Outlaw's Kiss

by Nicole Snow

  I wanted it to be easy with him. Just once. I wanted to treat him like one of them, an easy target for my hatred, my pain, my will to survive.

  Brass parked the Harley next to the apartment and switched it off. Quickly climbing off, he faced me, ripping off my helmet before I could work off the strap myself.

  “Fucking shit, babe. I thought you were gonna tear a hole in my guts the whole ride here. What's eating you?”

  I turned away. The painful lump in my throat made it impossible to speak – not without crying, anyway.

  “Don't do this, Missy,” he growled, throwing one strong hand on my shoulder. “I need you to either keep it together or let me know what the fuck's going on so I can fix it. If you're upset about Serial, I'll break his fucking nose next time I see him. Brother or no, I'm not gonna let that psycho fuckwit shit all over my old –“

  “Don't say it!” I snapped.

  He tried to hold on, but I was too quick and his grip too tentative. I ripped myself away, climbing off the bike, throwing my hands into my pockets for the apartment's keys.

  He knew better than to follow me inside when I was this upset. Jackie was locked in her room, refusing to respond every time I knocked. I left her a thick sandwich I threw together and a tall water bottle outside her door.

  Then I cleaned up and turned in. The stink of cleaner and old smoke came off easy enough, but the putrid reek of bad luck didn't. Practically scrubbed my skin raw, wishing I could wipe away every trace of evil.

  But it wasn't all on the outside, was it? Of course not, because that would be too convenient.

  The real problem was the corruption inside me, the way Brass had gotten underneath my skin. I had my chance to kill him for Jackie's sake, and I knew there'd be more. Maybe there'd be a dozen chances, and I'd pass them all up, wouldn't I?

  All because I didn't have a clue how to relate to this asshole who should've disgusted me just as much as Serial.

  It was fucking sick. And so was I. My pussy betrayed me every time I got close to him, tingling while my nipples hardened, begging to be fucked by King Asshole.

  Unfortunately, this asshole saved us. He'd delayed our doom while he continued to drag me back to his sick brothers every fucking day. He was the last little thread that held me together, kept me from lashing out, doing something stupid and getting us all killed.

  I shouldn't care. Much less about him. Nothing should've mattered except freeing my sister, even if it cost me my own life.

  And I shouldn't have the kinda thoughts I did while riding this bike, imagining what it would be like to run my hands on his stomach without leather and denim between his skin and mine. I shouldn't sweat and shake when his green eyes bathed me in his teal fire, wondering what his glare would look like only inches apart, watching me as I lost my mind on his cock.

  Stockholm Syndrome. Wasn't that what they called it when a woman starts admiring her captor? What the hell did they call it when she was way past admiring, aching to run her tongue down his chest, and then even lower?

  I wasn't sure, but I sank a little more into its one-way grasp every minute I was around him, and that scared the shit out of me.

  God, I had a better idea how to handle my slave work with the Grizzlies and the dead eyed killers milling around the clubhouse. Serial's evil words hurt, but they didn't leave me confused, wrecked, disembodied. The hatred between us was a clear wall, keeping him away from my world, and me out of his as long as I watched my step.

  I didn't have that luxury in my own fucking home, if I wanted to call this apartment that. I didn't have anything – much less my sanity – while I was forced to live here with him.

  No protection. No safety. Not even the comfort black and white hate provided.

  I never heard him come home, as usual. Whenever he finally dragged himself in and crashed on the sofa, I was already long asleep, my red eyes spinning in their nightmares after crying me to sleep.

  IV: Cruel Charade (Brass)

  I ripped circles through Redding half the fucking night on my bike, feeling the spots on my stomach where her nails almost tore through my clothes.

  Why couldn't anything be easy with this girl? Why the fuck couldn't I catch a goddamned break just one time?

  I thought my ship was sliding into happy harbor that morning, when she'd settled the hell down, agreeing to work on the one and only path that might set us all free. Then Serial had to stick his fucked up nose into it.

