BAD BOY'S KISS: A Dark Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Naomi West

  He hesitated like he might protest. Then he reached reluctantly for the other helmet. Put it on. “Happy?” he asked with a grin.

  She grinned back. “That’s better. Safety first.”

  Pistol mounted the Honda, keeping the bike steady so she could straddle it behind him. She tried for a second to keep a polite distance, but she immediately slid forward so that her crotch was against his firm, jean-clad ass. Great.

  He turned his head to speak over his shoulder. “Put your arms around my waist.”

  “Okay,” she replied, her voice muffled by the helmet.

  “When you get more comfortable, you can try keeping your hands on my hips. But for now, hold on tight.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling his hard abs flex under her arms. She swallowed. Jeez, what if she did fall off? What if Pistol crashed?

  I’m ready for this. I’m so ready, she thought, as Pistol faced forward and then walked the bike closer to the garage entrance, and Katrin’s heart rate ratcheted up. She placed her feet on the pegs and laced her fingers together.

  Pistol started the bike, and it rumbled to life under them. A thrill went up Katrin’s spine, and she grinned inside the helmet. “You okay?” Pistol called over the roar of the bike.

  “I’m great,” she shouted back.

  “Hold on!”

  Pistol gave the bike three revs, then started down the driveway. Katrin tensed reflexively, then forced herself to relax. No way was she going to let on that she was nervous.

  They went over the curb and started down the residential street. Katrin glanced over Pistol’s shoulder at the speedometer. They were only going thirty, but Katrin’s heart was still pounding. She leaned into Pistol’s warmth, watched the streetlights in front of the neighbors’ houses flash by. The breeze was chilly on her bare hands, but the jacket — and Pistol — kept her warm. The sun was just slipping below the horizon as they exited the neighborhood and turned onto Deveare Street. Katrin leaned into the turn, surprised by how smooth the ride was. At the traffic light, they pulled up beside an SUV. The kid in the passenger seat — a boy, maybe ten — was staring down at the bike. Katrin gave him a brief wave, then clung to Pistol once more as the light turned green and they roared ahead of the SUV.

  There were a couple of times when the bike accelerated and Katrin felt her heart leap into her throat, but for the most part, she grew comfortable quickly with the motion of the bike, with the way it turned and the feel of it humming between her legs, all power and sleekness.

  Then they turned off onto the highway, and their speed climbed. And climbed…

  She held tight to Pistol as the wind slammed her helmet and chafed her hands. She peered at the speedometer. Fifty miles an hour. Sixty. Soon they were blazing down the open road at seventy miles an hour. Katrin’s stomach clenched slightly at the thought of what would happen if they crashed at this speed, but fear soon gave way to pure adrenaline. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry, because she’d never experienced freedom like this, the sense that the world was wide open to her, that she could go anywhere.

  Oh God, they were going fast, so fast, and she was clinging to Pistol — Jax — her husband, and they were flying. The highway was empty before them, the sky a tremendous deep velvet blue with streaks of waning light along the horizon.

  Pistol started to swerve — long, snaking movements that made the bike lean from side to side. The first time he did it, Katrin grabbed him, stomach plummeting, afraid he’d lost control. Then she realized he was doing it on purpose and began to lean into each serpentine, terrified and alive, grinning like a maniac as the wind chapped her hands and bugs splatted against her visor. She risked taking one hand off Pistol’s waist to punch him gently on the shoulder. She could almost feel the grin in his body.

  As they moved farther away from town, houses grew increasingly intermittent. What she saw instead were patches of scrub catching moonlight; tall cacti casting shadows to her left and right. Rocky hills off in the distance, turned purple by twilight.

  She wasn’t sure how long they rode, but her butt was numb by the time Pistol pulled off the road and drove them to a patch of land near the base of a plateau. He shut off the bike, and the sudden silence was overwhelming. Katrin could still hear the thundering of the engine, still feel the buzzing between her thighs. They took off their helmets. She dismounted after Pistol and staggered a few steps away, setting her helmet on the ground. He laughed as he put down the kickstand. “You’re walking a little bowlegged, Ms. Smith.”

  She felt a flash of sadness, so sudden it overwhelmed her. Her father had insisted she take Pistol’s last name, legally. No matter that even if she’d been marrying the man of his own volition, she’d have wanted to keep her last name. So technically, she was Ms. Wilson — Mrs. Wilson — but she appreciated Pistol respecting her wishes.

  Even though she sure as hell would have liked to be rid of her father’s name too, right about now. Still, Katrin Smith was who she’d always been, and who she’d always be.

  Maybe it’s just because he doesn’t want to acknowledge me as Mrs. Wilson. But still, I appreciate it.

  She was overthinking this. She grinned at him. “Shut up.”

