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

by Nicole Snow

  Tore my heart out to know she'd wind up on my level the longer she hung around here. But the instant she did, I'd be there to catch her, get a piece of that hot, pink, tight perfection wedged between her legs.

  I'd risk getting my cock clipped by the Prez for some of that. No, fuck, it wasn't just about the need I had to own her inside-out.

  Deep down, somewhere so far and dark I never went there, I wanted the best for this chick. Wanted her to rise above it, to kick some serious ass and make bloody giblets outta this dark, rough universe I called home.

  That fantasy was a whole lot more fucked up than imaging all the ways I'd slam her into the mattress after shredding her clothes. What the hell was she doing to me?

  IV: New Girl (Cora)

  “Do your best. Make some money. We've got your meals and the roof over your head covered.” The tall, fearsome looking President of the Deadly Pistols MC stood over me, slowly pulling pipe smoke into his lungs every few words. “We'll be out of each other's fucked up sights before we know it, baby girl. You'll be off doing whatever you want, without the club or your old man's spirit dictating what you ought to do with your life.”

  This man scared me more than Firefly, and it wasn't just because he was older. His eyes had that don't you dare fuck around glint in them times a thousand, their gray hue matching the rare ash slivers in his hair when it caught the light.

  Jesus. Why did every man here have to look like a killer angel? Beautiful in their own way, but so menacing. Destructive. Frightening.

  One question hung on my lips. I'd been fighting it since he'd stepped into my room and sat me down.

  “What happened to my father?” I asked, finally mustering up the courage.

  “Everything he already told you before he checked out. Jimmy fucked up, got himself into some shit so deep he couldn't dig himself out in time.” He took a long toke on his pipe and blew smoke at the floor before answering. “You'd better believe I tried to save him. Did all I could. It ain't easy to wrestle a gun away from a man once he jacks it. Your old man jerked the gun out of my hands and had it waving around like a damned lunatic before I could talk him down. There wasn't any stopping him when he put it to his head and pulled the trigger.”

  I winced. The fact that I hadn't actually seen it happen was the only thing that saved my sanity.

  Now, I imagined everything Dust said, and it tore my heart to pieces. I pinched my eyes shut, fighting back the latest in the endless stream of tears I'd dealt with over the last few days.

  His face softened when my eyes opened. His fingers touched my chin, and he tipped my face up, giving my jaw a tense squeeze before he let go. Those ash gray eyes bored into my soul.

  “Make your daddy proud. This week's been hell on you. Would've twisted anybody in knots, especially a woman who's not used to shoveling this sorta horseshit day in and day out. Let me tell you, no matter how much that blackness inside you keeps trying to stop your heart, it doesn't have to.” He paused, almost like he was remembering words someone else had told him a long time ago.

  “Live your life, Cora Chase. This club'll keep you safe so you get a second chance, in time. We can't bring your old man back to life, but fuck if I'm gonna let anything happen to you. You're too damned beautiful for this world. Too young. There's a thousand ways you kick this world right in the fucking sack. Nothing in your past, present, or motherfucking future needs to stop you from doing that.”

  A hot tear rolled down my cheek. I ripped myself away from him and turned my back, hiding my pain from this stranger.

  He sounded disturbingly like my father. So much like all those pep talks daddy had waiting for me after mom died young, a rare tumor in the head taking her life.

  “Go with God, girl,” Dust growled. “A little divine grace and some help from hell on wheels is all you need. I'll leave you to rest up. Firefly'll drive you down to the Ruby Heel tomorrow. Skin's woman will help you get trained in.”

  “No. No!” I sputtered, facing him. “I need to know what happened. Why did daddy die? What kind of trouble was he in?”

  Dust's face darkened. “That's club business. All you need to know is he died scared. Terrified for himself, and for you. Jimmy cashed in a favor, and it's my job to keep you safe. That's exactly what I'm gonna do, Cora. Details ain't important unless they're all that's between you and some fucker trying to do you harm.”

  “No? And what if they're the only reason I listen to anything you say?”

