Never Wed an Outlaw: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love)

by Nicole Snow

  “Ow! Just because she says nothing's broken doesn't mean I don't have some scrapes and bruises.”

  He loosened his grip. “Whatever. They can't be half as bad as the damage growing on your soul. I'm fixing to undo a little of that tonight.”

  “What are you talking about?'

  Firefly flashed me a sharp look, lifted his free hand, and pressed a finger against those big, rough lips surrounded by his stubble. “Quiet, babe. You'll find out soon enough.”

  Ass. Naturally, I thought about those lips doing dirty, unspeakable things the entire time we were on his bike, riding through Knoxville.

  My hands didn't want to press too tightly to his rock hard abs while we rode. This, right here, was starting to feel very dangerous.

  If I let myself hold onto him the way I really wanted, if I threw common sense to the wolves, then I'd come closer to the awful fantasies about his rough hands, his lips, his muscles, and his piney masculine scent.

  I wasn't stupid. Any girl who came too close to this man for her own good was bound to get burned.

  That wouldn't happen to me. I wouldn't let myself become the latest tinder to be stamped out the morning after I let him have his way.

  “Damn, I should've brought a fucking blindfold. Would've made this shit a lot more fun.” His cryptic words kept coming as we parked in front of a cozy looking building.

  I bit my tongue to keep myself from imagining all the things a bastard like him could do alone with just a girl and a blindfold. He grabbed me, helped me off his bike, and led me toward the door, fishing a key from his pocket for the main entrance.

  “Third floor's where we're at. Shame I couldn't get anything lower, but fuck, the view makes up for it.”

  My heart began pounding as he led me up some stylish steps, my hand in his.

  We stopped in front of a dark wooden door and I watched him change keys on the ring. One push, and we were inside it, standing in an apartment with spartan décor and nice wood finishes. It smelled piney, almost like a lodge.

  “Here, darlin'. Catch.” Firefly barely gave me a second to turn around before he threw the keys he'd been holding.

  My hand darted out. I grabbed them before they hit the floor. “What...what is this?”

  He snorted. “What the fuck does it look like, babe? This is your new place. Assuming you wanna cool your heels somewhere else that isn't my bed at night, anyway.”

  His cocky smile said anything involving me and his bed would've been just fine. Holy crap, that reminded me...

  I quickly walked through the apartment, a nice single bedroom unit. Kitchen couldn't have been more than ten years out of date, and it seemed fully furnished – everything except a TV.

  In the bedroom, there was a dresser next to a brand new bed, a big furry blanket with an outline of a black bear thrown over it.

  “The blanket's a loaner,” he said, walking up behind me. “That shit's been in my family for years, but it'll do 'til we can figure something else out. Can't guarantee how long you'll be here, or how long you'll want to be. If trouble comes to town looking for you, then the Prez'll want us to move, and I can't do shit about it.”

  We locked eyes. I nodded, understanding the strict terms attached. Hell, for a place this nice – my place – I'd have put my lips all over him.

  I let out a sigh, desperate not to let him see it. Jesus. The hot spot forming between my legs told me that wasn't just a torturous hypothetical.

  “You follow me, right, darlin'?” The intense look on his face that said he could've eaten me alive didn't help cool the heat one bit.

  I nodded, tilting my face toward the shadowy bedroom, hoping it would hide the flush blossoming on my cheeks. “Yeah. Everything's real tentative, I get it. Any other rules I should know about?”

  “You check in with me twice a day. I'll still be driving you to the Heel and back to make sure nothing crazy happens. You got any other big plans to go out, I'm the first one you tell. Remember, same shit the Prez told you holds true 'til this shit blows over – no contact with anybody you knew before the club. Can't have your friends asking any weird questions or dragging you out for drinks when the mean motherfuckers we're worried about could show up any time.”

  “Do I ever get to find out who I should be looking for behind my back?”

  He hesitated. “Only when it's over, or when the Prez says so. For now, you see anything that says Torches, you run. Move your ass, and then pick up the phone, stat. Same goes for any guys sniffing around you, acting all suspicious.”

  “Got it.”