  Shit! I should've rode straight to the clubhouse, kicked down the door, and pummeled his ugly face 'til it shattered. Too bad the asshole was the best shot this club had, and the Prez made it crystal fucking clear we'd need a good sniper on the roof if the cartel ever got the balls to attack our clubhouse.

  Didn't stop me from wanting to beat him raw. It'd be satisfying for the first sixty seconds, before all the brothers descended on me, beating my ass to death before they dragged the girls away to the warehouse to be slaughtered like animals.

  I hadn't been so frustrated since sitting through sis' wedding reception, surrounded by Prairie Pussies. I'd kept it together in Reno without taking a hit. But fuck, my whole body ached for one right now.

  At least shooting smack up my veins would've cut my fuming body a break. I couldn't lose the hard-on turning my cock to steel no matter how many miles I rode, fighting to push Missy outta my mind like a madman stuck on OCD.

  How fucked up was I for wanting her to scratch through my clothes on that tense ride home? If she would've gone at it a little harder, a little lower, I would've parked the bike on the side of the road and thrown her to the ground.

  Tossing her to the earth and ripping off her pants sounded better than a shot of pure fucking heaven right about now. What I wouldn't give to feel her, fuck her, mark her with my teeth...I hadn't even given her a proper brand yet.

  No, she wasn't really my old lady, but damn if I didn't want to make her fuck like one.

  Just the thought of claiming that pussy as mine, stuffing her up to the hilt with my big dick, was the match that lit me on fire. I raced down the highway like an asshole who'd had one too many, weaving in and out the empty lanes, pushing my engine to its limits.

  The cold wind couldn't do shit to calm me down. Nothing would. Nothing except ripping her panties off with my bare hands and sinking into that hot, pink, arrogant slit, fisting her hair and grinding my teeth while I fucked her to the earth's core.

  Didn't she understand her life and death was in my fucking hands? Christ, I wanted to drive it home, drive it deep, drive it hard and rough 'til she lost control and gushed all over my dick.

  If she was gonna keep screaming and snarling in my face, then I wanted to give her a damned good reason to.

  My balls were still on fire on the way back, hoping enough time had passed to put her down for the night so I could collapse on the couch like a zombie. I was afraid for what I'd do if I saw her again in this state.

  My hands and my cock were done listening to my head for the night. They wanted to send a message one way or another, something she'd never forget, something to tell her this old lady shit wasn't a fucking game.

  I stopped off at the liquor store for a six pack and barreled back to the apartment. Place was mercifully empty when I got inside. I chugged the brews fast, letting cheap carbonation and alcohol burn my throat, waiting 'til the booze punched me in the stomach and put me down for the night.

  I never asked for any of this shit. I was coming apart a little more day by day, caught between my club and this beautiful chick with the bratty sister, without any room for mistakes that would end in us being buried together.

  At some point, I passed out, wondering if I'd wake up and find out it was all a bad dream. But then, I would've had to wake up about five years earlier, about the time my life went to shit.

  Missy wouldn't even talk to me the next day. We rode to the clubhouse in stone cold silence for another fun filled day ahead. I'd be hearing about the latest cartel raids while she worked her ass of
f trying to clean this shithole up and earn the brothers' trust.

  I kept an eye out for her in between checking in with Blackjack and Crack. It was no small relief to have them riding my ass about cartel business instead of the girls.

  Blackjack was in the garage, probably on his tenth smoke that morning. “Three shipments hit last night on the run to San Diego. Fucked beyond all recognition. That's it, boys. The club won't be making any more hops too close to the border 'til we're confident we own the roads south again.”

  “Fuck!” Crack smashed his fists together. “Did you tell the Prez yet?”

  “Nope.” Blackjack winked. “That's your job, VP. Don't need to tell you morale's in the shitter too. If Fang finds out, he'll blow the fucking roof off and cancel Lipstick Night tomorrow. And that's if he doesn't send our asses charging into Mexico to get cut to pieces.”

  The VP growled, giving me the evil eye. “This is all your bitch's dead daddy's fault, Brass. I fucked up letting you haul those cunts outta here, I swear to fucking God...”

