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

by Snow, Nicole

  My uncle motioned me over to the tiny desk with two chairs in the middle. As soon as I sat, he opened up a drawer and rifled through it until he found what he was searching for – a simple manilla folder like something you'd see stored in an old clinic.

  He circled the table and slammed it on the table. “Everything's here about the night your mama died. It wasn't a simple car accident. You're a smart girl, Brina. How is it you've never doubted that before?”

  A numb chill crept up my spine and bathed my brain. My emotional circuits were fried, and he was hellbent on piling more through them. I looked up, one hand squeezing my purse. I needed it to hurt, cramp my muscles so I could feel something.

  “You've ripped my heart out plenty today. Whatever you're going to say about her, just tell me the truth. No more theatrics.”

  His eyes narrowed. Slowly, he nodded, licking one finger to pluck the folder open. Then he stopped in mid-turn. His eyes went to my purse, and he rose from his chair.

  “What? What is it?”

  “That bag. You brought it back with you, right? It was with you at the Russians' compound.”

  I tried to protect it, but Uncle Gioulio was too strong, too fast. He ripped it away from me in one swift motion and hauled it over to his side of the desk, tearing open a drawer with his free hand.

  “Hey!” I screamed at him like he'd just stepped on my foot in a grocery line.

  If only that was the least of his sins.

  “Just a moment, Brina. This won't take long.” He was more careful than I expected, pulling out my things and setting them on the table nearby.

  My heart pounded when he plucked out the small plastic shell with my birth control. All those hours with Anton buried deep inside me came roaring back, hot and insane and totally wrong. Thank God for small favors – Uncle Gioulio passed it over without stopping to gawk.

  “Damn, where is it...” He reached into the empty drawer next to him and held up a long, shiny blade, a sharp letter opener. Except this one looked thicker and sturdier than any commercial kind, like it would just as easily split someone's skull with a well placed jab.

  Weapons were everywhere in this house, really nothing more than a luxurious fortress under siege.

  How had I been so blind for so long? Jesus. And the truth wasn't even blinding me in its full ultraviolet light yet. I eyed the folder and then turned back to his hands, wondering what the hell he was doing slicing into my purse.

  There was a zzzt sound, leather coming apart. A second later, he held up a small black circular thing with little perforations in the middle. I would've known it was a microphone of some sort even if I hadn't watched all those stupid spy things growing up.

  “From your Russian friends.” He tossed it like a pebble, and it bounced once in my lap before coming to a rest. “Typical Ivankov sloppiness. I knew there was something on you from the moment you walked in. I wanted to do the search myself – kinder and gentler than my boys would.”

  My teeth banged together. Jaw clenched, it felt like my head was about to explode and take the world with it. I pinched the cool plastic between my fingers and turned it around, over and over.

  God! And to think I'd been feeling bad about the harmless white lies I'd used to get back, when he and his demented brothers were tracking me the whole fucking time!

  How long had it been on me? The entire time I'd been in the house? For all I knew, the other two coarse men were listening in while he held me, mounted me, and fucked me into the dreamiest nights of my life.

  My body jerked. Uncle Gioulio smiled and ducked as it whizzed past his head, slapping the concrete wall behind him.

  I buried my face in my hands and screamed. The world dimmed, narrowed, swallowing me.

  This wasn't supposed to be happening. The original plan was beyond derailed – it was a smoldering tangle of metal and fire, burning up the entire track.

  “Don't cry, niece. Nothing's beneath the peasants we're dealing with. Nothing.”

  That word. Whenever I heard it, my whole world shifted. With Anton, it burned hotter and brighter with a sweet excitement I couldn't shake. Now? All circling into a black hole as dark and imposing as the little microphone I'd hurled against the wall.

  Uncle Gioulio's hand slid softly across my cheek. I felt the chip in his hand and winced, then turned on him, grabbing his arm with both hands and digging my nails into his suit.

  “Get rid of that fucking thing. Please.”

  “That's the whole point.” I watched him take a couple steps back.

