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

by Snow, Nicole

  I wondered, but I already knew. Anton Ivankov had officially gotten into my head like a parasite, an evil, sexy intruder I was sick and insane to want.

  My body jerked again when the phone rang on my nightstand. I picked it up, grinding my teeth, reminding myself to pick a different ring-tone later on. Hearing the boom-boom-boom of some stupid pop song screaming at me this early was officially too much.

  “Hello?”

  “Brina, it's Richard. Listen, I wanted to apologize for being such a dismissive asshole yesterday. I'm sorry I ever doubted you.” He sounded excited.

  I frowned. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “We just got a lovely thank you here at the office from Lake Federal Correctional. Dunno what the hell you said, but it must've left a mark on Mister Ivankov. He thanked you, thanked the blog, and he says he'd like to do a followup soon! Can you get your draft over to me today? Can't wait to see what the hell you've got.”

  “Sure.”

  “Fantastic!” The word burst out of his mouth so loud I had to hold the phone away. “This is fucking gold, Brina. Keep it up and you're gonna be getting exclusives with way more than the Chicago bomber.”

  The call went dead. I flung the phone down on my mattress and collapsed headfirst. All the blood seething through my loins was racing up my spine now, pooling in my head, trying to cool the evil burn building in my brain.

  I had to see him again. There was no going back. And – worse than anything – he wanted to see me.

  Why, why, why ran through my head, touching all the horrible possibilities. I shook my head, trying to understand, and failing.

  I thought I was going for a real hard hitting exclusive with a hardened criminal. Instead, I was becoming a prisoner myself with a bigger, fancier cell, a whole universe compared to his tiny six by eight world.

  Unlike him, though, I had a way out when all this was over.

  I had strong family ties and a clean record on my side. If I mined him for gold, I could do anything I wanted.

  “You can do this,” I whispered, clenching my fists as hard as I could.

  Yeah, I could, and I had to. If I could get it over soon, then I'd come out of it with a story as awesome as Richard imagined, or fall right on my face. Whatever way it went, it would end there, wouldn't it?

  Anton had gotten his hooks in me for sure. But I was determined to dig them out, throw them away, and never, ever fret over the big handsome bastard in the orange jumpsuit again.

  2

  Strings (Anton)

  I lay in my cell, wondering who the fuck I'd pleased up in heaven to drop this miracle in my lap. The Ligiotti girl was beautiful, hungry for my every word, and also dumb as a stump.

  Well, at least as far as what came next was concerned.

  Blowing up those twisted fucks at Club Duce must've scored me some points with the angels of justice and death. Yeah, the media loved to beat their chests about the twenty upstanding citizens I'd slaughtered. Nobody except my two brothers and I knew upstanding citizens don't visit a place like that after hours, owned by an Italian mob boss with a love for making easy money off slave pussy.

  No point in talking about that. It wouldn't buy me parole. It sure as shit wouldn't win me any points with the sassy little beauty queen I'd just invited back for a followup.

  I had to make shit happen myself if I ever wanted to see the light of day again. My brothers were on the outside waiting, scheming, looking for a sign. I took the fall for Lev and Daniel like a good elder brother should, and there was no fucking way they'd leave me high and dry.

  We had a plan for these situations. You do a lot of goddamned planning when making good money puts your ass on the line in all the worst ways.

  Escape was barely harder than whispering it. They were just waiting for me to give the word, the signal. And I couldn't wait to see the crazy ass look on their faces when I busted out and dumped a Ligiotti girl right in their laps.

  Vengeance wasn't supposed to be this easy. Neither was a second crack at fuckface Gioulio.

  I grinned, slapping my stress ball from one hand to the next. It was my fifth ball in the last six months I'd gotten trading petty shit with different fractions, something to keep the bones in my hands strong and my mind happy. Came in handy when the urge to grab some fuck by the throat and squeeze him 'til his head popped off got too strong.

  And when I wanted to fuck? It was a godsend. Tonight, the little ball was my faceless angel, crushed in one hand and then the next, back and forth, long after my knuckles went numb.