  He left the bike and came over to her. She froze, unsure what to do now. The ride had made her hotter than ever, her panties wet, her lips hungering for his mouth to claim hers. But all he did was put his arm around her shoulders, and together they gazed up at the sky. The stars had come out in full force, glittering like diamonds, stretching as far as the eye could see. The bands of light at the horizon had faded, and they were there, the two of them, in the chilly twilight, surrounded by the kind of beauty she’d only ever been able to imagine.

  “My God,” she whispered.

  “Something else, right?”

  “Do you ever come out here alone? Without your brothers?” She was curious.

  He hesitated. “Sometimes. I’ve gotten used to riding with them, but I used to ride alone a lot. Sometimes just me and Deion go out.”

  Katrin thought guiltily of the ride he’d had planned with Deion, up through Three Sisters.

  He spread out the thick blanket. “C’mon. Don’t be shy.” He plopped down on the blanket on his butt, arms around his knees. Groaned a little. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  “Oh please. You’re…” She paused. “Oh, my God. How old are you?”

  He laughed. “Twenty-five.”

  “When’s your birthday?” She couldn’t believe she didn’t know. She remembered wondering several times early on, but then she’d reached a point where she was so freaked out by the whole situation that she hadn’t wondered anymore. Her father had handled all official paperwork concerning their wedding, and she couldn’t think of a single document she might have seen Pistol’s age or birthdate on.

  “April sixth.” He grinned up at her, his face pale in the moonlight. “Now you know my darkest secret.”

  She shook her head, stepping closer and taking a seat beside him. “There’s just so much we don’t know.” She wished she could explain to him how strange it felt.

  He placed an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll learn. We are learning. That’s what tonight’s for, right? To make up for the dates we didn’t have — the ones where we learned each other’s birthdays and favorite flavors of ice cream and the worst things we ever did as kids…”

  He was right. She shouldn’t let herself get so freaked out. They had time. And he’d told her about San Antonio. About his mom. About the guy he’d shot. That all had to count for something. It proved he trusted her.

  She still wasn’t sure how to feel about Pistol’s past. He was a violent man in some ways. But so gentle in others. Was the worst of that violence behind him? Or did he still fight? Still kill when necessary?

  Don’t think about it. Not tonight. Tonight, we’re thinking about better things.

  “What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?” she asked, stretching out on her back.


  He stretched out beside her. “Moose Tracks.”

  She laughed, the sound soaring up to the stars. “You really are an overgrown kid, you know?”

  “Ohh, Ms. Smith. Don’t make that mistake.” He walked his fingers up her leather jacket. “I’m all grown up. You can be sure.”

  She smacked his hand away playfully. “Perv.”

  He laughed. Kept walking his fingers up to her zipper. “This would be more fun if this—” he tugged the zipper down “—weren’t in our way.”

  He helped her out of her jacket. She leaned back with him, fitting her body to his, kissing him. Feeling his lips against her own, the way he tilted his head to find the perfect angle, so that they fit together like puzzle pieces. The strength that coursed through him even in the quietest moments.

  He rolled so he was propped on one elbow — not quite on top of her, but sheltering her with his warmth. When she looked up, she could see his eyes — dark, but glinting with moonlight. And beyond him, that sky rich with stars, the velvet blue silhouettes of cacti, the striations of sand and scrub. A whole universe that had been there long before them, and would continue long after they were gone. But for now, they were part of it, their hearts pumping as one, blood coursing hot through their veins, their gasps and soft moans carried away on the night breeze.

  Pistol took off his jacket. Then he unsnapped Katrin’s jeans.

  She lifted her hips so he could tug her jeans down. Stroked his thumb over the front of her lace panties, making her tremble.

  She already had sand in awkward places and they’d barely even gotten started, but she didn’t care. She wanted this. She lifted her hips again — an invitation.

  He fumbled in his pocket, eventually withdrawing a small foil packet. “I came prepared,” he said with a grin, leaning down to kiss her.

  “Mmm.” She smiled against his mouth. “Smart boy.”

  They made out for a few minutes — like teenagers, in love with the newness of each other, alive and free. Then Pistol eased her panties down. Ran his fingers gently through the wetness between her legs. Undid his own pants and put the condom on.

  The exhilaration of doing it outside, in the middle of the desert, was unlike anything Katrin had ever known. The breeze was a balm to her hot skin; the sensation of Pistol’s lips and teeth against her neck had never been so intense. The sight of the stars over his shoulder filled her with wonder and with wildness. She bucked under him, begging him, craving him more with every thrust.

  When at last they were both spent — gritty with sand, relaxed and boneless, their limbs tangled — Katrin took a moment for the blessing that did still exist in her screwed up life.

  She removed Pistol’s condom, intending to toss it inside. She was surprised by some fluid on her fingertips. Holding the condom up so that the moonlight caught it she saw that there was a split in the latex.

