Never Have an Outlaw's Baby: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love)

by Snow, Nicole

  Had to cover my mouth to stifle the insane laughter tearing at my lungs. I couldn't let Jackie hear me and come running downstairs. If I was all alone, I would've laughed like a psycho, mad with the unexpected light streaking to life in our darkness.

  Jesus, I barely knew how to handle the mystery fortune myself, let alone involve my little sis. I collapsed on the floor, feeling hot tears running down my cheeks. The stupid grin pulling at my face lingered.

  Somehow, someway, he'd done it. Daddy had really done it.

  He'd left us everything we'd need to survive. Hell, all we'd need to thrive. Feeling the cool million crunching underneath my jeans like leaves proved it.

  “Shit!” I swore, realizing I was rolling around in the money like a demented celebrity.

  Panicking, I kicked my legs, careful to check every nook around me for anything I'd kicked away in shock. When I saw it was all there, I grabbed an old laundry basket and started piling the stacks in it. I pulled one out and took off the rubber band. Rifling my fingers through several fistfuls of cash told me everything was separated in neat bundles of twenty-five hundred dollars.

  I piled them in, feverishly counting. I had to stop around the half million mark. There was at least double that on the floor. Eventually, I'd settle down and inventory it to the dime, but for now I was looking at somewhere between one to two million, easy.

  It was magnitudes greater than anything this family had seen in its best years, before everything went to shit. I smoothed my fingers over my face, loving the unmistakable money scent clinging to my hands.

  No shock – sweet freedom smelled exactly like cold hard cash.

  An hour later, I'd stuffed it into an old black suitcase, something discreet I could keep with me. My stomach gurgled. One burden lifted, and another one landed on my shoulders.

  I wasn't stupid. I'd heard plenty about what daddy did for the Redding PD's investigations to know spending too much mystery money at once brought serious consequences. Wherever this money came from, it sure as hell wasn't clean.

  I'd have to keep one eye glued to the cash for...months? Years?

  Shit. Grim responsibility burned in my brain, and it made my bones hurt like they were locked in quicksand. Dirty money wasn't easy to spend.

  I'd have to risk a few bigger chunks up front on groceries, a tune-up for our ancient Ford LTD, and then a down payment on a new place for Jackie and I.

  It wouldn't buy us a luxury condo – not if we wanted to save ourselves a Federal investigation. But this cash was plenty to make a greedy landlord's eyes light up and take a few months' worth of rent without any uncomfortable questions. It was more than enough to give us food plus a roof over our heads while I figured out the rest.

  Survival was still the name of the game, even if it had gotten unexpectedly easier.

  Once our needs were secure, then I could figure out the rest. Maybe I'd find a way to finagle my way back into school so I could finish the accounting program I'd been forced to drop when dad's cancer went terminal.

  It felt like hours passed while I finished filling up the suitcase and triple checked the basement for runaway money. When I was finally satisfied I'd secured everything, I grabbed the suitcases and marched upstairs, turning out the light behind me. I switched off the TV and headed straight for bed.

  I sighed, knowing I was in for a long, restless night, even with the miracle cash safe beneath my bed. Or maybe because of it.

  I couldn't tell if my heart or my head was more drained. They'd both been absolutely ripped out and shot to the moon these past two weeks.

  I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. Tomorrow, I'd be hunting for a brand new place instead of a job while Jackie caught up on schoolwork. That happy fact alone should've made it easier to sleep.

  But nothing about this was simple or joyful. It wasn't a lottery win.

  Dwelling on the gaping canyon left in our lives by both our dead parents was a constant brutal temptation, especially when it was dark, cold, and quiet. So was avoiding the question that kept boiling in my head – how had he gotten it?

  What the fuck had daddy done to make this much money from nothing? Life insurance payouts and stock dividends didn't get dropped off in mysterious packages downstairs.