  His eyes had that scary as hell glint before, but now they turned into deadly stars.

  “Little girl, you don't have a choice. I'm keeping you safe if I gotta order my boys to get some rope, a gag, and a funnel to keep you fed. I'll strap you down myself if it keeps you out of trouble. You can either take the only chance I'm dropping into your lap to make something of yourself while you're our guest – or I'll treat you like the VIP you are.”

  He stopped, pulled the pipe out of his mouth. I just glared at him, even though I was going to pieces inside, trying to stop myself from looking away, afraid.

  “This club's run protection rackets before. We've never botched one. It's our way or the fucking highway when it comes to keeping you safe.” He smoothed a hand through his hair. “I'm gonna give you some time alone to think, to figure this shit out, before it gets you tied up. Literally. I will protect you, Cora, even from yourself. You press me, you won't like what I gotta do to make it happen.”

  Dust walked out before I could catch him. I wanted to break down the door and go after him, but making a scene out there in the open clubhouse wouldn't do me any good.

  Hold on. Just hold the hell on.

  Sooner or later, somebody will slip up, and this will all make sense.

  These assholes weren't giving me any choice. Much less an explanation.

  I wouldn't let go. I had to find out what happened, what kind of danger I was actually in. My hands formed tight, angry fists.

  I swore I'd never forget. I'd do what I had to do. I'd work for answers in between pretending I'd settled into some kind of normalcy here.

  No, it wouldn't bring my father back to life, but I had to know why he'd died. It couldn't have been for nothing.

  Hero would never show up in his obituary.

  If villain didn't fit there instead, then at least I could let him rest in peace, and bury some of the pain eating at my heart.

  * * * *

  “We're here,” Firefly growled. He killed his engine and helped me off his bike.

  It was a bright, sunny morning. The light cut through the haze rolling in over the Smokies. Exactly what I didn't want to see before I headed into the dark, cavernous strip club.

  “How long has this place been running?” I asked. The building looked new, or at least it had a fresh coat of paint.

  A perfectly gaudy white contrast to the huge glittery neon red heel hanging over the entrance.

  “Couple months or so. Took the club awhile to collect the seed money to get her going, but she's rocking it, or so I've heard from Skin. He deals with all the bean counting bullshit. His old lady's got a background in biz, too, and that's who you'll be working with.”

  “Is she nice?” I should've bit my stupid tongue.

  Wonderful. The shy, nervous girl was coming out, despite my best efforts to stuff her into her cage. Doubts and insecurities I'd had all my life before interviews and new classes leaped up, sank their teeth in, and wouldn't let go.

  “Fuck if I know.” Firefly shrugged. “She keeps Skinny boy happy, and she's a solid girl. That's the end of my dealings with chick shit.”

  Chick shit, huh? I stared at him, wondering how there could be any justice in the world when this flippant, sexist asshole looked like an Adonis. A very heavily tattooed one, draped in leather, whose hands had seen a lot more dirty work than any model.

  It wasn't fair, damn it. A man like this shouldn't ooze sex while he infuriated me more times than I could count. What the hell was going on?!

  Pursing my
lips, I gave him one more glance, without saying anything. It wasn't worth it taking another jab at him, starting a fight before my first day of work.

  He really looked like something wild in the spring morning, decked out in his leather, his fearsome patches, the dark inks rolling up his massive arms like tiger's stripes.

  Once, he'd been a warrior in the service. Hard as it was to seriously believe.

  He'd traded his uniform for a different one, but the soldier look lingered, even behind all the vicious symbols the army wouldn't be caught dead allowing on a soldier.

  I'd never wanted to kiss a man, maul him, bite and scratch him to pieces all at once. Until now.

  Oh, God. Firefly smiled, pinning my eyes in place with the look that told me something new and wicked was about to leave his mouth.

  “Good luck, babe. Give me a call on that burner phone I gave you when Meg says you're done for the day. I'll be here.” He picked up his helmet and whistled, leaving me frozen in my tracks one more time before I headed inside. “You'll do just fine. Get in there and make it rain fuckin' money.”

