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

by Nicole Snow

  When my eyeballs stopped clenching shut, I held my dick in her, loosening my grip. She leaned up for a kiss. I pulled her hair a little tighter before I smothered those lips.

  Kissing this woman was all I could do to deal with how completely fucked I was. No bullshit, I'd meant every word I growled to her before.

  This shit wasn't stopping tonight. I had to fuck her more. Over and over and over 'til I broke my fucking dick off.

  I held her close, guided her to the bed, and lay her down. Held her flat against my chest, stroking that sexy blonde hair. Fuckin' loved how it caught the sun, changing from fifteen to twenty-four karat gold.

  The girl zonked out in less than five minutes. I watched her slip into some sorely needed dreams, planting one more kiss on her forehead.

  She'd need that beauty sleep. Cora suffered, worked her ass off, and her list of shit to deal with was only growing fatter and meaner by the day.

  'Course, I'd added riding my dick to her daily routine, not to mention coming so hard those bright blue eyes snapped shut. That had to make up for the bad shit.

  We'd shared two rooms since her old man's mistakes forced us both through the wringer.

  Sharing the same space didn't do a damned thing anymore. I needed more. Staring up at the ceiling, I swore I'd keep her in my bed, and I didn't give a single shit what it took to make it happen.

  She was mine, dammit, and nothing in this world would force me to let go.

  * * * *

  Fucking phone started vibrating sometime just before noon. I rolled outta our empty bed and heard Cora showering before I grabbed it.

  “Yeah?”

  “Where the fuck are you, bro?” Sixty growled. “We're up to our asses in work today. Those old farts from Kingston brought their fancy play bikes in for a tune up. Good money. Could really use an extra hand out here.”

  “Yeah, yeah, keep your dick in your pants, brother. I'll be there soon.”

  I hung up. After all the shit we'd been dealing with lately, it was a small relief to be called in for grease and ratchets in the shop instead of throwing fists or bullets.

  My stomach growled. Hungry as fuck after all the energy we'd burned last night, never stopping for dinner.

  My cock still had a furious craving too. Damned thing throbbed as I stuffed it into my shorts, pulled up my jeans, and turned around.

  Seeing Cora didn't help one fucking bit. Especially when she was bent over, digging in the closet, the towel wrapped around her waist drooping dangerously low.

  Fucking shit. Took every fiber of discipline not to head on over, rip that thing off, and drag her back to bed.

  “Morning,” I said, as soon a she saw me, holding a fresh set of work clothes. Those bare, beautiful tits I'd sucked all night hung on her chest, calling my lips like goddamned sirens.

  “Thought I'd better let you sleep in just a few more minutes,” she said, flashing me the smile I wanted to wipe away, kiss by flaming kiss. “I'm normally up by now. Morning dove, you know. Consider yourself lucky that you might be the first thing helping me sleep in since...”

  Her smile melted. I held up a finger and shook it like a club.

  “Don't say it, babe. Just get dressed, and let's find ourselves some breakfast. Or lunch. Or what the fuck ever.”

  My guts rumbled again. Shit. She heard the growl and laughed. Couldn't suppress the grin rolling across my face.

  “Next time, remember to take a break and eat,” Cora said, pulling up her panties. “Wouldn't want you to starve because we were...you know.”

  “Fucking?” Smiling, I stepped toward her, shirt and cut under my arm. “We've got work to do, baby girl. You're gonna learn to talk dirty. And you can shoot me square in the chest if you ever catch me chasing after a damned burger more than this pussy. I'd rather have your hot little cunt against my teeth than anything some fucker over a grill could ever serve...”

  My arms went around her back, jerked her into me, and we kissed like vipers wrestling.

  Fuck, she tasted good. My hand swung low, squeezed her ass, and then my fingers were down her panties. Had that shit ripped down in half a heart beat, feeling her wetness, fresh and clean and just begging to be fucked.

  “No, no, no...” She pushed weakly against my chest. “We have to go to work, Firefly. It's going to be a long day. Oh, please, don't make this more difficult...”

  “Difficult?” I growled. “You think it's gonna be easy on me? Shit, I'll probably put my fist through the fucking clock when I know I oughta be here in bed all day, holding your legs apart, making you come on my dick ten more times.”