  He reached to the ground, set it down, and stood up. His foot crashed down on it, and it shattered with one stomp.

  The thing was discrete, but it clearly wasn't designed to be durable. Not that it was much comfort.

  Anton's betrayal lingered. My mind was spinning, questioning everything, once again feeling like both the bridges I had to the Ligiotti and Ivankov lives were dead flaps swinging in the wind.

  “I hope they heard every fucking word we said before I killed it,” Uncle Gioulio said, squeezing my shoulder. “We let them know we're aware this is the latest screw-over this family's had. It goes much further than that. For you, for me, the pain's deeper. Personal in a way that won't stop until the last drop of blood on one side or the other's gone.”

  He walked to the desk and picked up the folder. My uncle pushed it into my limp hands, and I struggled to take it, flipping through the fat documents.

  He put his hands behind mine and helped me hold it open, navigate to the right spot. “There. She was out Christmas shopping, you know. We could still see the crushed bags next to her body and her lost white heel when your father and I rolled up.”

  Every breath I took became more like broken glass as he bypassed the police reports and got into the section with the pictures. Downtown Chicago's bright lights filled my eyes from all those years ago. Yellow police tape lined the zone where my mother died on the pavement.

  I never saw her face. If there was a photo somewhere, then maybe Uncle Gioulio took it out when I wasn't looking to spare me. Seeing her small, soft body thrown on the dirty ground was enough. Both her shoes were knocked off, and the matching white coat she'd been wearing had black stripes going across it, like the bastard made a conscious decision to drive right over her after the fatal strike.

  “These are surveillance photos from nearby businesses,” he said, flipping through to some grainier black and white pictures. “When our contacts in the police brought them over, we couldn't believe it. Gio wanted to march out and kill every last one of those fucks. I wouldn't let him. It would've been suicide. The entire fucking incident was a sneak attack. We had a fucking truce with the Ivankovs when they struck. Same truce I warned him years before not to roll with because I knew it'd bite us in the ass, cause us to let our guard down.

  “No, shit was never perfect. War was gonna come between our families sooner or later because we were running up against each other's business. But Christ, even in the old days, you never fucked with a man's family. Here's the piece of shit who ran your mama down, Brina. Take a good look.”

  He stabbed a slightly blurry photo of a car racing down the street. Two men sat in the front, but the one behind the wheel had the unmistakable, determined, icy blue eyes of an Ivankov. He was too old to be Anton or any of his brothers.

  Seeing those features, wide and full of hate, were just as bad as if it was Anton himself. I ripped the file out of my uncle's hands and held it to my face, forcing my eyes open, letting seething tears fall down the sides of the old documents.

  “That's Boris Vassarinivich Ivankov. First generation, first real thug here after the Soviet Union collapsed. Former head of their family. Every branch of the Russian mafia's infamous for letting their commanders fire the first shot when they go to war. Well, this boy did, and he decided to go after the most vulnerable, innocent target he could. He struck down poor Allison. The medical report at the back says she was dead before she hit the concrete, but I know the bastard ran
her over twice just to be sure. He wasn't fucking around. He was gunning for her.”

  His hand slid down my shoulder, smoothing my back, just the way good old Uncle Gioulio used to do. I'd never forgive him for putting down my father, but I didn't turn his comfort away.

  He held me when I dropped the file, rocked me until I stopped shaking.

  I was drowning right there in his arms, suffocating in the invisible quicksand pulling me into its fierce undertow. I wanted to die. But first, I wanted to make sure the assholes who'd truly stabbed me in the back found their way to hell first.

  My whole body felt dirty. To think I'd relished fucking an Ivankov man with such lust, such insatiable need...

  I turned my head up to the ceiling as far as I could, anything to stop the vertigo, one wrong breath away from forcing me to throw up.

  “You've seen enough. The rest is all history, as they say, my niece.” His voice was soft and understanding. “Don't cry. We all spent months grieving her. That's behind us. Your old man couldn't ever put it behind him. He started killing himself recklessly, surely, pushing that shit into his veins every second he was awake.”