  Not what I'd expected. He was so...so nice.

  “I will,” I said, standing there for a minute, just watching him like a stupid girl gawking at the Prom King blowing by on his hot new ride.

  There wasn't any hope he'd heard me over the roar of his bike.

  I hadn't asked for any of this – much less a bastard built like a tank, whose every other word was something foul or selfish.

  But maybe, just maybe, it wasn't all bad. Maybe Firefly wasn't either.

  * * * *

  Two hours later, I wanted to take back every word.

  The job wasn't bad. It was awful.

  Meg had been pleasant enough at the start, a curvy brunette roughly my age. The PROPERTY OF SKIN jacket she wore looked strange with her designer skirt and high end shoes, like two different worlds given a shotgun wedding in fashion.

  “I'll introduce you to the girls!” she said cheerfully, flicking her hand. I noticed she wore a ring with a tiny dagger in the design. “Don't worry, none of them bite. We're all about the cash here. Drama free. Getting them out on stage in time's our biggest hurdle.”

  She flashed me a big white smile and leaned in, covering her mouth so nobody would hear. “It takes a little push to get them going. But once they're out there...well, let's just say every man with a beer in hand would agree it's a sight to behold. Trust me, the bank account agrees.”

  She led me out of her office into what looked like the backstage dressing room of an old theater. There, in front of the mirrors, I saw four of the most tall, spoiled, looks-obsessed bitches I'd ever meet in my life.

  “Tawny, Annabelle, Cindy-rella, and Pix,” Meg said, pointing one by one. “Listen up, girls. This is your new production manager, Cora. She'll be handling your tips for accounting and making sure you get out on stage when the bell rings. We've had some issues with that lately. Every wasted second between acts means a few less dollars coming into the Heel and the club.”

  She looked at the strippers and gestured to me.

  One girl rolled her big green eyes, a yelp leaving her lips when she formed a pout. “Oh, please, Miss Wilder. You really had to bring in this little girl to help herd us like sheep? Nobody's dragged themselves out late more than ten or fifteen minutes this month.”

  “That's ten or fifteen too many. You realize how much revenue we lose when men get bored?”

  The four aimed the same catty eyes at their boss, but didn't say a word. Meg turned to me, cleared her throat, and pushed a binder into my hands.

  “This has everything you'll need to make sure they're prepped and ready. They can stuff their tips in the envelopes inside. Track everything. We need to. We'd have the IRS bringing this place down in a heartbeat if we left it all to them. Good luck! And holler if you need anything.”

  Smiling, she headed off with one more wave, her fancy shoes tapping the wooden floor like a train with a few loose wheels disappearing into the night.

  The tall, dark, Latin looking woman named Tawny stood up. “Just leave us do our thing, and this'll work out fine. Miss Heels won't do shit if you slack off a little. Hell, she brought you in to keep us in line!”

  All the girls laughed, and it echoed all across the stage. I looked at the beat up silver clock hanging over them. We had a few more hours before the place opened up for its first act this evening.

  Just enough time to realize I'd been plunged straight into a special kind of hell.

  * * * *

  When honey didn't work, I tried vinegar.

  They ignored me constantly, dragging their stupid, stockinged feet. All the girls spent a few extra minutes smoking and putting on makeup before they even looked at the curtain leading to the stage. Mostly, those bitches just laughed in my face every time I tried to get them going.

  Annabelle, the skinny brunette with a club-shaped tramp stamp on her left ass cheek, tried to sneak her tips by me in her bra. She had the cash halfway out and stuffed into her purse before I said anything.

  “What?! Stop looking at me like I'm a fucking thief, you little shit,” the stripper swore. “Here's your damned money!”

  She shoved it into my hands so hard I nearly lost my balance. Before I could so much as shoot her a dirty look, the skank stormed off, a smug little smile dragging on her over-painted lips.

  Resisting the urge to run outside and cry, I channeled it into doing my work instead.

  No, no, damn it, no.