  He'd asked for forgiveness before his body gave out. My lips trembled and I pinched my eyes shut, praying he hadn't done something terrible – not directly, anyway. He was too sick for too long to kill anyone. He'd been off the force for a few years too.

  I lost minutes – maybe hours – thinking about how he'd earned the dirty little secret underneath my bed. Whatever he'd done, it was bad. But at the end of the day, how much did I care?

  And no matter how much blood the cash was soaked in, we needed it. I wasn't about to latch onto fantasy ethics and flush his dying legacy down the toilet. Blood money or not, we needed it. No fucking way was I going to burn the one thing that would keep us fed, clothed, sheltered, and sane.

  Jackie never had to know where our miracle came from. Neither did I. Maybe years from now I'd have time for soul searching, time to worry about what kind of sick sins I'd branded onto my conscience by profiting off this freak inheritance.

  Fretting about murder and corruption right now wouldn't keep the state from taking Jackie away when we were homeless. I had to keep my mouth shut and my mind more closed than ever. I had to treat it like a lottery win I could never tell anyone about.

  Besides, it was all just temporary. I'd use the fortune to pay the rent and put food in our fridge until I finished school and got myself a job. Then I'd slowly feed the rest into something useful for Jackie's college – something that wouldn't get us busted.

  It must've been after three o'clock when I finally fell asleep. If only I had a crystal ball, or stayed awake just an hour or two longer.

  I would've seen the hurricane coming, the pitch black storm that always comes in when a girl takes the hand the devil's offered.

  * * *

  An earsplitting scream woke me first, but it was really the door slamming a second later that convinced me I wasn't dreaming.

  Jackie!

  I threw my blanket off and sat up, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. My hand slid across the smooth wood, and adrenaline dumped in my blood when I realized there was nothing there.

  Too dark. I didn't realize the stranger was standing right over me until I tried to bolt up, slamming into his vice-like grip instead. Before I could even scream, his hand was over my mouth. Scratchy stubble prickled my cheek as his lips parted against my ear.

  “Don't. You fucking scream, I'll have to put a bullet in your spine.” Cold metal pushed up beneath my shirt, a gun barrel, proof he wasn't making an empty threat.

  Not that I'd have doubted it. His tight, sinister embrace stayed locked around my waist as he turned me around and nudged his legs against mine, forcing me to move toward the hall.

  “Just go where I tell you, and this'll all be over nice and quick. Nobody has to get hurt.”

  I listened. When we got to the basement door, he flung it open and lightened his grip, knowing it was a one way trip downstairs with no hope for escape.

  Jackie was already down there against the wall, and so were four more large, brutal men like the one who'd held me. I blinked when I got to the foot of the stairs and took in the bizarre scene. They all wore matching leather vests with GRIZZLIES MC, CALIFORNIA emblazoned up their sides and on their backs.

  I'd seen bikers traveling the roads for years, but never anything like these guys. Their jackets looked a lot like the ones veterans wore when they went out riding, but the symbols were all different. Bloody, strange, and very dangerous looking.

  The men themselves matched the snarling bears on their leather. Four of them were younger, tattooed, spanning the spectrum from lean and wiry to pure muscle. The guy who'd walked me down the stairs moved where I could see him. He might've been the youngest, but I wasn't really sure.

  Scary didn't begin to describe him. He looked at
me with his arms folded, piercing green eyes going right through my soul, set in a stern cold face. He exuded a strength and severity that only came naturally – a born badass. A predator completely fixed on me.

  An older man with long gray hair seemed to be in charge. He looked at the man holding my sister, another hard faced man with barbed wire ropes tattooed across his face. Jackie's eyes were bulging, shimmering like wide, frantic pools, pulling me in.

  I'm sorry, I hissed in my head, breaking eye contact. One more second and I might've lost it. The only thing worse than being down here at their mercy was showing them I was already weak, broken, helpless.

  They had my little sister, my whole world, everything I'd sworn to protect. No, this wasn't the time to freak out and cry. I had to keep it together if we were going to get out of this alive.