  Sabrina looked far hotter than the daughter of my sworn enemy had any business being. Or maybe my brain automatically saw a perfect ten because she was a Ligiotti. The hourglass hips, big ripe tits, and hazel eyes beneath her raven hair just completed the ensemble.

  Perfect ten. Perfect tease. Perfect for me to fuck one day when I got outta here.

  Christ, it was gonna be a fuck to remember too. I'd start an earthquake right in the middle of goddamned Midwest when my hips went to work on her. I hoped to hell she'd cling onto me and take it like a slut, ride the seething volcano of testosterone pent up for way too fucking long.

  If she didn't? Tough. Shit.

  Nothing was gonna stop these fists from hammering their way outta this hellhole. And a few smooth caresses sure as hell wasn't stopping my dick the instant it was pressed up against soft, wet female flesh.

  I almost popped the stress ball like a fat water balloon, thinking of all the ways I'd dig my fingers into her ass while I slammed into her cunt, showing her Ivankov's fuck hard, long, and honest.

  “Hey!” A fist pounded on the bunk above me. “You still down there jacking off to that reporter girl?”

  I grinned in the darkness, throwing the ball to my opposite hand, hard enough to make a resounding slap. “Go back to sleep, old man. You know I don't spend precious energy jerking off. Don't need to waste my jizz in my own fucking fist. Pussy's on the menu for me soon.”

  Dino snorted. “You planning something, Russki?”

  “Nothing you need to know about,” I growled, pinching the ball in one fist. “I'll send a Christmas card to your crew if it all works out.”

  The old biker chuckled. “Don't think the Devils up in Des Moines want much to do with you Russian bastards in Chicagoland. But yeah, give 'em my regards.”

  I grunted, wondering if I'd look half as good as the leathery fuck above by the time I pushed sixty. Whatever. I had about thirty years to find out, and I sure as shit wasn't spending them behind bars.

  Old Dino had a whole crew waiting on the outside, tons of biker buddies in the notorious Prairie Devils MC, who ruled the plains out state. Here, it was just me and my brothers, and we owned a piece of Chicago.

  If everything went as planned, we were gonna own a whole lot more soon, carving out prime cuts from the late Ligiotti empire.

  Shit, maybe I'd really make off with Sabrina in the process. I deserved a pretty trophy after a year rotting in courtrooms and cramped cells. There was so much left to experience on the outside, starting with whether or not a dark Italian princess could keep up with my Slavic need to fuck around the clock.

  A couple days later, I saw Charlie walking up to my cell. We'd just gotten through our time in the prison yard. Maybe the extra sheen of sweat from all that iron I'd pumped would turn Sabrina's head harder. Good looks have always served me well, clouding up the minds of opponents and prey, if they're female.

  I worked hard on being ripped, and I wielded it like a weapon. Real strength comes when you can stand up and watch a lesser man cower. I wasn't interested in flexing guns for girls, but making them as hard as I fucking could to beat any bastard who crossed me into the floor.

  Of course, having a killer bod to match the bloodlust in my veins drenched every panty I ever came across without lifting a finger.

  Sabrina's were gonna be the latest on my list. Playing with her last time, watching her get flustered, hit the fucking spot. I knew there was more t
o the girl's blush than raw anger when I saw it. She would've jumped my bones and started grinding on me if it wasn't for that fucking glass.

  Today, it was time to shift into a different gear, give her a better chance to lead the questions. That damned interview had to get published, after all, if I was gonna swing the trap.

  “Come on. She's waiting for you,” Charlie said, giving me a suspicious look.

  I felt the hair prickling on that bastard's neck every time he walked me down to the visiting room with his underling guard. They had me in the middle, standard procedure, good distance between us, but I knew that fuck always wondered if I'd lunge, grab him by the throat, and slam his face into the ground. He'd be dead before anybody could get off a shot.

  Killing his ass wasn't on my schedule today. I didn't have it in for these fucks, even though drawing their blood sounded good after a year of them herding me like a goddamned sheep.

  He held the door open and I walked in, then slammed it tight behind me. It took my eyes a couple seconds to adjust to the bright white fluorescent light. Then I saw her behind the glass, and cracked a smile as I approached.

