Outlaw's Vow: Grizzlies MC Romance (Outlaw Love) Read online

  His transformation freaked me the fuck out most.

  “Nobody in this club needs to worry, as long as we get a man inside.” Blackjack looked at his Veep.

  “I'm guessing you've already got a plan, Prez, yeah?” Brass said hopefully.

  “That's right. In all my years, nothing cements loyalty between clubs like mixing blood. Gil has a daughter who's back from college to help with his biz up there. We have a few eligible boys, and that gives us an in to –“

  I jerked up so hard in my seat my knees banged the fucking table. Everybody looked at me, and a couple guys laughed.

  Fuck them all. He was talking about Elle Jo, the only chick I'd ever touched and still thought about without dragging her to bed.

  That hot, blonde, blue eyed brat still caused my cock to strain some nights. I thought about her when I jerked off alone or dragged some club whore into my room to fill. I came like a wild fucking animal when I imagined what I'd lost with her, getting nothing but that sly little kiss before her old man put lead into my bones.

  Then I got pissed, thinking about everything I'd lost, wondering where she'd gone and who she was fucking. It wasn't me, damn it, and the sick truth made me wanna ram my fist through the wall.

  The razors in my blood didn't take too kindly to hearing her being talked about like a piece of fucking meat neither. That pussy was meant for me one time, and I'd let it fucking go because the Tacoma boys chased me outta town.

  That spoiled, sexy club princess had the only cunt I wanted to fuck, and hadn't. My whole vision went red and the world spun when I thought about her coming back to taunt me, wrapped in some fucked up Grizzlies intrigue she didn't deserve.

  All the brothers around this table had been through some serious shit, sure, but had we lost our goddamned minds?

  “Wait, what the fuck, Prez,” I grunted, pretending like I hadn't heard him right. “You can't be saying what I think you're saying. I thought the arranged marriage shit in this club died out with Fang?”

  “Easy, son.” Blackjack looked at me and smiled. “I know you have roots up there, but she's not your kid sister. She's our ticket to smoothing hell over and finding out whether or not Gil deserves more than a rope around his hands and a blade in his throat.”

  “Fuck...” My head was spinning.

  Elle Jo.

  The bitch. The tease. The princess.

  I hadn't seen her since the night I'd grabbed her ass and put my mouth on hers. She was probably the tenth woman I'd kissed, and I'd had at least fifty more since I'd blown town and left her sweet ass forever.

  Her old man gave me the greatest regret I'd carried like a ball and chain for four fucking years. That night he put a couple bullets in my shoulder, broke my ribs, warned me away from ever sniffing around her again...

  I'd been fucking robbed.

  My fists tensed. Roman shifted next to me, sensing my body language, ready to restrain my crazy ass if he needed to. Wouldn't be the first time.

  “We've come too close to let it all slip away, boys. We've turned this club around and sent the cartel packing. We did it without losing lives. Is having one of our men take an old lady on the fly extreme?” He paused, pointing at us with the bright orange end of his smoke. “Hell yes, it is. And you'd better believe I'd go crazier to see every one of you and your families safe from more bloodshed. I'm not asking anybody who's already hitched up with a woman and a kid to take on this job.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Talk about a narrow damned field for a ludicrous mission. Blackjack's eyes pivoted to me, then to Stryker, the only two eligible bastards left, excluding himself.

  But there was no way in hell the Prez would ever volunteer for this shit himself. Besides being old enough to be Elle's father, he hadn't let go of that woman who'd locked his heart in a tomb years ago, some chick I'd only heard vague rumblings about.

  Karolyn? Carol? Whoever the fuck she was, she was a big damned secret, one so bad he'd sworn off pussy forever.

  Stryker and I looked at each other. Our newest brother had come back into the fold after we'd thought he turned rat and nearly dropped his ass dead a couple months back. Lucky for him, we'd been wrong.

  “Prez,” he said slowly, “I'll do it to take the load off brother Asphalt's back. Just let me –“

  “No, you fucking won't. I can handle all the fucked up weight in the world.” I looked him dead in the eye, trying like hell to control the hornets swarming through my veins. “Elle, Gil, and me, we all got history. Let me do this. I'm the only other fucker here who hasn't married himself off to some chick.”

