of cold water I thought I'd freeze.

  They came up again a second later, barely warm. I spat dirty water in the sink and slumped to the floor, hugging the sink for support, before sliding onto the tile. I rolled into a ball on the ground.

  It wasn't okay. It would never be okay. My man was going to do something stupid sooner or later, and maybe he'd find out what happened in that dirty factory too, when the mob boss forced himself on me with my father screaming through his gag, all his sick men watching in a circle.

  Worthless fuckhole. That's what he'd called my mouth. And he treated it like one too, ramming himself down my throat, choking me for several minutes while I blacked out, the only defense I had against the horror.

  I woke to his come drooling out my mouth. The mobster looked at me darkly and spat, zipping up his pants.

  Stupid fucking cunt. Not even a little tongue. Don't get too excited, boys, there's no spark here. I'll let you all have a turn when we take the whore to the docks. It's going to be a LONG cruise home.

  Come on, get her up. Out of my sight.

  I was on the ground, straining for breath, spitting out his come when he yanked me to my feet and motioned to his men. They marched me out to the van with daddy at my side. He wouldn't even look at me, staring at the ground like he'd lost his mind.

  We barely got in the back and felt the vehicle jerk forward before all hell broke lose.

  Asphalt saved our lives. But he couldn't take back what happened, what I vowed I'd try to keep from him – what I knew I couldn't.

  I had to find him. Tell him everything, before he went and killed the devil waiting down the hall.

  If he had to find out, then it was better he heard it from me, rather than the monster.

  I cleaned up quickly and headed outside. Rock music throbbed through the clubhouse, a steady, low booming bass. Several guys groaned in their rooms, interspersed with the love cries of their girls. A lone figure sat at the bar, having a drink by himself.

  Blackjack saw me, looked up, and stood, shoving his shot glass away from him. “Elle Jo. How're you feeling?”