  “I meant what I said back there,” he growled, grabbing me and pulling me close to his chest. “You're a smart girl, Cora. You play by the rules we've set, and everything'll be just fine. We'll get through this. You'll never have to be up close and personal with yours truly ever again.”

  Oh, God. Why did that sound so horrible?

  The ache between my legs doubled. I gave him a quick squeeze and then tore myself away, before he could find out how badly I wanted to find out where those dark stripes going up his arms went.

  “I won't forget this, Firefly. You're...you're a good guy. I think.” It sounded so stupid, but there wasn't any other way to say it.

  He smiled, ran his fingers through my hair, and then pulled away from me, heading for the door. “You've got drinks, plus a few more wraps and salads in the fridge. Get yourself a fucking pizza or something. I'd have torn my balls off by now if I had your diet, eating the same fat free bullshit all the time.”

  I was still laughing as the door opened. He disappeared, leaving me alone.

  Really, truly alone, for the first time since the awful evening when I'd come home to daddy's suicide.

  I closed my eyes, savoring the silence. At the clubhouse, there'd always been someone knocking around, laughing, swearing, or else smashing their empty bottle into a bin full of them. I couldn't count the times glass falling against glass had woken me up all those miserable hours.

  I didn't miss it. Nothing about the clubhouse appealed to me except the giant dog. Nothing.

  Except that wasn't strictly true, was it?

  Don't lie. There's no one here you need to hide it from.

  That voice in my head wasn't wrong. If I had to be honest, I was starting to miss him.

  Firefly chiseled a little piece of me away every time I climbed on his bike, held his hand, or looked into his crisp blue eyes. I fought to hold onto it, knowing I'd lost too much of myself to hell itself.

  But his tools were too precise, too powerful, too prone to smothering me in this insane schoolgirl crush coming on like a fever.

  How long before I stopped fighting? Good God!

  And if I caved, if I let my lips touch his some dark, wild night, when I'd left the sadness behind just long enough to take a risk, where would it take me?

  I couldn't handle another tragedy so soon. No more loss.

  No matter how deep he stabbed me with his beautiful eyes or the warmth of his rogue embrace, I had to keep it together. I had to keep fighting.

  I wouldn't. Couldn't. Didn't dare give in, or else it would be the end of me.

  This man had heart breaker written in his soul, and the second I gave him mine, he'd destroy what little I had left.

  5

  Rules of Engagement (Firefly)

  I blew the dummy's head clean off, shattering it like a rotten white pumpkin. Somewhere behind me, Joker's boy barked, halfway to the boom in a lion's roar.

  “Shit, bro, can't tell who's fucking louder – that mutt or Firefly's gun!” Sixty laughed, cleaning his rifle. I turned around and saw him staring at the Veep, not-so-patiently waiting for his turn in the little box we'd set up for target practice.

  Joker pulled his switchblade out of the stump he'd been carving, his eyes blazing on Sixty. “You call my purebred a mutt again, and I'll find somewhere else to sharpen my blade.”

  Crazy motherfucker had a look in his eyes like he meant it too. Sixty put his hands up, a shaky gr
in on his face.

  “Aw, hell, Veep. You know I didn't mean it. Maybe if he'd got himself a name by now, I wouldn't be having to grasp at shit to call him.”

  “Name's Bingo,” Joker growled. Behind him, the big dog puffed up, and let out a loud yip.

  “Bingo?” I asked, turning around. Sixty rubbed a slow hand across his face, no doubt suppressing a laugh.

  “Grandpa's choice. It fits. The old man spends enough time playing that shit at the home, and the dog took a real shine to him.” Joker stuffed his blade back in his pocket and crouched, stroking the wolfhound's massive head.

  “What about you, brother? Has that stray we brought in got herself a new name yet from working at the Heel?” Sixty grinned.

  I wanted to march right over and wipe that dirty fucking look off his face. “Fuck, no. Told you before, she's not taking her clothes off. She's helping Meg.”