  Rabid cleared his throat, staring at me with a wild smirk. “Damn, brother, no need to jump the gun. Christa and me, we're not official yet.”

  I nodded. Roman was the only boy at the table formally hitched, but the weddings for Brass and Rabid would be coming soon, and they were just itching for the right time.

  “Fuck me. Never thought I'd see Asphalt beat me to the altar.” Rabid did a long take with the Veep, no doubt thinking the same shit, and the other guys laughed.

  “No time for bullshit.” Blackjack stood up, one eye wincing through the pain he still carried on his battered old bones. “We've found our man. Asphalt's right. I don't enjoy forcing that sonofabitch to give up his spoiled brat so we can play secret agent to protect this club. If they've been on good terms before, it'll soften the blow.”

  Yeah fucking right.

  Nobody in their right mind would've called the shit Ell-Bell and I had 'good.' I'd treated her like a dog 'til the night we kissed. Yeah, I'd taken a break from the teasing one long evening to help her fix her bike when I was sixteen, but she must've thought I was the biggest prick outside her old man's charter, and fuck if she wasn't right.

  'Course, I could afford those mistakes when I was young and stupid. Now? Prez was sending me into a viper's nest. There wasn't any crawling away without someone getting bit.

  Roman turned to Blackjack, his huge arms folded. “What happens if he goes up there and finds out Gil's been fucking with the Chinese like we thought?”

  “Then we'll fuck Tacoma hard. We've seen it all by now, boys. Brothers' blood spilled on the ground. The worst the cartel had to offer. Half of you've pulled the girls you're with straight out of hell. One rogue charter isn't gonna break us – so long as we get them into line before they go completely off the chain.”

  The Prez locked eyes with me. Slowly, I nodded.

  Every man at this table understood. My mind was going crazy thinking about dealing with Elle again, making her my no shit, white dress and bitch heels bride.

  But I wasn't marrying her because I had butterflies flapping in my heart.

  We weren't getting hitched because I still had a hard-on to fuck her 'til she screamed my name, tore my skin, went outta her mind beneath me. No, no, fuck no.

  This was all about the club, and I never let the patch down.

  Had to tell myself that shit. Had to believe it. Had to get this over with.

  “No questions?” Blackjack growled, waiting for a few tense seconds.

  Silence.

  The petrified bear claw smacked the table hard. “Meeting adjourned. Now, go get this poor bastard drunk while I tell Gil exactly how it's going down tomorrow.”

  * * * *

  “A married man! Holy fucking shit.” Brass slid a fresh bottle of Jack into my hands and slapped me on the back. “Rabid's right. I would've bet my right nut we would've been next after Roman.”

  “Good fucking thing you didn't. You'd be half a man right now if you'd put that shit on the table.” I ripped off the cap and took a long swig.

  Pure amber fire washed down my throat. Hellfire blazed in my guts, churning away with their usual mix of anger, piss, lust.

  My cock wouldn't stay down every time I thought about Elle Jo. I hadn't even seen the chick for four years. Not since I'd blown Tacoma with my shoulder wrapped in gauze.

  The ache her asshole dad left behind still hit me sometimes i
n the heat of battle, or when the winters were rough. Flesh and bone remembered what the brain wanted to forget with crystal-fucking-clarity.

  “That's it, brother. Drink up.” Roman's gorilla-sized hand squeezed my arm. “We've all had our differences here, you and me, but this is something for the club to celebrate. Family always is.”

  “Oh, fuck.” I rolled my eyes. “Come on, guys. It's not like this bitch means shit to me. I'm taking one for the club. Probably won't even fuck her.”

  My dick wanted to bust out and choke me when I lied.

  Brass grinned. “That doesn't sound like the Asphalt I know.”

  “Don't tell me. You're gonna keep getting your dick wet in sluts while she's wearing your brand?” Roman's eyebrows furrowed, disapproving as all hell.

  “Not your fucking business, brother. None of you.” Goddamn I needed another swig of liquid courage, and I took a big one. “You're all acting like you've never heard of a marriage of convenience. You know me. I don't settle for that shit, and I'm sure as hell not gonna be a married man. She won't tame me. No woman ever will.”