  “Ten?” Her eyes went wide. “I'd die! Surely, you're joking...”

  “Try me, darlin'.” I winked. “You'll be glad as fuck you did.”

  She laughed, and my ears rang happy. Goddamn, I could've listened to that sound all day, second only to how she sounded before her body gave it all up to me.

  “Tonight. After you pick me up.” Cora motioned across her heart, crossing it like a kid.

  “I'm gonna trust you on your word, babe. You oughta know by now I take promises very fucking seriously. And if these little lips ever mislead me, well, you know how that goes.” My hand circled behind her, rolling down the small of her back. Then I lifted it and let it crack firmly across her ass.

  She squirmed against me, pushing her sweet, suckable tits flush against my chest.

  Fucking tease. I love it.

  “Firefly – I promise!” she squeaked, struggling in my arms. I laughed and held her tighter, lowering my face against her, 'til our foreheads touched like something outta a damned chick flick.

  “All right, whatever. Give me one more kiss for collateral.”

  She did. I tasted her as long as I could.

  Long as I could stand before my cock ripped through my jeans was more like it, but fuck, I knew I had all the time in the world. I'd staked a claim, and I'd only drive it deeper, harder, and longer from here.

  This little minx was gonna sing for me tonight. Then every fuckin' night we had.

  No end in sight, and that should've freaked me out.

  I'd just taken the first pussy I wanted to keep coming back to over and over. Not just because it felt like gold wrapped around my cock neither. Because I craved it, needed it, called it mine.

  What the hell was going on?

  * * * *

  Cora blew me another kiss when she got off my bike. We'd grabbed a quick breakfast at a diner before I dropped her at work.

  Hard to believe the night we'd had after all the hell that had been raised at the Heel less than twenty-four hours ago.

  I drove away with the mountain wind in my face, pulling off my helmet when my bike got on the home stretch. It was finally warming up. The Great Smoky Mountains were coming alive, pouring their green scent across the landscape like God himself holding a damned spritzer.

  My lungs sucked in every drop. Couldn't stop smiling, wondering if there'd ever been a more glorious day.

  These old lungs were gonna need every molecule of cool, clean air they could get, too. I'd be pulling double duty soon, fucking my girl as much as I could stand, on top of busting ass for the club.

  Too bad the club had her claws in like a banshee as soon as I rolled into the chop shop we had just on the edge of town.

  The boys were all there, their bikes parked in a neat row.

  Weird, since it was normally just Sixty, Crawl, and me. Sometimes we invited the prospects and hangarounds to help with the grunt work if they had a mechanics' smarts, but today all the boys were there in the lot, including the guys who didn't know shit about digging deep in an engine's guts.

  When I saw Prez's bike, I knew something stank to high hell. Fuck!

  Parked my ride, climbed off it, and put my hand over my nine in its holster. I walked quietly, heading straight by the empty register, then through the deserted garage to the rear.

  Walked in on the most tense shit I'd seen since the last time we were knife-to-knife with
the Deads.

  “You're making a big mistake, friend,” Dust growled, an angry half-moon of men wearing different patches around him on both sides.

  “Fuck you, Dusty. Fuck. You.”

  In the center, a big man with a scarred face and a huge, bushy ginger beard had the Prez up against the wall. Red Beard, leader of the Atlanta Torches. Motherfucker had a legendary temper, too, and it threatened my boss' life.

  Didn't even hesitate to pull my gun and point it at the fucker's rotten skull. “Get the fuck off him!”

  “Sharp.” Red Beard nodded at a lean, lantern-jawed bastard standing by his shoulder.

  The asshole, who I saw was wearing a V. PRESIDENT patch, pushed his way through the crowd and aimed a big shotgun at my chest. “Put that popgun down,” he snarled.

  “Not 'til your Prez gets the hell off mine.”

  “Everybody relax!” Red Beard shouted. “Any of you Pistols fuckers punch your triggers in a single millimeter, it's gonna be a bloodbath, and we'll all lose our dicks.”

  “Firefly, listen!” Dust looked at me, his angry gray eyes shining big and bright over Red Beard's shoulder. “It ain't worth it. Let it ride. Bad fucking timing.”

