Outlaw's Bride (9 page)

No, not quite. Fuck if I'll ever admit it, though.

His face darkened, and he gave me a stern look, tearing the cig outta his mouth. “You're flying very close to the sun, and you're going to burn if you don't stop talking. Of course it's different. I can control my own damned business, and you can't. Your little crush is what's threatening the club's integrity right now. You're the only one standing here who's got to prove you can get a grip, iron out your own ugly bumps, son.”

“You think it's really gonna make shit better? Boxing us in like two angry animals?”

“You'll come to terms, one way or another. Honestly, I don't give a shit what you say to her, as long as you give the girl her distance when she wants it. You're there to protect the property and dig into cartel spider holes. Don't pretend there's more here than there really is. And if you start implying I'm moving you around like a pawn to smooth my own past, I'll clock you on your ass. That's a promise.”

That was the real trouble, wasn't it? The Prez and I knew each other too well. I'd had a glimpse into his life no other brother had before I went to the pen.

Too bad he had the upper hand this time, sending me onto blondie's turf to turn my balls blue. And jabbing his evil ass about the chick he'd lost a decade ago wouldn't change a damned thing.

Distance? Fucking
distance?
I'd give it to her in spades. I had to, or else I'd crash my bike into her barn. Seeing her was dangerous – worse than when she came to the clubhouse.

I knew the second I did, I'd start remembering how nice it felt to fist those soft gold locks, how soft I made her perky tits in my mouth, how tight her pussy clenched around my cock each time I unloaded in her...

Fuck.
Her body did scary, black magic shit to mine. Eyeing her tits and ass did more than just stir up old lust. Sally's body made me so drunk it hurt not to fuck her, and that kinda blinding, wanton pain caused a man to make mistakes. We'd already entered a situation where every little blip was fatal too.

I couldn't think dirty. I couldn't think about her lips, her ass, her pussy. I had to just buckle down and do my damned job, ignoring what we had, blind to everything I still wanted to do to her.

Not that I expected much outta playing pretend. Hell, I craved her wrapped around me like a fucking madman, but I'd never have pussy that good again.

I could forgive the hot hourglass shape she carried around, but there was no way in hell I'd forget about the woman behind it. She'd spat in my damned face in slow motion for two fucking years while I rotted in the slammer, and then tried to waltz back into my life like nothing ever happened.

No chick did that shit to me and got a second chance.
No one
– even if she made me heave and come like a bull on crack.

I'd watch her through the thick glacier wall between us, but I wouldn't fucking wonder. I'd jack my dick off in every nameless whore in California before I forgave Sally and hauled her into bed again, and
nothing
in this world was gonna change it.

Some old flames are meant to be smothered out forever.

I didn't see her for the first couple days. Not directly, anyway. I made sure to send Beam and Stryker up near the farmhouse. They did the talking when she was out, or else with her stubborn ass cousin, Norm.

Damn if I didn't look when she was moving her lips, though, standing with my boys. I stared across the fields like my eyes were fucking binoculars, following her dark, shapely silhouette across the fields when sun passed across the sky.

For a busy farm girl, she sure made a lot of trips back inside that house, sometimes for hours at a time before coming out and getting back to work.

Whatever, it was none of my business.

Mine was staring at me from the dirt. We'd found a couple more spider holes around their property, and an even bigger one beyond it on state owned grounds, tucked back behind a drainage ditch just beyond a large field.

We found it on day three, just as the bright September sun was gliding low in the sky. Fucking thing was so dark I couldn't see shit without a flashlight and lowering myself into it.

Stryker had to bring me a ladder to get down into it. Predictably, the Mexicans left nothing down there except empty shelves and some stray packaging. I picked the shit up and held it under the light, scanning for familiar markings, serial numbers, anything that would tell me what the fuck was down here.

Kevlar
. I saw the familiar word and nodded to myself.

It made sense. This place could've easily held a small arsenal at one time, including body armor.

Only question left was whether the bastards were done and gone. Was this just a staging area for an attack – one they still had coming? Or were we looking at the ruins of an empire they'd already abandoned?