  He stepped up. Crack was a total hothead, always waving his dick, remembering the days when he used to be the Prez in Redding before Fang spoiled his fun. I didn't move a muscle, bowing up 'til I was at least a good inch taller than the VP.

  “It's not their fault,” I said coldly. “Cancer man was the rat. You've got nothing to the contrary because it doesn't fucking exist. With all due respect, you gotta let this go, Veep. I'll keep them outta our hair, make sure they never talk. Shit, if anybody could bring the dead man back to life and put a bullet in his skull for the shit he's done to this club, I'd be the first in line.”

  An obvious lie. I didn't know what the hell to do with anything involving Missy anymore. She made my dick throb in my pants so fucking hard it sucked the blood outta my head. Too hard to think. Maybe so damned hard it pulled the blinders off too, because I was really starting to wonder about the moves my brothers were making.

  And doubting my own fucking club was never a good thing.

  Crack eased back a single step. He still looked like he was ready to wheel around and send his fist into my jaw anytime. I scraped my boot on the concrete, looking at Rabid next to me.

  “The boy's right,” Blackjack said, pushing his big beefy body between the Veep and I. “You wanna punch someone in the mouth, I'm right here. It was my call to give the girls a chance instead of burying them. I don't regret making it – especially not when he made such a convincing show out of claiming the older one. Tell me, Brass. Was it worth it, son? You managed to fuck some respect into that pussy yet, or is she still icing down your nuts?”

  Rabid coughed, suppressing a laugh. I looked at the ground and refused to answer the old man. Blackjack was a fuck, but he stuck up for me in his own way, diffusing a situation that easily could've gone sour with the Veep.

  Crack was halfway across the garage and almost in the clubhouse when he spun around, pointing at the three of us. “Don't breathe a word about the raid for a couple days. I'll tell the Prez then. No fucking way am I gonna be the asshole who spills his guts and gets Lipstick Night canceled.”

  The door slammed behind him. I waited a few seconds, ready to go in after him, but Blackjack reached out and stopped me with a tight squeeze to my forearm.

  “Easy, boy. You've been on edge since the night we brought those strays in. Don't let her get to you unless you really mean to make an old lady out of her.” He held my gaze, looking more wizardly than ever with his hair flapping on his cut. “Your choice. If you're not gonna take this thing all the way, then drop the fucking show and have some fun tomorrow. Fuck. Drink. Be merry. Life's shorter than we know.”

  What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? It was like he'd given a voice to the whirlwind inside me, beating everything I thought I knew before Missy to tatters. Blackjack tightened his grip – hard enough to pinch my muscles – and then let go all at once.

  Rabid followed me inside and we hit the bar together. Suzy the bartender was standing there, a cigarette in her mouth and a blank expression on her face as she watched the TV. The woman was in her late forties, an old lady transplant from Sacramento, property of a dude named Toss. She'd taken on the bartender roll out of boredom, with nothing better to do since Fang ordered everybody and their families north.

  Rabid asked for his usual and got a tall glass of whiskey mixed with ginger ale. I never figured out how many shots were in that fucker, but he definitely wouldn't be riding anytime soon.

  “What about you?” Suzy asked, her thin lips pulled in a smile.

  I shook my head. “Gotta leave with my girl soon. We got family business to take care of with her little sis.”

  Rabid laughed and hit the counter. “You gotta be shitting me. You, Brass, a family man? Since fucking when?”

  “Since I decided I didn't want to end up in the shed with the Mauler if these girls fucked us over. I gotta keep 'em happy and outta trouble too.”

  “Come on, man. One fucking beer. Shit, when you showed up here, you went on runs with something a lot more potent than Jack flowing in your veins.”

  Ignoring the grim reminder, I looked at Suzy and ordered a tall one, then took my seat next to Rabid. Fucker was the only brother in this place except Blackjack who'd get away with talking about my sins without a fist to the face.

  “Those days are behind me, and you know it. I'm staying clean for the club. This fucking shit with the cartel's getting serious. We slack off drunk too many nights with our hands on our dicks, we'll all wake up one day burned to a crisp, or else having our heads chopped off.”

