Bitter Kind of Love: Prairie Devils MC Romance (Outlaw Love) (2 page)

No, no, Jesus Christ, no.

I couldn't let this sick animal have his way with me. I wouldn't survive.

Right then and there, I broke. My cowardly mind spun, ready to cough up anything to get me out of this. Anything to take away the pure fucking evil circling me in this room.

Hatter reached up, began to unzip his fly. I couldn't even stand to see it. Terror hit me like lightning, and I flinched in Nero's hands.

“Stop it. Stop. Call him off,” I whimpered. “I know where the stupid map is.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “I'm gonna give you one more chance, bitch, and only one.
Who
killed the Rams? Who the fuck was there before the Feds rolled in? Who took it?”

“The Devils. The whole club combed the place over good before they gave it up to the cops. If anyone's got my Dad's stuff, it's them. The map's at their clubhouse, stuffed up in some office. Now, please...let me go.”

Nero never smiled. He just nodded and did as I asked, letting me fall to the floor. He coughed once, watching me collapse in a sobbing heap on the ground.

Cold. Satisfied. Happy, maybe.

And why shouldn't he be? The bastard just watched me sell my soul.

“Come on, Shark,” he said to the larger man in the corner. “Bitch finally gave us a gold nugget we can use. We'll call it in to the rest of the club and figure out the best plan of attack.”

The man with the VP tag and the silver teeth nodded, and began to follow him out. I looked up, staring through my tears, wishing I could see through the walls, straight to the dense gray winter sky.

I'm sorry, Stinger. I'm sorry.

God, I'm so fucking sorry!

I saw it in my mind already. These assholes weren't going to waste much time. They'd show up not long after Christmas if they had to, a sneak attack. Nero and his men would burst in with guns blazing, brandishing their blades. They'll kill, torture, and burn anyone they had to for that damned map.

The Missoula boys would never see it coming. Blaze, Tank, Moose...Stinger.

They'd all fight like mad until their last breath. But it wouldn't be enough. They'd be flattened on the ground with holes in their chests.

I'd watched the club nearly get slaughtered in one ambush while I was there, and the Slingers promised hot lead instead of half-assed poison.

I thought about Stinger's strong face, lifeless and pale, a neat dark hole through his head.

Fuck. This couldn't be happening!

I couldn't let him or any of his guys die because of my screw up.

My hands stretched across my face and just kept going, pulling on my skin. I wanted it to hurt. My surrender was going to get a lot of good men killed, and probably their old ladies too. I might as well have put a gun to Stinger's temple and pulled the trigger myself.

I stopped stretching my face to total hell and looked up. The other two demons, Hatter and Wasp, lingered. I wanted them gone like yesterday. I wasn't sure there would ever be a way to bleach their evil presence out of my rental.

After this, I had to leave. I had to get out and go far, far away.

Maybe I could leave the Devils an anonymous tip, a letter or a call to tell them what was coming...but first, I needed these killers
gone.

Shit, why weren't they moving, following their nasty leader out the door?

“Hey!” I screamed, my life returning. Nero stopped with his VP at my front door and turned. “We're done here, aren't we? Take your guys and go. I gave you what I promised.”

At last, I saw his smile, evil and crooked as the rest of him. “There's a special place in hell for traitors and cunts who can't keep their lips sealed. Don't worry, baby, your friends from the Prairie Pussies will be joining you down there soon. Daddy's waiting too. Old Mickey's paying for some seriously fucked up sins on Satan's bench right now, I'd wager...”

My eyes bulged. My lungs felt like they'd been filled with cement. I couldn't even shake my head or ask him what the hell he was talking about. It was all there in his savage face.

“I'm gonna give you boys an hour with this bitch. Have your fun and then clean up the mess. We'll dump her body off on the way to Montana.”

Nero was out the door, his VP behind him. I took one look at the two smiling assholes closing in on me fast, trying not to let my knees turn into mud.

Run. Get away. Fight.

I hurled myself downstairs, heading for the basement, listening to their heavy boots clomping behind me. The last thing I thought before my screams pierced the darkness was Stinger.