Smuggling up front could do wonders for an assault. Nothing was easier than bringing men over the border, and then driving the long haul to NorCal.

If they had another route for their weapons, or maybe brought them from suppliers already in the States, they'd have all the shit they'd need to fund a kill team to hit us where it hurt.

Fuck.
I thought about the rats inside the club. Whoever the fuck they were, they'd be feeding heavy intel the whole damned time, guiding their bullets and bombs straight toward our clubhouse with surgical precision.

That shit only had one solution – we needed to make our move
first.
Snarling, I stuffed the body armor tag in my pocket and climbed the ladder.

Stryker frowned as soon as I told him what I'd found. “Fuck. The Prez needs to get more guys out here. What if there's more? We can't comb all these fields ourselves. There's too many acres out here. You got any idea how big and remote it gets on this property?”

“Yeah, but you're getting ahead of yourself. We've gotta talk to the owners first. We're dealing with civilians, and the Prez isn't gonna risk butting heads over going into their fields for a closer inspection.”

“Shit, you kidding? There could be a whole lot more out here, brother! This one's empty, but what if there's a fucking arsenal half a field away?”

I gave him an icy stare 'til he broke eye contact. Stryker was a hungry new pup with his patch, sure, but that didn't mean he'd get away with disrespecting the top dogs who'd been here for years.

“Call Blackjack. I'll talk to Sally or Norm myself.”

His eyes widened. “You sure, Roman? The girl might be less cooperative if you –“

This time, my eyes turned his ass to stone faster than a fucking Medusa. I shot him a look so dirty his lips stopped dead. Stryker grunted, turned around, and started heading for his bike to phone it in.

That's what I thought.
I grabbed my bike and rode down the road toward the center of the farm, where they had all the family shit.

It was a clear night, and the high silvery stars were coming out. They hung like shrapnel in the sky, reminding me one wrong move with Sally could shred my world to even tinier fragments.

Fucking hell. Part of me hoped I'd hash it out with Norm, and the other half hoped to see Sally. Shit,
see her?

No, that was a lie. That part of me hoped to grab her, slam her against the nearest wall, and make her apologize for the pile of shit she'd laid on me at the clubhouse. Then I'd twist her chin 'til her lips were open, ready to be sucked, teased, and bitten. I'd rob every oxygen molecule outta this chick's lungs, leave her tasting me for the next week.

Big surprise, my dick throbbed by the time I pulled up and killed the engine. I yanked on my jeans and headed for the door, hoping the damned wood between my legs went down before it turned me dumb.

A couple other bikers were there in front of the house. Old Southpaw stood near their garden on the hill, having a smoke. He saw me, nodded, and returned to gazing across the fields.

I'd seen him sling lead a few times before. He was roughly Blackjack's age, and even less spry, but he'd survived club life long enough to know a few nasty tricks. He'd be useful if any cartel parasites were stupid enough to show their faces.

Running up the short cement staircase, I saw the light on in the kitchen through the screen, and banged on it with my fists. No answer after twenty seconds, so I pounded it again.

Nothing.

“Sally? Norm? Come the fuck out. We gotta talk!” I cupped my hands over my mouth and yelled the last part.

Still no movement. Thankfully, the screen wasn't locked, but that shit wouldn't have stopped me when I ripped it open.

It banged shut behind me, and I marched into the house, one hand on the holster near my hip. The Mexicans were sneaky motherfuckers, and I doubted they'd be able to get through our patrols unnoticed, but uglier things had happened in this business before.

Fuck, it was quiet in the farmhouse. Too damned quiet.

Where the hell was Beam? And Sally?

Something moved outside the window in the fields outta the corner of my eye. I whipped around and saw Norm with his salt and pepper hair moving near the garden, winding up a hose.

One accounted for. Two more missing.

The kitchen opened into a big living area, and at first it looked just as empty as everything else. I turned to head up the rickety old staircase, before I heard the laugh coming from the nook next to it.

I heard a wet smacking sound, recognized it instantly. Finding some cartel asshole with his dagger to my girl's throat would've only hit me a little harder.

My girl? Fuck no, she wasn't. Not with her lips on another brother.