  “Then why? What's the point of all this? You just want to turn me back to you.”

  He blinked, looking strangely hurt. My uncle slipped away, rounded the desk, and plopped back down in front of me. “I want you to work for this family, Brina. Not me. I know I've lost your love doing what I had to do to my poor brother. Fucking kills me to this day. But I'd do it all over again if he was about to fuck you over in a junkie rage or drive you off a bridge some cold night.”

  “And how do I do that? I already helped the Ivankovs without even knowing it until you showed me what was really going on. They used me.”

  There. I said it.

  I wanted to say he used me. I should've known the fucked up whirlwind romance was too good to be true, built on Stockholm Syndrome from the very beginning. Like a good little slave, I'd trusted him, worked for him.

  Nothing else. Anton really had used me, taken me for his pleasure, and then threw me back at my uncle like a poisoned dart.

  How could I believe anything else? My insides were too turned out and fried to even think about pressing Gioulio about Club Duce again. It was hard to care if the men Anton killed in that bombing were bastards or not. It wouldn't change a thing.

  I knew – knew beyond all reasonable doubt – that he was a demon for doing this. The same as his brothers, the same as his father for murdering my innocent mother. And, of course, the very same as the dark eyed man folding his hands and leaning in across from me.

  “Brina, look at me. Don't make this about egos. I know I'm not. I'm going to keep loving you no matter how you feel about me, the same way Giovanni would've wanted. I hurt you. I kept secrets, hoping to keep you on my side. I know I can't do that anymore. I realize I fucked up.”

  “You're right,” I said, pushing my heels together, getting ready to stand. “As soon as you tell me it's safe to leave this house, I'm gone. I'm taking every last penny he left me and going far, far away from all this. I'll send you a postcard from London or Paris or San Diego. I haven't decided yet. Or maybe I'll decide it's better we never speak again.”

  Uncle Gioulio's face darkened. He cracked his knuckles. “All within your rights, niece. If that's what you'd really like to do, then I won't stop you.”

  Too easy. Well, as easy as easy could be when my heart battered my ribcage, wanting to leap out, trying to kill the bitter, throbbing lump of pain it had become and take me with it.

  “It's a shame. I can see the future laid out in front of me,” he said quietly. “Everything's going to pieces, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I'll send my boys after the Russians, but those bastards will have some idea what's coming when you don't pick up the burner phone I found in your purse and dial them up. We'll fight. We'll kill each other. I'll lose a few guys and kill more of theirs, maybe take out one of the brothers, if I'm lucky. Anton, that fucking roach, he'll get to me eventually. He's the most expendable one. The bastard's got a statewide manhunt on his ass, and he'll come screaming in for vengeance if I off Lev or Daniel first.”

  He paused, shook his head. “So much blood's waiting. It's not like I haven't lived through it all before, but fuck, a guy shouldn't be dealing with this in his old age. I ought to be retiring, passing this shit down to somebody younger.”

  The asshole looked at me. I knew exactly what he was thinking. No way.

  Fuck no. I wanted absolutely no part of this insane business. I totally meant everything I said about packing up and putting as many miles between myself and Chicago as I could without heading all the way to Antarctica.

  “You could make this easier, Brina.”

  “I'm not helping you,” I snapped.

  It was time to go, at least get out of this room and head upstairs. I stood, stomping my heels on the floor to relieve the pressure screaming through my body, heading for the door. My hand grabbed the cold steel handle and pulled.

  The force nearly ripped my arm out of its socket. Uncle Gioulio was behind me, a gentle hand on my back.

  “It's locked. Here, let me.” He took his sweet time reaching for the keys in his pocket. “I'm not the one asking you for a favor, niece. Yeah, I'm the dirty bastard down here whispering in your ear, but these aren't my words.”

  What? I looked at him cautiously, wondering if reliving all this trauma had driven him insane. I couldn't be sure I was going to walk out of this room with all my marbles still intact.

  “Who is it?” I asked, cringing as I did, knowing I didn't really want to know but couldn't help myself. “If it's not you talking, then who?”