  “You don't get to talk about timing, asshole!” Red Beard roared in his face. “You knew that fuckin' cocksucker was stinking and rotting in his house for days. Shit, you knew the city hauled his carcass off to get fuckin' cremated – and you didn't say shit about it! Fuck's sake, we're supposed to be allies!”

  “Yeah, supposed to be. Fuck me for picking jackals for friends,” Dust said, shoving the rival Prez hard in the chest.

  Red Beard pushed back. Miracle he didn't put a fuckin' bullet in Dust's brain. They scuffled, rolling against the wall, the other guys around them anxiously fingering their guns.

  Prez wasn't lying about a potential bloodbath coming. My eyes flicked through my boys. Joker, Skin, Sixty, Crawl, and the prospects were all lined up against the Torches.

  Our crews were roughly equal in numbers. Nobody had a solid position, an advantage, and that sucked serious balls.

  Every man here had an equal chance at putting a few holes in the sorry fuck across from him, and receiving a few in turn. Sharp smiled across from me, just itching for a chance to let his rounds blow my ribs apart.

  “Alliance is over, fuckface. We'll deal with the Deads on our own,” Red Beard growled. “Whether or not you cough up the guns we settled on and Jimmy's cunt daughter is what's gonna decide whether or not we start killing Pistols, too.”

  “No!” I shouted, stepping right into Sharp's muzzle. Fucking thing drove against my chest like a tank, so close to death I could feel every hair on my body standing on end.

  I was tempting fate, and I fucking knew it. But that 'cunt daughter' meant Cora. I'd die to keep her safe. Some mad dog redness clouded my vision, mad and primal shit fiercer than all the times it had ever went through my veins before.

  “You'll get your guns, asshole,” Dust thundered. “Just as soon as you lower yours and send your men back to their bikes. You already broke standard operating procedure, showing up here instead of the fucking clubhouse. This is our goddamned business – civilian biz. Too fuckin' public for an exchange.”

  “Shut up!” Red Beard slammed Dust into the wall, his beer gut helping pin the Prez down. “You fucked us over, and you goddamned know it! We had a good thing going on. We were trading, fighting, sharing intel on the Deads. Now, all that's fucked, and it's your fault. Not ours. I'm not gonna stand here while you try to fuckin' tell me otherwise, shithead.”

  When I heard the familiar click of a switchblade opening, it took everything in my power not to start a shooting war that'd get us all killed. Fuck.

  Had a sudden flashback to the mountains outside Kandahar. Me and my guys were pinned down, taking a Taliban mortar attack straight up the ass. A couple troops next to me got their arms blown off, and one man lost his head. Fuckers were behind the rocks, shooting at us while their bombs exploded everywhere. All we could do was lay, wait, and put down suppressing fire 'til the cavalry came.

  Airstrikes took the terrorist pukes out a couple minutes later. I'd been helpless then, just hoping for a miracle.

  This day, this shit...this was worse. Watching Red Beard shove his knife against my Prez's throat fucking gutted me.

  Joker moved first. Wrapped his rough hands around another Torches' throat, holding him in a brutal headlock, the kind that'd choke the fuck totally to death if we didn't diffuse this shit quick.

  “Rawdog!” Sharp yelled, pulling his gun outta my ribs and turning around. “Prez, that asshole's gonna kill him!”

  “Not if I do Dusty first,” Red Beard snarled, his hand gripping the knife like the handle of his bike, one flick away from ending Dust's life. “We're way past heart-to-heart bullshit. I want our cut of the fuckin' guns. I know they're here – you moved 'em when you heard we were rolling into town. Gonna give you one more chance to bring 'em. Right fuckin' now. Do it. Before I decide to push this hungry dagger straight through your goddamned throat.”

  “Prez, just say the word,” Skin said coldly, his gun aimed at Sharp's face. “We'll go down fighting, or we'll give these fuckers what they came for. Your choice.”

  The crown had never been heavier for our fearless leader.

  Every Prez in an outlaw MC dealt out life and death, heaven and hell, plus everything in between like fucking cards. Dust would either order us to our deaths, or he'd give these fuckstains what they wanted, buying us the time we needed to figure out how to kill 'em good and proper.