Still, that didn't mean I was gonna shrug and walk away the second I saw Beam holding her against the wall, his punk ass crop of hair flopping as he moved his lips against hers.

Sally's eyes were huge, and they turned into big blue moons the second she saw me. Our eyes locked. Rage steamed through every drop of blood in my veins. She didn't take her eyes off me for a second, deepening her kiss, suddenly shifting her hips into his.

No way. No goddamned fuckin' way. She's not teasing me like this and getting the hell away with it.

“Thieving jackass – get the fuck off!” Everything happened in a blur.

I moved so fucking fast, all on auto-pilot, that I barely realized what my hands were doing before they clutched Beam's throat, twisted him around, and threw him against the fucking staircase. He hit the banister with a sick pop, about the time Sally screamed.

Beam roared, kicked, and twisted on the ground, bounding back on his feet. Okay, so the blow hadn't cracked his spine. Why the fuck did that disappoint me so much?

“What the fuck are you doing!?” They both screamed it simultaneously, like getting hot and heavy had linked their minds or something.

I ignored her and started heading for the fuck cornered by the banister. Growling, he took a predictable swing when I was about a foot away. I caught his wrist and twisted it with ease, bending it backward like fucking putty.

“You're here to do a job, asshole. Not make a move on the woman who owns this place. You step the fuck away right now, maybe I won't have to break your good riding wrist.”

“Fuck you, Roman,” Beam snarled, pain narrowing his eyes. “Where do you get off? You're not the Prez. You've got no right!”

“Whatever. Keep talking, asshole. I'll let you explain your broken paw to Blackjack.”

I wasn't serious. Snapping a brother's wrist would land me in a world of shit.

But I bent his hand to the limits, making him double over with rage and hurt, all while Sally finally caught up to me, beating on my back and screaming incoherently.

“Let him fucking go, Roman! This isn't your business! It's my house!”

If only it were so easy to ignore her the rest of the time. I didn't let up the death grip on his wrist 'til his knees hit the floor, and he became a gibbering mess, begging me to let go.

“Last chance, brother.” That last word dripped sarcasm all over the fucking place. “You gonna be a good boy and behave yourself, or do I have to get papa involved?”

One more tug on the wrist. Beam grunted, then forced his eyes open, staring at me with the beaten hatred I'd seen on men when I remind them who's the strongest bastard in the room.

“Let go. Please. I'll bounce.”

All I needed to hear. My hands released and I stepped backward. It took the fuck a few seconds to collect himself and stand up again. Turning, I finally looked at Sally, and she shook her head, tears bright in her beautiful eyes.

It was hard as fuck not to go after Beam. Christ, how long were they at it? Did he feel her tits? Her hot wet pussy?

Everything making me lose my goddamned mind for years? Everything I wanted to suck and own and fuck, even after she'd spat in my face several times over?

“Sally...” She looked away when I reached for her, whipping her head around to hide the tears. “You gotta talk to me, babe. I came in here on business. Honest. Seeing my boy fucking around like that wasn't part of the plan.”

“Your plan doesn't rule my life!” she snapped. “None of this does. We're supposed to be done, Roman. I knew I should've taken this upstairs...”

“No, you never should've kissed this asshole. Period. You outta see him at the clubhouse. Our new brother goes through a new slut every week, and you were about to be his latest toy.” My turn to shake my head. “Fucking shit, Sally. We both know you're better than a casual fuck.”

“Am I?” Her blue eyes cut right through me, laser beams running on bald faced hate. “Casual's all we were, wasn't it? We made our mistakes and trashed what we had. I'm moving on, and you don't have any say. Besides, you want to talk about poor Beam going casual? Let's talk about what I saw
you
doing at the clubhouse, Roman. You're the manwhore. You're the one who came out naked, that pigtailed slut hanging on your arm, bawling me out for some crap I never even did!”

“You can kill the high and mighty shit, babe.” Fuck, she didn't get it. “This is all club business. That's why I'm standing here. It's not about us. I'm not letting you ride Beam's dick, and that's got nothing to do with our ancient history.”