  Uncle Gioulio hesitated, jingling the keys in one hand. “Your parents.”

  Rage shot through me. He saw me twitch, broke eye contact, and pushed the key into the lock.

  “Fuck you, uncle,” I growled. “Mama and papa would've wanted me to get away from all this. Not bury myself deeper.”

  I was out. He didn't follow me, but the deep, dim lit staircase had some really strange acoustics. If I wasn't scared to death of falling backwards and breaking my neck, I would've taken my hands off the old railing and covered my ears when he yelled after me, drowning out his hateful voice.

  “The only voices screaming at us here are two of our flesh and blood! I tried to be nice, I tried to show you, Brina. I tried to press on, even when you were breaking my heart, and you're still so fucking blind. You're going to let the Ivankov brothers walk with our blood on their hands. I see it now. I was wrong about you, niece – so wrong it's killing me. You're a coward!”

  No! I couldn't listen to this anymore.

  I ran like a madwoman up the stairs, snarling and climbing, punching through the door and clawing at the smooth floor when I was finally through. I ran past the two goons who looked up with concern when they saw me coming. They wouldn't pursue unless Uncle Gioulio told them to.

  I headed straight for the guest room and turned the locks. Part of me wanted to get a driver and return to my condo, but I was just as much a prisoner there as I was here. I wouldn't be away from his evil influence until I was out of the city.

  Even then, I wondered if I'd ever be free. The deafening beat in my head drummed me to sleep, echoing with the last shot he fired into me, showing me his true face.

  Coward. Coward. Coward!

  I hated him so much. But in the darkness, I hated Anton even more. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw myself bracing for his sickening touch. Sex brought us close, gave me an opportunity to use him the same way he'd used me.

  The weapon I dreamed about was always different. Sometimes it was a handgun, which I picked up, pressed to his rock hard chest, and fired. Other times, it my uncle's switchblade, and I slid it across the Russian's throat when he tried to give me one of those heart stopping kisses.

  Up until then, I'd never truly wanted to kill a human being with such gruesome need. Guess it ran in the blood.

  When I woke u
p, something like a bad hangover fogged my brain, I told myself I'd never let my uncle call me a coward again. He'd never get to speak for my poor dead parents either.

  He'd get his blood war, his vengance, and then he'd never get anything from me again. The bastard was right – there was no leaving and getting on with my life until I knew the men who'd used me and betrayed me were destroyed.

  I was going to kill Anton Ivankov, and both his psycho brothers too, if luck was kind.

  His goons gave me the evil eye the next day. Still, they didn't stop me from knocking at the door to his study.

  Uncle Gioulio's kinder eyes met me as soon as he opened the door. Overnight, his Hyde retreated back into his inner Jekyll, and now he was playing the kindly old uncle again.

  “Brina, listen, I've got to apologize for last –“

  “No need. I'm not here for your sympathy.” I pushed my way past him, taking a seat in the big leather chair across from his desk.

  “I meant everything I said yesterday evening. I'm going to take my inheritance and leave this city. As uncle and niece, we're done. We're not family anymore.”

  Pain throbbed in my heart just to say it, but only for an instant. What little respect and love I had left for my uncle died last night. But you can't stop loving anyone completely all at once – unless you start hating them instead.

  And right now, that's all that kept me moving.

  Uncle Gioulio's face dropped to the ground as he sat. “What is it you want? You're facing me for a reason.”

  “Before I leave and try to forget about all this, I want to do right by this family, the ones who're gone. You're right. This isn't about you and I. This is about mama and papa. I want them avenged just as badly as you do.”

  We locked eyes. He never smiled, but I could see the satisfaction glowing in his face, a beacon in the darkness.

  Uncle Gioulio stood, walked over to his liquor cabinet. Seriously? A celebratory drink this early was way too weird for my taste.

  I was about to tell him to hold it right there while he was pushing bottles aside. Then he stopped, grabbed a small glass flask filled with some clear fluid, vodka or gin, and what looked like a silver needle inside, and walked back to me.