  Her heart stopped for a few seconds.

  She held the condom up further, trying to get a better look. Couldn’t tell for sure. She tossed it aside.

  What should she do? Should she tell Pistol? His eyes were closed, and he seemed oblivious, nearly asleep.

  After a moment, her breath slowly evened out. There was nothing they could do right this second. No guarantee that anything had even happened. The tear had been small — maybe even nonexistent. Maybe she hadn’t seen properly in the dark. Maybe the fluid had been hers.

  She said a silent prayer to any god that might exist to help her out here.

  I can’t have his baby.

  But what if I did? The thought kept sneaking in. She did want kids, just — maybe not right now. And not like this. Trapped in a loveless marriage, planning to go on the run…

  She glanced again at Pistol.How do I tell him? If I am pregnant, he’ll want me to get an abortion. I don’t want to have that conversation. Not when I might not even be pregnant.

  Pistol’s breathing had slowed and become soft snores. Gradually, she snuggled closer beside him, pulling her jacket over her and staring over his sleeping form at the stars beyond.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Katrin made another black X on the calendar with her Sharpie. There were five of those Xs in a row, looking ominous. Normally, she marked off the days of her period this way. But this month, she was marking off how many days late her period was.

  Five days.

  No. No, no.

  She couldn’t face this. Not right now, not with everything else she already had to worry about.

  No need to panic yet. Maybe you’re just late.

  That’s what she’d been telling herself for days, despite knowing that she’d always been regular.

  That night in the desert. The broken condom....

  What if she was actually pregnant with Pistol Wilson’s baby?

  What would she do?

  Abortion was out of the question. She believed firmly in the right to choose, but she also knew abortion wouldn’t be her personal choice. But she couldn’t imagine carrying a baby to term and then giving it up for adoption. One look at her child and she’d never be able to let go. She could raise the baby, but the idea of being a single parent was terrifying. She was alone in the world, had been dependent on her father’s money and now was only able to scrape up a few bucks here and there freelancing. If she had a kid, she could kiss nursing school goodbye for good. And what if her dad insisted on visiting rights? She shuddered.

  The only other possibility was Pistol raising the baby with her, which was a laughable. He hadn’t even wanted a wife, let alone a kid.

  “Of course I don’t want a baby.”

  Her throat and chest went tight. I don’t have any options here except to not be pregnant.

  But she was. No matter what foolish hope she wanted to cling to, she knew the truth.

  She changed from her pajama pants and oversized T-shirt into a fresh blouse and brown pencil skirt. Put on a pair of brown leather kitten heels. Did he hair up in a twist. Took one last look in the mirror and sighed. All right.

  Let’s do this.

  She got in the junker. Listened to it sputter to life. She rattled down the road, past the few neighbors on this long, mostly-deserted street. At the pharmacy, she bought a pregnancy test kit. Tried not to blush as the cashier — a pimply teenage boy, rang her up.

  She lingered for a while in town. Watched the people walking around downtown. Young men and women from the university. Parents and children. An elderly couple with ice cream cones.

  Her heart ached.

  Could that ever be her? Would she ever have the chance to grow old with somebody.

  She wished she could say she couldn’t picture it happening with Pistol, but the truth was…

  No, don’t even go there.

  It’s time to go home, Katrin.

  ###

  Pistol felt like shit. He’d had trouble sleeping last night. Part of it was that he’d kept waking up with his arms around Katrin and hers around him, thinking what a lucky bastard he was to have a woman like this in bed beside him. Not just in a physical sense — he’d meant what he’d said about Katrin being her mother’s daughter. Brave, intelligent, kind. But part of it was that whenever memories of his mother got dragged up, he slept like shit. He’s dreamed of being cold — of lying in bed shivering because the heat had been shut off. His mom had refused to pay the bill, using the money for drugs instead.

  He’d dreamed of pain — of the crack of a belt over his hipbone. The leather lashing around his upper arm.

  Bullshit.

  I don’t think about that anymore. I shouldn’t have fucking stayed as long as I did. That was just asking for it.

  Deion wasn’t at the auto shop. Pistol asked Emmett, one of the other workers, but Emmett said he didn’t know where Deion was. Pistol waited forty-five minutes, then texted.Where u at?

  Fifteen minutes later, Deion texted back.I’m ok just playing hooky. See you at the club meeting tonight.

  Pistol slipped his phone back in his pocket. This was
strange. For the first time in memory, Pistol wasn’t looking forward to a club meeting. Things were only getting shadier with the club. Sure, Pistol was enjoying the extra profits. And the missions the Blackened Souls were being sent on weren’t particularly difficult or dangerous, but Pistol couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom.

  He finished his shift at five fifteen, called goodbye to Emmett, and rode over to the clubhouse.