I hurled my frenzied wishes, my prayers, my everything high into the cold, indifferent winter sky. I would've given anything for a miracle, anything for him to hear it and come for me.

Yes, I prayed, even when I saw what a total, undeserving bitch I'd become, the last girl in the world who deserved a rescue by the man who haunted her dreams.

But I wasn't stupid. The universe never, ever worked like that. I didn't believe in coincidence or miracles, and I definitely didn't deserve one after what I'd done.

Shit! It was so fucking dark down here, and I didn't dare turn on the lights and give them an easier time. I ran into the washing machine, its cold metal slapping my hands. When I looked up, the bikers' dark shadows blocked the hall, boxing me in.

When Hatter lunged, pulling at my hair, I lost it.

The screams, the prayers, and everything else went numb. He whirled me around, slapping me against the wall before I lost my balance and began to fall. Nothing broke it. Nothing caught me. Nothing except brutal regret as I hit the floor and they started tearing at my clothes.

That thing they say about your whole damned life flashing before your eyes right before you die? I thought it was crap – until it happened.

I remember everything, past and present flashing like strobe lights, colliding jigsaws in my head. Every piece of Stinger, I tried to cling onto, but I couldn't. It was all coming in a blizzard, churning too fast, the few good pieces always out of reach.

I'd lived on a merciless ledge, and I was an idiot to think there'd be anything different at my life's sudden dead end.

One second, I caught a fragment. Just one.

I remembered Stinger's warmth, his strength, his powerful arms wrapped around me, so real my heart stopped shaking to tatters in my ribs. And then it was gone in a wink, replaced with the savage wolves behind me, grabbing me by the ankles and ripping at my clothes.

Months Earlier...

I
t was a run like any other. Or that was the way it started, anyway.

I was perched in the big truck's passenger seat next to my Dad, quietly humming to himself as classic rock blasted over the radio. On the lonely highway cutting West through Bozeman, we looked like any other truck hauling freight, and that was his goal.

Nobody would've guessed Mickey James was anything more than an ordinary trucker unless they'd done business with him. If they could've seen the way he lived, they quickly would've realized the lie...

I never knew how much my Dad made running guns and contraband over the years, but it must've been millions. Too bad the long stays we had in Vegas and Reno always managed to take his latest fortune. The odds never cared how big a man's fortune was. The hungry casinos devoured it just the same.

I'd been on the road with him since I was seventeen and he took me out of school for the very last time. Whoever my mother was – some junkie whore, he said – I doubt she'd have approved of the way we lived, if she was a decent soul.

And there was some serious doubt about that.

I was almost asleep when we pulled into the rest stop. Dad's humming stopped and he held his stomach, popping the door and quickly running to the bathroom. I straightened up, staring into the night, hoping it'd be morning soon so I could enjoy the familiar mountains heading into Missoula.

The stress was killing him. After years of wheeling, dealing, and killing when he had to, his lucky star was fading. I'd overheard him bitching to contacts about business being down ever since the Grizzlies and Prairie Devils, two warring motorcycle clubs, cut some kinda truce. In the blink of an eye, two of his biggest clients no longer needed to stockpile weapons to point at each other's heads. Worse, the Devils were running their own supply lines through Grizzlies territory into Canada, and Dad was just one of many suppliers vying for his tiny cut.

He came back wiping his mouth, shirt reeking like he'd just spat up his stomach. His eyes were bloodshot. I breathed the sickly smell deep, making sure he hadn't taken to drinking on the road. I didn't think he'd completely lost his mind yet, but I had to be sure...

No, he was dry. The foul scent was too gross to be whiskey. Thank God.

“You okay?” I whispered, reaching over for his hand.

He jerked it away. “One day, I'm gonna teach you to drive one of these rigs, Alice. I'm fine. Just a little older for wear and a bad hotdog back in Bismarck or something. Fuckin' gas stations...”

“This wouldn't have anything to do with the deal that's about to go down, right?” My eyes narrowed.

So did my father's. For a minute, I thought he'd chew into me for sticking my nose where it didn't belong. Instead, he started up the truck and chuckled as we got onto the road.