  Rabid laughed, making a goofy ass line across his neck with one finger. Just my luck that I related to this club's lame fucking joker best, while all the more serious brothers were so dark and mercenary they made me want to rip their heads off and do the world a favor.

  “It's almost like you care,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he sipped his drink. “What's going on, Brass? You trying to undo the shit with your own family looking after these chicks?”

  My hand balled in a fist. Okay, I definitely would've laid his ass out if he were anyone but Rabid. I settled for twisting the seat and stabbing my finger into his chest, holding it there while I told him exactly what the fuck was going on.

  “I don't owe anybody shit for what happened. The guys I thought were my brothers turned on me. Killed my Ma and almost murdered Shelly too...I blame that shit on the smack. I was too fucked up to know any better 'til it was almost too late.” It felt like smoke was hissing through my teeth. “I'll never make that mistake again. Long as I stay clean, I stay clear headed. I'm not trying to undo fuck ups and oversights that happened in Montana. I'm trying my damnedest to make sure they don't go down here, and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop sticking your dick where it doesn't belong. Save that shit for the redhead you've been railing all week.”

  Until the last part, he'd been flexed, ready to give me a rough shove if I didn't lay off his ass. Then, he just smiled. Probably thinking about the fire crotch burning up his cock. Typical Rabid.

  “Whatever, dude. Blackjack's right. I hope you're not so stuck on bad memories you can't loosen up and have some fun tomorrow. I know I'm gonna do it with Red. All fucking night.”

  I snorted, pausing to drain half my beer. “Red, huh? Is that really her name?”

  “I call 'em like I see 'em. This baby girl was so new I got to her first and gave her something simple. Classy. Sounds a lot better than Vacuum Lips or Twinkie or some shit, right?”

  Fuck if that didn't make me smile for a second. I wasn't even offended he'd insulted my old whore. Of course, it also made me think about Missy's lips wrapped around my cock, pretty and perfect, lined up with my lust where they were always mean to be.

  Twinkie didn't have shit on her tits, her eyes, her awesome ass.

  And Red didn't have a single shade of pink on my girl either. On the other hand, Rabid didn't have his slut turning his balls ocean blue every goddamned day with her prancing around him, lash
ing him with a tongue he wanted to hold down and bite, never putting out.

  No, that was all down to my shit luck. My stupidity. Didn't doubt that I was the only biker in the world who'd been dumb enough to take an old lady he hadn't even fucked.

  “Brass? I'm all done.”

  I heard her voice just as I was draining my beer. Rabid spun with me, tilting his head, wearing amusement on his face as he gawked like a fool.

  “Then let's go home. My business here is done today.” I threw my leather coat on over my cut and walked her out.

  “Don't forget the party, brother!” Rabid yelled after me. “Gonna take a whole lotta cleaning to sweep that dirty night under the rug.”

  If I'd have turned around, I was a hundred percent sure I would've seen his shitty grin again. It was easy to be all smiles when all you had to do between getting your dick sucked and fucked was watching out for a cartel hit.

  She didn't say much the second evening either. We got to the apartment just as the young redhead with glasses was finishing up with Jackie at the computer. She'd put my money to good use hiring this chick named Christa to tutor the kid.

  I eyeballed the woman. This hipster girl was who she'd picked? Teachers were supposed to be older and wiser, but fuck if I was gonna make a fuss over it.

  Missy walked her into the kitchen and they settled on their fees before the chick with the sexy librarian look left. I fucking hated myself for thinking anything at all. She was really Rabid's type more than mine, but my balls were so blue by now it was no fucking joke.

  Sure, I snuck peeks at other chicks, especially when the club sluts batted their eyes at me in the clubhouse halls. But ever since Missy landed in my lap, an ice sculpture with a hot chick's body, I was losing my mind. Losing my manhood too.

  I could look, but there was no fucking way my cock would be satisfied with anything less than her.

  Rabid's Red and the equally fire haired teacher got my heart going, but they were tepid hags compared to the brunette slaving away under my watch. Night time was the worst. Thinking about how the hell I was gonna pass out on the sofa without marching to her room and shoving my dick between Missy's legs already hurt.