Never Have an Outlaw's Baby: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (22 page)

M
y sight came back
after the third beating.

Shit must've knocked something loose in my head, or maybe they'd just laid off my face long enough to make my eyes work again. Their punches and kicks sure as shit focused on other parts, slamming into my joints, my ribs, my spine every time I rolled.

They beat me fuckin' stupid, and then some.

My throat tasted like rust from coughing blood. Every time some new pain jolted me awake, I saw their faces every time.

Summer. Alex. Freddy.

Fuck, that last one, I knew I was hallucinating. I knew I was dying.

My brother's dead, eyeless face peeled back in a nasty grin. “Welcome home, brother. Didn't think you'd see me so fuckin' soon, did ya?”

Freddy's dead face became somebody else. It wasn't his ghost tormenting me. I looked, let my eyes adjust, and the real bastard slowly materialized.

“Piece of shit's silent as a stump. Nothin'.,” Hatch said, brandishing something that took my eyes another minute to see.

His bastards were all around me in a circle. Must've been half his fuckin' crew, maybe more. Never seen a gang of such dirty, rotten, drugged out bastards. The wiry motherfucker he called Skelly couldn't stop snorting crystal up his nose long enough to give me a proper beating, thank fuck.

“I'm guessing you ain't gonna talk, rat fuck. We've been at this for hours, and I'm getting fuckin' tired. Mama Peacemaker here, she's getting hungry. So's Betty G. Too bad her big, mean bitch of a cousin's got a hunger ten times worse.” He ran his finger along the edge of a big, sharp machete.

Shit, I could see it now, gleaming in the dull light. Damned thing was rusted, stained, maybe from blood he'd never bothered to wipe away.

“Get fucked,” I growled, my tongue so swollen it slurred my damned words worse than being plastered drunk.

Fuck it. Didn't care how hard it was to talk.

I'd keep cursing his evil ass 'til the end, all of them, even if it came out like mush.

Hatch paused, hovering over me for a moment, brandishing the blade. He shook his head, the rough lines on his face catching the light.

“You know that shit they say about the more things change, the more they stay the same? I'm looking at it. Right fuckin' now.” Slowly, he crouched down, balancing on his knees. “This is fuckin' funny. Familiar. I've seen this face before. Joker, you realize you're giving me the same broken look your bro did before my boys held him down and ripped his eyes out? He screamed like a stuck pig. Betty G and Mama Peacemaker drank deep that night.”

He held the machete up to my face. Fuck me, I began to struggle, instinctively trying to pull my skin away from the sharp, hot death pressed against my cheek.

Two other bastards caught me, held me, grabbing at my head. Hatch reached into his pocket, pulled out a switchblade in his other hand, and popped it open. Betty G.

This was fucking it. His evil mismatched eyes said it all.

He'd toy with me for awhile. Torture me. Take me apart piece by piece.

I'd die like a fuckin' man, though. I'd die without him hearing me scream, thinking about my girl, my kid, and praying to God the brothers caught these motherfuckers in time to save Alex and get him home.

“Hmm. Shit,” Hatch mused to himself, looking at me and smacking his lips. “You know, motherfucker, I've been around for more than six fuckin' decades and I still don't know if twins sound the same when they're dying. Thought I'd seen it all, Joker. Not that. Maybe you can give me something better than another hit or the keys to taking your boys apart. You can teach me something new, taking you apart.”

“You won't take shit,” I growled, looking the demon dead in his eyes. “You thought you'd get my family. Truth is, you ain't getting a fuckin' thing, and we both know it. Go ahead and take my hands. Take my eyes, take my nuts, pry my damned heart outta my chest. You'll never take the only fuckin' thing that matters, even after I'm shoveled in my grave.”

Bastard didn't like that. For a long second, he looked at me, like a volcano winding up to explode.

His hands moved. Then the switchblade was square against my cheek, pressing down, flaying my skin to the bone.

I closed my eyes. Expected the motherfucker to cut clean through my face, saw my head in half, take me out quick, dirty, and clean because I'd pissed him off so bad.