  “Well? Any sign of the haul upstairs, or do we need to make these bitches sing?” Gray hair reached into his pocket, retrieving a cigarette and a lighter, as casually as if he was at work on a smoke break.

  Shit, for all I knew, he probably was.

  “Nothing up there, Blackjack.” The man who'd taken me downstairs stepped forward, leaving the basement echoing with his smoky voice, older and more commanding than I'd expected. It hadn't just been the rough whisper flowing into my ear.

  “Fuck,” the psycho holding Jackie growled. “I like it the fun way, but I'm not a fan when these bitches scream. Makes my ears ring for days. Can't we gag these cunts first?”

  Nobody answered him. The older man narrowed his eyes, looking at his goon, taking a long pull on the cigarette. My head was spinning, making it feel like the ground had softened up, ready to suck me under and bury me alive.

  Oh, God. I knew this had to be about the mystery money the moment those rough hands went around me, but I hadn't really thought we were about to die until he said that.

  Gray hair turned to face me, scowling. “You heard the man, love. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I, for one, don't like spilling blood when there's no good reason, but some of the brothers feel differently. Now, we know your loot's not where it was supposed to be – found this shit all torn up myself.”

  Blowing his smoke, he pointed at the mess on the ground. I could've choked myself for being too stupid to clean up the mess earlier.

  “You've got it somewhere. It couldn't have gotten far,” he said, striding forward. “Look we both know me and my boys are gonna find it. Only question left is – are you gonna make this scavenger hunt easy-peasy-punkin-squeezy? Or are you gonna make all our fucking ears ring while we choke it out of you?”

  I didn't answer. My eyes floated above his shoulder, fixing on the man across from me, stoic green eyes.

  “Well?” The older asshole was getting impatient.

  Strange. If Green Eyes wasn't so busy hanging out with these creeps and taking hostages, he would've been handsome. No, downright sexy was a better word.

  My weeping, broken brain was still fixed on the stupid idea when Gray Hair grunted, pulled the light out of his mouth, and reached for my throat...

  GET OUTLAW'S KISS!

  Recklessly His

  A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

  Content copyright © Nicole Snow. All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America.

  First published in February, 2015.

  Disclaimer: The following ebook is a work of fiction. Any resemblance characters in this story may have to real people is only coincidental.

  Please respect this author's hard work! No section of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission. Exception for brief quotations used in reviews or promotions. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thanks!

  Description

  LOVE RECKLESSLY. WITHOUT MERCY, WITHOUT SENSE, BUT NEVER WITHOUT HEART...

  SABRINA

  He was supposed to be my big break – not my total breakdown. Interviewing Anton Ivankov, the infamous kingpin, was my chance to outrun my broken past. I came ready, determined, but nothing truly could've prepared me for him.

  Anton wasn't supposed to be so damned handsome. He wasn't supposed to have a heart. And he definitely wasn't supposed to make me a pawn in his prison break.

  Now, he's making me question everything I've ever known, replacing common sense with raw desire. Can I escape before he's done playing wrecking ball – or will this mad need to leap into his bed ruin me forever?

  ANTON

  I never knew looks could blindside a man until I saw her. Sabrina was destined to be my ticket outta this hellhole and a secret weapon in our street war.

  Except I'm not working for family fortune anymore. Every time we touch, it's lightning, dangerous and divine.

  Hurricane Sabrina's blinding me to the mission. Her twisted uncle needs to pay big time, but she's got me so distracted I can barely think. I'll kill for this girl, anything to hear her beg for one dirty, reckless, unforgettable night.

  Good thing I never fail. I'll do whatever it takes to finish this war and end this Romeo and Juliet crap for good. The only happy ending here is making sure her panties, her heart, her everything are mine, and I'm gonna have it all. I always do.

  1

  Interview to Die For (Sabrina)

  The interview was totally crazy. Nothing less than straight-jacketed insanity.

  I knew it, and I did it anyway, venturing to the huge prison about an hour north from Chicago.