  I expected to hear the Prez bark, the string of words that would either end this rough ass rocket ride I'd called a life, or else let me breathe the biggest sigh of relief since Afghanistan.

  Instead, the crazy fucker did Plan C. Pistols and Torches alike nearly shat their pants as we watched our Prez push himself into Red's blade, blood pouring out around the crack where his throat connected with the knife.

  “What the fuck?! You lost your mind, you dumb sonofabitch?” Red Beard roared, falling backward in shock, his hands shaking. The knife dropped outta his hands and clattered on the busted concrete.

  He wanted to threaten us. He didn't want to kill the Prez in front of us and trigger the shooting that'd get us all killed.

  It worked. Dust bent his head, put one hand across the wound in his throat, and looked the bastard straight in the eye.

  “You ain't giving any orders here,” Prez rasped. “I am. Joker, Firefly, go get their fuckin' guns. Then make sure they get their asses off of our property.”

  I moved. None of the Torches stopped us as I caught up with the Veep. We headed for the garages, where the boys had an old drag racer missing its wheels up on blocks, a tarp draped over it. Joker looked at me, nodded, and we both grabbed opposite corners.

  Ripped the tarp right off. There, through the missing windows, were several familiar black crates stacked high.

  “Let's get this shit loaded in their truck.” Joker spoke like we were doing a damned chore, rather than narrowly saving this club's ass.

  We had to move our asses. Couldn't think about the risk, the danger, or the Prez bleeding all over the fuckin' ground after the cut he'd taken.

  Everything moved on autopilot after that. Small miracle I swallowed the urge to rip every one of those fucks with the rival colors apart, soaking the glowing torches sewn on their cuts in their own dirty blood.

  When everybody saw the Veep and me carrying their crates, the whole atmosphere relaxed. Just barely.

  Prez leaned against the wall, still covering his throat, blood drying on his hands as fresh red soaked through.

  “Put them down,” he said, his voice getting weaker by the second. “Let these fuckers take their shit to the trucks.”

  We did. Red Beard nodded, and a few of his burly brothers picked the crates up, disappearing through the gate from our view.

  “We're not leaving 'til we check this shit over,” he growled at Dust. “Not 'til we find o
ut where Jimmy's little bitch has gone, neither.”

  “Already told you, we don't have a fuckin' clue. She ain't our problem. We've had this alliance for fighting the Deads, sharing intel, doing deals. That's all shot to shit now. Consider it dissolved and get the fuck out. We're done here.”

  There was a long pause. I kept one hand on my nine, ready to blow Red's brains out and start a shooting war if he so much as took another step toward Dust with that blade in one hand.

  Prez was hurt. Fucking incredible he could just stand there like the stone cold bastard he was, bleeding out his neck, staring all these mean motherfuckers down with his life oozing outta him.

  “He right, Prez?” The one named Rawdog looked at their leader, and I noticed one of his eyes was just glass.

  “Yeah. For today.” Red Beard turned his back and started walking, pushing past me with two of his boys flanking him. The rest trailed behind them.

  I took several steps toward the Prez, and froze when I heard the Torches stop by the gate and shout.

  “Nice doing business with you pricks! We'll be doing our homework, fuckers, and don't you forget it. If I find out you've been lying about that bitch who scurried off or anything else, you will see us again. Don't give a shit if it means killing some Deads along the way. We'd rather have an army of crazy fuckers breathing down our necks rather than friends like you.” He stopped, looked me dead in the eye, and let a mean smile twist his lips. “Shit, looks like the reaper's breathing down his neck. Better get that boy a tourniquet, or else I'll be busting somebody else's balls next time I come back.”

  Asshole. I formed fists so hard my fucking knuckles cracked. Blinked my eyes, just staring through the redness, 'til they were gone.

  Nobody moved 'til we heard their engines roar. Then everybody ran toward Dust. I got to him first.

  Prez halfway collapsed. I took over where he'd left off, squeezing one hand against his throat, feeling hot blood gushing against my fingers.

  “Oh, fuck.” I looked up, staring at Skin and Joker. “We gotta get him the fuck outta here. He's been bleeding like this for at least five minutes. Poor bastard must've lost a fuckin' gallon by now.”

  I looked down. The dirty red puddle beneath my boots said it was no exaggeration.