  Rabid stood up, polishing off his beer, and almost spat the shit out when he started laughing. “Good one, brother. You oughta know by now it's a bunch of bullshit. Just look how many boys here have fallen head over heels. If this Elle isn't the one for you, somebody else will be.”

  “I can see it now...” Brass smiled. “Asphalt and Roman's kids making play dates. Swapping recipes with their old ladies. Keep that shit up, and the Prez'll have to patch in some new prospects just so he's got guys ready to ride at all hours.”

  “Fuck you,” Roman growled. “I'm still doing everything an Enforcer should, and you know it. Raising my boy and loving my wife hasn't changed one lick of that shit. Never will.”

  “Easy, big guy. You know I'm just fucking around. All for our soon-to-be-ex bachelor's sake.”

  “Whatever, VP,” I said, taking another long pull of whiskey.

  Fire surrounded my brain, turning the world to a delicious red. Only thing I loved more than being toasty in booze was being balls deep inside some hot, tight pussy.

  My dick pounded, hard as a fucking brick, whenever I thought about Elle's. No, I wouldn't force her to fuck me, bride or not. Shit wouldn't be right.

  But damn if I'd put up a fight if she came along naturally. My shoulder remembered taking bullets for her on our last night together, just like my lips remembered that kiss.

  Her breath. Her need. The little moan she pushed into my mouth when my tongue twined with hers, held it down, stroked it the same way I wanted to spread her legs apart and drive into her virgin cunt.

  Fuck.

  “Yeah, Brass, let's not get cocky. The way it's going, we're gonna have ourselves a double wedding, if somebody doesn't knock up their girl first. We can still put our brother here behind us, right where he belongs.” Rabid winked at the VP and tilted his bottle at me.

  “You boys go do that. As for me, I'm gonna find something to fuck around here while I'm a free man, without taking more shit.”

  “It's your bachelor party, bro.” Rabid said, raising a drink to me. “You know we'll be right behind you, whatever happens.”

  Grabbing my bottle, I staggered away from the bar. The brothers meant well, but their barbs left my ass sore, seeing how this wasn't a real marriage.

  Wished the Prez had told me I'd end up the butt of everybody's bullshit jokes for taking this job on. Not that I would've let Stryker or anybody else do it.

  Shit, just imaging another man in this club taking Elle Jo to the altar made me want to smash my bottle to pieces on the nearest wall, stab the nearest asshole I could find.

  One of our new prospects, Glassy, was standing out by the gate, smoking. “You need something, Asphalt?”

  “I'm too fucked up to drive. You're gonna bring me into town for some tits and ass.” Another swig, and I dropped the Jack, spilling the shit all over the pavement. “Not that clean new place Rabid's old lady runs. I'm talking about the dirty tonight.”

  Glassy grinned, tilting his head. Hated when he looked at me like that because his fake eye pulled apart from the other one, making him look like a goddamned chameleon for a split second.

  “You're the boss. Let's take my truck.”

  * * * *

  I didn't come all the way to the last big whorehouse outside Redding to fuck. I came for therapy.

  Sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. I sipped it slowly, just waiting for some chucklefuck to make the first move.

  No matter how much my dick hurt tonight, my fists hurt more. They needed serious action.

  When you've fucked dozens of whores, sluts, and one-night wonders your whole damned life, fucking takes a backseat. The other F interested me a whole lot more, and nothing but a good, hard fight was calming my nerves tonight.

  I stared into my half-empty glass, realizing I shouldn't even be here.

  Well, fuck, shoulda, coulda, woulda never sat well with me anyway. That shit, that uncertainty, became an integral part of my life since the day my balls dropped and I got my bottom rocker.

  Nothing tonight made sense without blood.

  Marrying Elle Jo wasn't supposed to be in the cards. I wasn't supposed to take an old lady and a wife. I wasn't supposed to come up to Tacoma and face down Aaron “Gil” Mathers after he'd barely spared my life that night four years ago.

  Fuck what was supposed to happen. Destiny held an Ace in her hands tonight, but I could still control a few things, make them go my way or the motherfucking highway.