  I told myself I was ready to do wild things to jump start my career. A girl with an eye for journalism had to do the exceptional to get her name out there. And nothing was crazier than interviewing Anton Ivankov, the infamous Chicago bomber – especially when blood made us natural enemies.

  I'd never met the man in my life, of course. But that didn't change anything.

  We Ligiottis were born into rivalry and danger, the price of enjoying all the wonderful things the underworld has to offer. For us, nobody was bigger and badder than the Ivankovs, latecomers to the Chicago crime scene, vicious Russian bastards who made everything my family did for cash look like a gentle Florentine opera.

  So I'd been told, anyway. I wasn't really privy to what went on behind closed doors and inside dark alleys to make us rich. Uncle Gioulio saved me from getting too close to the family business, a promise he'd sworn to my late parents.

  Honestly, I didn't mind being sheltered. Partaking in the madness, the fear, and the murder didn't appeal to me. Raw, personal history did, and nothing was a bigger coup for me than when the letter showed up last week from Anton Ivankov. It was just a date and a time. Today's, five minutes to three o'clock sharp, plus two crabbed sentences.

  ONE HOUR. NO RECORDERS.

  By some insane miracle, he wanted to talk after more than a year in the slammer. Hell, he wanted to talk to me. I couldn't stop wondering how I'd gotten so lucky. I'd omitted my last name in my request, and he'd taken the bait.

  All he needed to know about me was that I was just another young, hungry girl looking for a story. I wasn't about to fuck it up by spilling the beans about our families being mortal enemies.

  Right place. Right time. Right luck? Well, it was time to find out.

  A warden named Charlie walked me down a narrow row of lean, brutal men in their cages. Their rough eyes leered at me from the shadows. I suppressed a shudder, tried to tell myself it was about what I'd expected. It wasn't unusual for men who'd been locked up for a few months to eye any woman the same way a starving man gazes at a piece of prime rib, right?

  Damn, if only there was an easier route to the visiting room. But it was an old prison, as Charlie explained, and there was no choice but to lead me through the small section where they kept their overflow creeps, felons, and killers.

  “Right here, Miss Ligiotti,” he said, pulling open a heavy steel door. “You've got an hour. Mind if I ask whose balls you busted to make him talk to you?”

  I smiled and shook my head. “Call me Sabrina. No balls were harmed making this happen, I can as
sure you. I just got lucky.”

  “I'll say! All right, I'll let the chef keep her recipe a secret.” Charlie's wrinkles doubled as he beamed me a smile and a wink. “Good luck. Try not to rile him up too much – don't want to ship his ass back to solitary. He's only been out a week.”

  Charlie closed the door behind me, and I was alone, taking the middle cubicle with the low, worn wood beneath the glass. Perfect spot for my notepad and the crappy marker clenched in my hands, the only things I'd been allowed to bring inside.

  I'd read up on prison regulations before the interview, but I still didn't get it. The cameras were on us the entire time, so I couldn't smuggle anything in even if I wanted to. Besides, this glass between us looked thick, like something you'd see holding a gorilla at a zoo.

  Bulletproof. It had to be. And if it could stop gunshots, then surely it could absorb the blows from a man's fists?

  The door behind the glass squeaked open on the opposite side. When I saw Anton for the first time, I wasn't so sure about the barrier between us anymore.

  I wasn't sure about anything.

  Imagine a tiger walking on two legs, suppressing its instinct to rip apart the first tender flesh it finds, if only for a moment. That was him. He moved like he owned the place, instead of being its captive.

  I doubted the neon orange jumpsuit he wore even came in a bigger size. And there was a lot stuffed into it – so damned much.

  The fabric over his torso stretched like it was about to bust at the seams each time he stepped towards me, the tree trunks he had for arms clasped in front of him, held together by flimsy looking chains. It was the only skin he had exposed besides his face. I couldn't begin to make out the jungle of dark, evil looking ink plastered on those granite muscles.