That kaleidoscope from hell started flashing through my eyes, dozens of faces I'd killed, all staring at me in one blinding split second. I'd ended a lot of fuckin' lives, always bastards who deserved it, but the karma train rolled home in the end.

Please,
I thought, praying to whatever the fuck was in charge now.
Just let me see my family one more time.

Their faces came.

Summer, the innocent. Green eyes, long dark hair, legs and tits and ass that set me on fire. Beautiful as the first night I kissed her, smiling and looking at me, holding our kid.

Alex, the blank slate. My son. Laughing, running his little hands against my stubble, like he knew he could grow up and be anything as long as he took the spoonful of applesauce I held out to his mouth.

Freddy. Piece. My face and his were one. He'd been my fellow hellraiser, the other half of me. He looked up and smiled, saving a seat for me in hell.

Grandpa. He'd done the best he could with us, bringing us up in the only family he'd known, the club.

He'd raised us better than that fuckin' junkie our old man had been, dying young when he'd choked on his own vomit. He'd brought us up better than that whore who'd shat us out, and run off with a hitchhiker, never to be seen again.

He'd done his damnedest, and I'd never forget it. I'd be waiting for him with Piece on the other side, so help me God.

But a noise like the world ending upended everything.

Hatch stopped on my cheekbone, his ears perked up, his mouth slowly falling open when he heard the sound. “Go, go, go you stupid fuckin' idiots! That's gunfire, goddamn it!”

He dropped his machete and spun around, reaching for his gun while his men went flying outta the room. The boys were already inside their clubhouse.

I watched two men jump out, only to get mowed down by long, brutal rounds.

An explosion. More bullets, some coming straight through the thin walls. Damned good thing I stayed on the floor, slowly reaching for the blade with my good arm.

A dark shape climbed over the dead men, just as Hatch began shooting. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

He sounded like a cornered animal.

When a man's cornered, he does the stupidest shit. Like forgetting what's behind him.

I saw my chance and jumped. Hurt every damned muscle in my body, but I caught him around the neck, screaming while I dragged him to the ground.

He kept firing the whole time, 'til I knocked the gun outta his hand. Small fuckin' miracle I hadn't caught a bullet.

Even bigger miracle once I had the evil asshole on top of me, fighting my fucked up arm harder than I fought him.

Die, you twisted fuck. Die!

He kicked, moaned, brayed like a bull going down.

I had to keep squeezing. Had to knock him the fuck out, or he'd wriggle away. Used the only weapon I had.

Just started going fuckin'
loco
, bashing my head into his from behind, hammering the shit 'til he was too dazed to keep going.

Our heads were both a bloody mess, soaked in hot, red grease by the time the boys came running in.

“Holy fucking shit!” a strange voice said, keeping his gun on us.

At first, I thought it was one of the Deads because the colors weren't Pistols. But the Grizzlies were our friends on this op, and they'd shown.

“Don't shoot.” That was all I could manage before I rolled weakened Hatch with all my strength, laying on top of him, holding him down.

“You shittin' me? You're a crazy motherfucker, Pistol!” The man crouched next to me, and I saw the lightning bolts on his temples out of the corners of my eyes.

“Don't. Shoot,” I growled again. “Just watch. This asshole's mine. Killed my fuckin' brother.”

Shit, how many ribs had they broken? I could barely even speak.

Where the fuck were my boys?

Didn't need to ask a second later, when several more men filed into the room.

“Veep!” Firefly's familiar voice hit my ears before I felt his big hands on my back. He pulled me up, against my protests, but I kept my boot on Hatch's back the whole time, watching him twitch.

Skin and Crawl added their hands to my shoulders, holding me up. That was when the Prez walked in, angry and steely eyed, drunk on the smell of blood and gunpowder, thick in every breath.

“They're smoked,” a big man said next to him, the Grizzlies MC Enforcer, Roman. He had something else in his arms.

“Fuck. Fuck – Alex!”