  They didn't call me Asphalt for nothing. I'd lost count of how many fucks I'd hitched to my bike over the years and shredded on the pavement.

  Too bad I couldn't do one more tonight. My fists would have to do the talking instead. And those sons of bitches sang when I saw the greasy, redneck piece of shit across the room, fondling some bitch swaying in stockings, refusing to let go when she tried to push him away.

  The girls out here were supposed to be off limits. This place looked like a strip joint on the outside by Blackjack's order – all part of the agreement July Kitty paid the club for being allowed to operate an old school fuckhouse in our territory.

  So, Kitty put the nice girls, the ones who weren't down to fuck, out to shake their tail near the bars. The real meat was out back, and the asshole ripping at her thong outta known it.

  I threw the rest of my brew back and slid the empty glass over to the bartender, who gave me the stink eye. Bastard knew what was coming.

  Too bad. No way would any of these assholes call the cops unless the place was riddled with bullets and blood.

  Rule number two, by the Prez's order – any attention to this place by the authorities was too much. They depended on our club's protection, and tonight, I was gonna give it to the girl.

  My feet felt like cement logs in my boots as I walked up to the handsy fuck. He had a firm hand around her thighs now, trying to pull her off the stage, more than a little dangerous for a woman in heels as tall as hers.

  “Whatdafuck, baby?” he slurred. “Come hang out on papa's lap. That little ass was made for this dick, and I ain't paying. You should be fuckin' paying me after all the shit I dropped on booze here. I –“

  “Hey, asshole.” Two words plus a finger jabbing his shoulder like a spear was all it took to spin him around.

  My fist exploded into the motherfucker's jaw before he even looked at me. He was fat, muscular, probably the former bodybuilder type. Bone crunched underneath the meat I'd punched through, and he recovered pretty fast for a drunken, horny hog.

  Clasping his hands, he took a step back, and swung. He had a wicked swing that barely missed caving in my skull. The bastard was fast for a fucker who'd seen his share of brawls.

  I was faster. My boots smashed into his shins so hard he went crashing down. The girls on the stage screamed, and several drunken jackasses laughed, forming a circle around us.

  Goliath got me in the knee as he went down, and I fell with hi
m. Shit.

  For a second, I wished I'd taken it easier on the booze before I decided to get into the thick of it. But second guessing wasn't my style. Ever.

  The whiskey in my system had its advantages when he got a glancing blow in against my ear. The punch rattled my whole skull, turning everything into a numb, ringing mess, but it didn't make me skip my next punch.

  I bellowed like a motherfucker and lunged, kneed him the spine, just the right spot to hold his drunken ass down while I wrapped my hands around his fat neck. He kicked something fierce for more than a minute, just like a tiger going down from a dart.

  Asshole nearly threw me off several times. I hung on, pressed my fingers deeper, choking him out, throttled his neck all the way through the last desperate thrashes.

  Now, it was time to see my shrink, that killer lightning surging up inside me every time I had some fucker's life in my hands.

  I squeezed so hard I swore I could've ripped his head off. Down on the ground, ready to take his life, we talked. I told him shit with my violent, bloody need to kill that nobody else would ever know.

  One shaking finger, deep in his throat, for all the times my parents screamed, all the nights the Tacoma PD showed up at the house, all the way up 'til my old man walked out, never to be seen again. Ma died in a hospice her sister brought her to in Olympia a couple years later, and he didn't even come to her fucking funeral.

  Another finger for the blood on my soul, a dozen men I'd shot or stabbed or shredded on the road, all devils who deserved it.

  One more for Elle Jo, the only girl I'd wanted to kiss twice.

  Three more fingernails scratching so hard they drew blood for this fucked up, fake, arranged marriage.

  Two more for the satisfaction I'd get watching Gil seethe while I threw back princess' veil and kissed her deep, my hand on her ass, feeling my cock swell for the only pussy who'd ever got away.

  Last three fingers for everything I'd never have with her – love, kids, shaking her in bed while she howled out my name like a fucking mad woman.

  No, wait. That last one, I wasn't ready to give up on yet. But all that other shit – everything that seemed to come natural to all the brothers who shared my clubhouse?