  “Yeah, well, you know how the culture is. Girl's always end up doing more than they bargained for the longer they deal with skanks and a buncha horny drunks. Money's money, and it starts to get real sweet. 'Specially those nice girls – they act out the most when they get a sniff of their first dick, or maybe just their first dollar...”

  Club charter said you never pointed a weapon at a brother without a damned good reason. Right now, I had to fight with everything I had to keep my gun trained on the ground.

  “Today's your lucky day, brother. You're getting one good break you don't deserve. I'm gonna give you one chance to get up, apologize, and walk the fuck away before I break your jaw.” I took several heavy steps toward him, watching the little shit's goatee twitch.

  “Skin would've done it by now, if you'd shat on his old lady as much as you did my girl. You're so damned stupid, you're wrong. These girls aren't dumb fucking sluts – not like the pussy you've got warming your dick every other night.”

  With a dark look, Sixty stood, clicking the last piece of his rifle into place. He walked inside cradling it without looking back, slinking off to find a bottle and one of his best drinking mates like Crawl.

  Joker looked at me, still stroking Bingo. I cocked my head and spoke through clenched teeth.

  “What? Brother needs to learn when to shut the fuck up. He's always been bad about running his mouth, leading himself into trouble he oughta know full well to stay the hell away from.”

  “He ain't the only one.”

  Ah, shit. Now I'm gonna get a lecture from Mister Crazy Eyes? I thought. Where the fuck did I sign up for this shit?

  “You wanna elaborate?” I growled, standing back and lifting my gun. I aimed at the last dummy I hadn't blown to smithereens, its paint chipping off, giving it one ugly looking face.

  We'd gotten ourselves a small army of the damned things from a junk run for bike parts a couple months ago. All the boys used 'em for target practice now.

  “Sixty's better with his face buried in a bottle. So are you, brother,” Joker said, his voice a low, guttural whisper. “You're calling her your girl. You're getting too attached. Prez told me he warned you. Doesn't look like you're listening.”

  My gun barked. Shit.

  My shot only grazed the dummy, took half its face off, and left the other half staring at us in an even more fucked up, creepy way than it had been before.

  “That's my biz, Veep. Nobody else's. I'm man enough to keep my dick from dragging with a mind of its own. What happens between me and Cora, that'll stay behind closed doors. Won't ever become a problem for the club.”

  “Bullshit!” Joker spat, wiping his blade on one thigh. “You ignore Dust's advice, point blank and stupid, it becomes his problem. That makes it the club's, too.”

  We shared a long, tense look. Between us, the big, hairy wolfhound looked confused, wondering why two men who shared the patch were suddenly at each other's throats.

  Too bad that'd been the norm half the time in this club. Scarce coin and pussy turned men on each other, but we always rallied before the big dogs from outside came in and tore us apart.

  Didn't doubt for a second every man who called me brother would take a bullet to save my ass, and I'd do the same for them. We had our disagreements. Big and small and completely fucked up.

  But we always rallied. Always. And I told myself I wouldn't let any pussy come between it – even though Joker's words pissed me right off.

  I didn't get it. His concerns were bullshit.

  Who cares what the fuck happens between me and Cora? He's acting like it'd be any different than all the other times, like when Skin got the whole club behind the whore he rescued.

  I looked at him, watching as he cleaned his blade, the only thing he seemed to care about besides club duty and that damned dog.

  “Brother, you know I've always put this club first, second, and third. You think that shit'll stop because I'm chasing some skirt the Prez doesn't like me going after, you're wrong. Wrong as fuck.” I kicked the empty shell casing on the ground with my boot. “Go ahead and squawk about how I'm after his best friend's daughter. Rat me out to Dust. I don't give a shit. By the time he gets my dick beneath his blade, it'll have been up inside her, and then I'll be done having anything to do with her. I'm gonna fuck this shit outta my system, and then none of us'll have any more distractions.”

  “I'm no rat,” Joker growled, holding up his blade to study it. He laid his hand down flat on the old stump, his dog at his side, and spread his fingers.

  Great. I turned away in disgust. He couldn't help giving everybody around him a freakshow, ready to risk his fingers again on his ritual, his trademark, stabbing down into the empty spaces on the wood.