  Fuck, she was young. I had to check to make sure she was really outta college, and not just a freshman straight outta daddy's penthouse. Though her old man was long gone, so it would've been her uncle instead.

  Gioulio Ligiotti. Latest lord of the city's leading Italian crime family. Also the fuck my brothers and I were gonna kill, one way or another – but that was getting ahead of myself.

  I plopped down in front of her, resting my chains on the small wooden desk, reaching for the phone. The girl already had hers up against her ear, patiently waiting for me.

  “Didn't expect you'd come back so easy after last time,” I said.

  “You wanted me to. I think you're sorry for what happened.” Surprising confidence rang in her voice.

  Surprising, because it was fake as shit. She thought she could grab me by the balls and give them a good twist by looking me in my blue eyes, pretending to be stronger. I had to play along, even though I would've liked nothing better than to pop outta my chair and slam both fists on the glass. It was tempting to remind her who was in control here.

  Would she topple over, giving me a perfect view of those sweet tits beneath her sweater? Or would she high tail it to the door, shaking that fine ass, leaving me to grip the ever living shit outta my stress ball?

  Later, I promised myself. Keep your cool and maybe you'll find out. Maybe you'll get to do things to little Miss Ligiotti that'll make your brothers cry with jealousy.

  “Sorry? Whatever. I agree it's good to start over,” I said coldly, flashing her a thin smile. “I'm ready to be a good boy this afternoon. Are you ready to listen?”

  She nodded, a fresh new notepad in her hands. “Let's take a different approach. I know, we've already figured out you don't do remorse, regret. So, do you actually feel proud of the things you've done? The bombing?”

  Good question. I leaned in, tightening my fists, pausing just long enough to see the nervous uncertainty light up her eyes.

  “I'm proud of serving my family. My people. This fucked up world doesn't have many places for men anymore. I can't run off to the battlefields like gramps did for the motherland. I'm American through and through. Haven't been to Moscow since I was a baby. Still, the values are the same, especially here in the land of opportunity. Best thing I can do is make my family proud, doing what we do best.”

  “Yeah?” Her eyebrows lifted. “And what's that?”

  “Making bank. Spilling blood, sweat, and tears, getting our piece away from the rest of the mad dogs chomping at the bit in this town. You ever heard of the Red Eagle?”

  She shook her head.

  “It was a little vodka bar my Uncle Volodya started right off Fulton, back in the late nineties, about the time I figured out I could do a whole lot more with a woman besides stare at her pretty dress.”

  I dropped my eyes, a blatant attempt to catch some tits hidden behind that fabric. It was too high to see any skin, but fuck if it wasn't tight enough to see her curves, make out the plush outline of those tits my hands burned to ravage.

  Shit. It was way too early in the interview to let my dick get this hard, snapping at my orange pants, too stupid to know throwing her to the wall and fucking her wasn't an option right now. Not just yet.

  Good thing reporter girl was just as flustered. Her cheeks got a little brighter, and she lost my gaze, darting to her notepad and then back up, trying to clear the steam throttling her brain – or maybe oiling up her pussy.

  “Uncle Volodya tried to go legit. He was a good guy. Funny, generous, dedicated to his work. He got rave reviews and tons of tourists. He was making money hand over fist, and for awhile my old man was looking at getting into the biz himself. Then one day a pack of Yakuza put three neat holes in his chest and popped about as many heads as they blew vodka bottles. You wanna talk about massacring innocents? This family lived it. We let our guard down. After Uncle Volodya, we learned there was no going back.”

  I paused. She scribbled furiously – probably trying to keep her pure eyes off me. I sure as shit didn't keep mine off her. No, it was the perfect opportunity to watch her tits bobbing underneath that shirt, watch her plucking at her glossy bottom lip with those little teeth.

  I'd suck that sweet flap between my lips ten times harder. Fuck, I'd bite it, sink my teeth in, taste her and memorize it before we fucked ourselves crazy.

  “Tell me about your brothers. Family's obviously important to you.” She looked up, tucking a loose strand of that silky black hair over her ear.