“Calm the hell down,” the big man growled, holding my son against his chest so he couldn't see the nightmare around him. “I've got two of my own. We'll get him outta here, soon as Dust gives the word. Their bitch with the purple hair kept him safe. Let her run off.”

“Go,” Prez said, motioning to the two Grizzlies at his side. “Get the kid in the truck and don't let him out of your sight. Lock this place down. Nobody else leaves 'til I say, not even one more whore.”

Dust stepped forward, looking over my battered body. “Joker...”

He put his boot down next to mine, making Hatch squirm twice as hard from the pressure on his spine. “This him? The Deads' leader?”

I nodded. Behind me, Skinny boy, Crawl, and Firefly all had their eyes on Dust, waiting for the only thing he could say to make shit right.

“Not much to look at. Shit, your shoulder's all fucked up. Can you walk?”

“I'll work with it,” I said coldly.

“Let him down,” he said to my brothers.

My muscles and bones ached as they let me stand on my own two feet again. I dropped down, banging my knees one more time, gripping the machete in my good hand.

“Listen, I owe you an apology for holding you back so long, boy. For lying to the whole damned club. Blood won't take it back. But it can make it right. You left something behind at the clubhouse.” Dust reached into his pocket, pulled a little scrap of fabric out.

I stared. Saw it was my V. PRESIDENT patch. “Okay. It'll be back where it belongs after we've burned this trash, Prez.”

A slow, brutal smile pulled at Dust's lips. He reached into his other pocket, took out his pipe, and gave it a light.

“Go ahead, brother. Take as much time as you need. This fuckhead won't tell us shit we can't get from his files, so there's no use interrogating. Do it for Piece. Do it for us. Mostly, do it for yourself.”

And I did.

My closest brothers watched as I slowly, brutally, mercilessly fucked up the rabid animal under me for the better part of the next hour.

I used Betty G and Mama Peacemaker. Gave both evil fuckin' blades the last taste of demon blood they'd ever sip, straight from their master. Then I snapped the motherfuckers on the floor with two bending, savage kicks.

When it was done, and his blood was on my hands, I collapsed.

Lion walked in with a bucket. Everybody helped wipe me down because I was too fuckin' exhausted to do it myself.

Prez took the bloody scrap of Hatch's cut I'd kept as a trophy. “We'll bring Don by the clubhouse next week so he can see it for himself. Old man deserves to know the deed's done.”

I nodded. Freddy's ghost finally seemed pacified, but it wasn't the peace I'd been expecting.

Murder never satisfied me like this. Before, I'd always wanted more of it, to keep killing when I'd already cut a bastard's throat, or mowed him down with bullets.

This time, I didn't even want to kick the chunks of the dead President I'd carved up around the room.

I wanted to go home.

I wanted to hold my kid.

And I wanted to put my lips on Summer's, good and slow, without either one of us ever wanting to pull away.

* * *

T
he next thirty
hours were just a fuckin' blur.

I had a vague sensation of my brothers carrying me to the truck, putting a better dressing around my fucked up shoulder, and throwing pills down my mouth like candy.

Alex was in the kiddie seat next to me in the back. I reached out, holding his little hand, watching him sleep.

I blacked out sometime in the first few miles.

When I woke up, I was flat on my back, Dust's ma, Laynie, standing over me.

She had her long gray hair pulled back in a bun. She checked the IV plugged into my arm before turning to the Prez, muttering a few words.

“He's stable, Dusty, but I'm worried about infection. If he takes a turn for the worse, we have to bring him in.”

“Infection? Bullshit. He's a tough sonofabitch. No fuckin' germs are putting him under, ma.”

Laynie turned to me, noticing I'd woken up. “Oh, Jesus. Don't move. You've lost a lot of blood, Joker. Lots of bones in casts. Don't freak out.”

Easy for her to say. For a second, I tried flexing my limbs, but everything moved like it was stuck in concrete. The drugs, the daze, the overwhelming blows I'd taken the last couple days struck like a truck colliding into my ass before any panic could set in.