  I had to stay. I couldn't break down on my very first day. Not if I ever wanted to escape this hell forever, and never look back.

  “Okay, Tawny, it's your turn,” I said, walking up to her with my fakest smile.

  “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, bossy-pants.” She smiled into the mirror, plucking at her eyelashes.

  Scowling at her wouldn't do it. I wanted to rip her lashes off with my bare hands.

  “Tawny, come on. Let's get this done. Please.”

  That was when my brain completely shut down for the evening. I must've stood there begging the bitch to get out and do her job. Overhead, the clock ticked by while she preened.

  Twenty minutes and counting past the time when her act should've started. Past the stage, people were getting so restless I could hear it through the curtain, men shuffling around and swearing to themselves.

  I was about to start shouting when she yawned. I watched her stand, jerking off her fluffy pink robe. “Well, guess I'd better do a little work today. I've got at least another dance or two in these bones. Don't stress too much, little C. I won't try to sneak a dime past you on my way back here.”

  She flashed me a wink and tottered toward the stage on her high golden shoes.

  Fuck it. Done. That's what I was, and then some.

  I crashed out the nearest fire exit and buried my face in my hands, repressing bitter tears while I gulped cool mountain air. It was the only thing that saved me that night from a total meltdown. I stayed out there for ages before I dragged myself in, hoping the cool breeze dried the tears on my cheeks.

  Somehow, I blundered on, making the same pathetic pleas.

  Chasing them for tips. Feeling more powerless than I ever had in my life, including the last few days when I'd been boxed up in Firefly's room.

  My torture lasted two more hours, and the girls walked all over me. When Meg came around to fetch me and let me know my shift was done, the lukewarm smile on her face said it all.

  “Hey, don't be too discouraged. These girls are tough. I'm sorry I downplayed it earlier, I didn't want you to panic. We've been having trouble getting them to move since the Heel opened. Give it a week. Get your bearings. You'll figure it all out.”

  I wanted to quit right on the spot. But then she pressed a small envelope into my hands. My fingers reached in, pulled out a crisp hundred paired with a fifty.

  More than I'd expected. Especially for the painful hack job I'd done tonight.

  “All under the table, of course,�
�� she said. “Skin normally keeps things kosher with payroll here, but he says the Prez told him nobody needs to know you're working here. Firefly's on his way to take you home. See you tomorrow, Cora.”

  “Y-you too,” I stammered, but she'd already left me alone.

  I'd never earned that much in a single day at my crappy summer jobs or internships in uni. Too bad I wanted to chuck the money down the nearest toilet, or burn every filthy dollar earned in this twisted job I'd never asked for.

  Outside, Firefly was waiting. “How'd it go, darlin'?”

  “First day woes. It only gets better from here, right?”

  Jesus, please tell me yes. It had to.

  Hell, I had to keep it all together. I wasn't going to give this arrogant bastard one more ounce of my tears.

  I definitely wasn't going to open up to him.

  “Damned straight.” He must've had a sixth sense.

  I'd expected a barrage of stupid questions, or crude jokes aimed at my heart, the whole ride to the clubhouse. Instead, he barely said a word, leaving me to my stone cold silence.

  He didn't even chase me down when we arrived and I headed straight for my room. Later, there was a heavy knock on the door. It took me at least five minutes to come out of the sick grog from the heavy sleep I'd fallen into the second I buried my face in his beat up pillows.

  I padded to the door, wishing he'd gotten whatever crap he wanted to throw at me out of the way earlier. I opened the door.

  Nobody there. Just a small white bag at my feet and a tall bottle wrapped up in brown paper.

  I looked around, didn't see anybody, and reached down to gather them up. The white bag came from the same deli that fed me all my meals these days. I sat with the bottle in my lap, tore through the paper, and pulled out a nice, thick bottle of wine.

  The sticky note attached had the sloppiest handwriting I'd ever seen, but I could make it out.

  You're too damned classy for beer, so here's something better. Hope you like red. Sorry, don't know shit about wine. Man at the store said it was solid. Glass is in the bag.