  “Lev and Daniel are my blood. They've got my back and they always will. I watched them come up behind me as a kid. They cried just as hard as I did when our parents died. They celebrated like fucking maniacs right along with me every time we won something new for the family. They're my brothers, in blood and spirit. The shit we've done...it brings you close, Sabrina. Closer than anybody living a nice, quiet life on the outside will ever understand.”

  There was that nervous flash again in her hazel eyes. I smiled. She didn't know that I knew exactly who her family was. Just like she didn't realize I was staring at my ticket to a family reunion really soon.

  “I want you to give me a moment,” she said, twirling the marker against her lips thoughtfully. “Sometime when you knew this was the life for you, and there was no turning back. Was there one?”

  I nodded. She did a damned good job of changing the subject, deflecting the shit I said about criminal lives. This little reporter knew a helluva lot more about it than anybody else who'd be sitting in that chair for a sensationalized bullshit rag.

  “3:30 PM. A cold Wednesday, about four years ago. That was the day I held my old man as he coughed up blood and shuddered one last time, on his way to meet the reaper. It was a hit and run. They did it quick while he was walking on a busy street, slammed him to the wall and sliced his throat with a piano wire. Sloppy as shit. He played dead. Took him about a half hour to bleed out and go cold. Long enough for me to come running when I got his garbled call. Not long enough for the medics to do shit. It feels like it was yesterday, and it's still gonna feel that way next week too.”

  Sabrina stiffened. She sat straight up, a dark sympathy swirling in her eyes. Good thing they were so bright just then, because with her sitting up like that, my eyes wanted to fall instantly to her tits. My hands hurt, begging to flatten themselves against the glass, wishing to high hell they could find their way through and squeeze her nips.

  “And how did that make you feel?”

  Fuck, was this chick even wearing a bra? I looked down, giving her my best sad puppy dog face, hoping it wasn't too fucking unbelievable. No, she had a bra after all, but it didn't do anything to hide her curves and edges. Thorns scraped my veins, a horny numbness, aching to get outta this cage, lay her down, and fuck the living shit outta her.

  Patience, you bastard, I thought. Finish this shit right, and you migh
t get your chance in another week.

  “Alone,” I said. “Like I'd been thrown in solitary, except nobody was ever coming back. I was the only one of my three brothers who got to say goodbye to papa. I gave myself a day to be quiet and sad at his funeral, and then...”

  When I wouldn't finish it, burying my face in one hand, she tapped the glass gently. I threw my hand down, making her think I'd swept a fake tear from one cheek.

  “Then what, Anton?”

  “I swore I'd storm heaven and hell paying back every last fucker who did this to him, to our family. Before papa bit it, I thought I might try to do some shit like Uncle Volodya, without letting my guard down. Maybe I'd learn to set guns or run a chop shop for motorcycles, something with a connection to the hard world I'd grown up in, without having to do outlaw shit into my thirties. That all went out the window the day my old man died. His death left us to head the Chicago clan. Ivankovs have a way of burying their own dreams for family blood. For honor. For all the shit that matters.”

  She nodded, scribbling a few more notes. Had to look away when her tits pressed together, bobbing again, hypnotizing me to do something stupid that would blow this whole fucking thing.

  When she met my stare again, her eyes were darker, reluctant, like they were holding something in. “You look like you know a thing or two about loss,” I said.

  Sabrina shrugged. Smart girl. She wasn't throwing me a bone and turning over any control to me – not after she thought I was giving her everything.

  “What? I thought you were gonna ask me all the hard stuff,” I said. “Looks like you're trying to protect my feelings. Don't bother, babe. I don't fucking have any.”

  Liar. I had feelings for this chick, all right, but right now they were all concentrated in the red hot lava throbbing in my dick.

  She bit her lip, and then pushed her chair in, closing the last tiny distance between her and the glass. “How does it feel knowing everything you wanted to accomplish is in your brothers' hands now? You're serving a life sentence, Anton. The bombing was too infamous. If there's ever any parole opportunities, you'll be an old man.”