“Nah. Nothing like that. The boys we're going to see won't refuse the shit we've got in the back. We can do business with the Grizzlies. They're our ticket to making some bucks without having Throttle's little stamp of approval on fucking everything.” He growled the name of the Devils' national President. “You're turning into a curious little cat, ain't you?”

I looked away. His tone sounded half-impressed and half-mocking. I could never be sure which feeling won out in my Dad's weird mind.

“That's okay, hon. If I can get a few things stitched together right, then maybe we can figure out some college or something for you after you get your GED.”

“Yeah.” My lips twisted sourly. How many times had I heard that? “Maybe if it doesn't all get pissed away at the casinos this time.”

Dad's friendly expression melted. The sickly, grayness on his face returned. I turned away from him, staring out the passenger window and into the deep, dark Montana night. If I didn't know any better, I almost thought he was ashamed.

I couldn't blame him for wasting his money on games. Learning something practical sure as hell didn't interest me, and sending me to an art school I'd probably flunk was barely better than losing thousands at the tables. My fingers pinched the bag with my sketch book, all I had for company on these long, miserable trips, not counting the man next to me.

Dad kept his maps in there too. He left me in charge, knowing I never misplaced anything.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. Growing up was nothing but disappointment and feeble promises that never materialized into anything better. Time had done nothing but grind us down more, and I doubted it would change now that I was old enough to drink.

It was hard to imagine how it could be any worse. A shame, really, because if I'd seen the blackness coming, maybe I would've been prepared for the tragedy that came next.

“Alice? Honey, wake up.” Dad pressed a cold bottle to my cheek.

I opened my eyes and sat up. A knot in my neck burned, always the same spot. Too many years spent sleeping in screwed up positions on the road with him left little quirks youth couldn't heal.

Like always, I snatched the cold orange juice out of his hand and popped the cap. We'd just left another gas station and the sun was high overhead. The mountains made me smile as I sipped on pure acid.

The cheap OJ was fake as hell, but at least it was familiar, the same as the rolling peaks closing in fast as the truck rumbled down the road.

“How much longer?” I asked.

“Just another hour or two. The Rams' place is up near the Idaho border, wedged between a couple little towns. Keep an eye out for toothless fucks with banjos and shotguns in them hills. From what I understand, these boys keep their clubhouse
way
back.” He winked.

I managed a weak smile at his lame ass joke. Good thing a life of dealing with criminal buyers meant neither of us was truly likely to be rattled by some backwooded mouth breathers.

An hour later, the wisecrack took on a grim reality. Dad had to shift gears several times to force our heavy load up the narrow unpaved road, cut up the side of a mountain flanked with trees.

The place looked even dingier than I imagined. It was early afternoon when we rolled in, and nobody came out to greet us. Dad and I were in their clubhouse, taking seats at the bar, before anybody stirred.

A muscular man with gray hair and a beer belly came out of a room down the hall twenty minutes later, rubbing his eyes.

“Hello, Block,” Dad greeted him. “You ready to talk business?”

The Rams' President eyed us warily. He looked gross, shirtless except for the cut draped on him, potbelly sticking through the opening.

“I'll be ready soon, but the other guys aren't. Hold your horses. I need the whole club in on this so we can vote. You know how this shit works. Nice and democratic.” He picked up an open bottle of whiskey on the counter and chugged it down. “Make yourselves at home, you two. Must be a bitch and a half barreling all the way here from Michigan on such short notice.”

“Desperate times,” Dad said darkly. “Gotta do whatever it takes to drum up business. You got contacts who are interested in buying bulk at a good price. Can't do that with the Devils blocking the old routes going East to West.”

“Fucking Devils,” Block snarled, clanking the nearly drained bottle on the counter. “Those pussy bitches are supposed to show up here next week. Bastards want us patched over quick as a support club since this state's their territory now – otherwise they'll disband us.”

Dad's face tightened up. I waited for an explosion, but I should've known I'd be waiting an eternity. He rarely let his real emotions out.
Very
rarely.

“Don't worry,” Block said, settling an uneasy hand on Dad's shoulder. “I'm not gonna double-cross you. Those fuckers won't be keeping too close an eye on us out here as soon as things are settled. I got plenty of ways to hook you up with the right guys.”