  “Prez'll find out sooner or later, whatever the fuck you do. Whatever, ain't my problem. Last time I try to save myself some grief before I gotta find a new Enforcer.”

  “Save it. I'm not a fucking fool,” I snapped. “I'm not going anywhere.”

  “Truth is, we're all fools here, brother,” he said, slowing the thrusts of the knife between his fingers. “I'm not just telling you this shit because I make whatever Prez says law. Just don't want to see you fucked over.”

  We shared a long, tense look before he spoke again.

  “Go away, Firefly. Get away from her. Go back to pumping iron, boozing, and fucking bitches you won't remember. That's the kinda fool this club needs – anything different is gonna make you dangerous, make you stupid, and weaken us all.”

  Fuck him. I'd run outta shit to say.

  I walked, slinging my shotgun over my shoulder and heading into the clubhouse. The dog whined behind me, drowned out by the steady, quicker thump-thump-thump of the crazy Veep's blade on wood. One day, the psycho would take a finger off doing that shit.

  Today, it made him feel alive, just about the only thing that ever brought a spark to his eyes and adrenaline into his blood.

  Bastard was right about one thing – every man wearing this patch was reckless in one way or another. Up until today, I'd have sworn he was the only fucker here who was certifiably insane.

  But as I headed for the weight room we'd set up for a workout, I had to wonder. Veep's words made too much sense. And that made me want to kick holes in the wall.

  My brain, my body, my whole fucking system couldn't un-see it. All my weaknesses, the chinks in the armor I'd forged for more than a decade in the trenches.

  Shit stuck to my head, and wouldn't fucking leave. Not even when I had my shirt off thirty minutes later, finishing my tenth set of reps with a couple hundred pounds hanging over my head, sweat pouring down me in rivulets.

  The girl was fucking me as bad as I wanted to fuck her – maybe worse.

  I told myself I'd be done with it as soon as I finally had her. Shoving my cock in the pink and feeling them shake and scream always cured me before. Soon as my seed was dumped and the fire in my nerves got doused, I moved on, never looking back.

  Same damned thing had to happen here. Even if she carried a little more risk because the Prez was soft on her outta some bullshit obligation I didn't under
stand.

  I'd own her, dump her, and move the hell on.

  Fuck, I had to.

  If I started feeling more for this woman than just the urge to lose myself in her tight, untamed cunt, then all the crazy shit Joker warned about was on the table. And if it got to that point, I had an ugly feeling I'd wind up even crazier than him, blind to everything I'd ever worked for by pussy doing its voodoo magic.

  “Goddamn.” I sat up and swore.

  Lifting usually calmed my ass down, but today, it wasn't doing shit. I toweled off and fought the urge to rush the punching bag, sweat myself stupid 'til I passed out by throwing punch after punch at the sleek, black leather.

  I settled for five more reps, increasing the weight 'til it took my whole body to stop my biceps from popping outta my skin. I grit my teeth 'til they nearly shattered and counted out each blinding, heavy load I pressed.

  One. That was for the first day I saw her, the wounded little dove, sexy and sassy on the darkest day of her life.

  Two, three. That was forgetting to wash my pillows, breathing in her scent all night, and waking up with my dick so swollen and hard I could've used it to bust concrete.

  Four. That was for threatening to spank her, imaging how she'd squirm, scream, and squeak when my palm crashed against her skin. She'd probably come when I tanned her ass without me even touching her clit, and then I'd lose my fucking load in my pants. Fuck.

  Five. Those goo-goo eyes she made at me last night, when I gave her the apartment. Couldn't stop imagining those ocean blue eyes staring up at me while her lips were wrapped around my cock, sucking me off like she needed my seed in her belly to stay sane.

  “Fuck!” Snarling, I pushed the barbell overhead one more time, barely shoving it back into place before it smashed my ribs.

  Every damned muscle in my body died, save one. My hungry, crazy dick stood up in my shorts like a missile ready to fly.

  I had to stamp this girl outta my head, sooner or later. There were only two ways to do that – fuck her, or level with her.

  Option A would've been a whole lot more fun.