Misled. Part 3

"Have a last name, Megan?"

"Same as Big Joe," she said, slumping against the sofa. "Foy. My name is Megan Foy."

He drew in a deep breath and his green eyes shuttered. Jaw clenched, he nodded. "Where are your shoes?"

"In some alleyway, I guess. I threw them at Rack and the others," she added when she saw his curiosity.

"s.h.i.+t."

He left her in the room, leaving the door open, so she saw the long hallway with lights from the main room s.h.i.+mmering against the brown wall. With the door open, the overwhelming noise level made her head hurt. The smell of cigarette smoke thickened the air. Everything she should've noticed while the man mesmerized her, she was noticing now. But he engaged all Meggie's senses, her ears warmed by the sound of his voice, her eyes fascinated by the sight of his face and body, her nose filled with his scent and her skin consumed by the feel of his hands.

She noticed him storming back toward her and she rose to her feet. Standing up, she wouldn't feel so vulnerable. He still loomed over her, but, somehow, she seemed like a frightened little girl when she sat down and let him intimidate her.

He threw socks at her and she noticed a burly, baldheaded man behind him. A teardrop was tattooed beneath his left eye. She sat down to put the socks on. They were terribly big and colored the type of gray that once was white.

"Val, escort Boss's daughter outside the compound."

"No!" Meggie said. "C-can't I stay here until--?"

"No," he barked.

She set her jaw and raised her chin. "My daddy won't be too happy when he finds out you made me go."

"Ain't as if I give a f.u.c.k, but I appreciate your concern. Don't worry, babe, I know just how to handle Boss."

The man named Val snickered but the other man's warning look shut him up. She realized she didn't even know his name.

"I can't go back out there. Please? I won't be any trouble. I promise to behave until my daddy gets back. I'll even tell him how nice you were to me."

The more she spoke, the angrier the man seemed to get. He signaled to Val, who grabbed her arm and started dragging her out the office.

Tears rushed to Meggie's eyes. "Please," she whispered, looking over her shoulder at the other man.

In response, he slammed the door shut, smas.h.i.+ng the last of her hope that he might soften toward her and allow her to stay within the safety of the club.

Chapter 4.

The next morning, Outlaw scowled at Rack as they sat at the table in the meeting room. "I don't ever want no little b.i.t.c.h comin' in my club tellin' me my boys went after her for five f.u.c.kin' dollars," he snarled.

He couldn't get the girl's fascination with his d.i.c.k out of his head. She should've had virgin p.u.s.s.y stamped somewhere on her. She was that f.u.c.king innocent. A fool could see she was f.u.c.king trouble. Not only as Boss's daughter-and Outlaw had killed the f.u.c.ker-but because the thought of deflowering her appealed to him. He knew wh.o.r.es and he knew innocents. Her big, blue eyes had been completely taken with his c.o.c.k and not because it was large. No. A chast.i.ty belt clamped on her a.s.s wouldn't have proclaimed her inexperience as loudly as her expressions had.

Virgin or not, though, she was a feisty little thing. Determined to have him listen to her, she'd touched him even when he'd ordered her not to. Her conversation in his office had been engaging and lively. Every now and then, her eyes sparkled and snapped, fascinating him. Her eyes were so much like Boss's and Snake's, hinting at the little h.e.l.lcat hiding within the frightened girl.

But she'd left Seattle because her stepfather lived there. Outlaw didn't like the unspoken words. The things she hadn't said must've been bad as a motherf.u.c.ker for her to have sought out Boss for help.

Outlaw f.u.c.king wanted her. He wanted inside of her. He tried to drum up disgust at the thought but couldn't. He couldn't blame her because her father had turned into a murdering, lying, drugged-up d.i.c.khead. He doubted she was even aware of what the man had become.

"I can't allow n.o.body to get away with lifting my s.h.i.+t. I don't f.u.c.king care if it's a penny-"

"You heard me, Rack. When she told you she was Boss's kid that shoulda ended it. You shoulda put her on the back of your f.u.c.kin' bike, bought her whatever the f.u.c.k she needed and been done with it."

"Oh yeah?" Rack snapped, planting his forearms on the table and leaning forward. "You're so concerned with Big Joe's daughter when you stopped being concerned about him months ago?"

Outlaw looked at Mortician, who shrugged. His dreads were queued and the skull ring on his dark brown fingers reminded Outlaw of how the man had earned his patch. He'd rewarded himself after being patched in and he'd earned his patch by helping Outlaw bury a motherf.u.c.ker alive.

If anything p.u.s.s.ified Outlaw, it was that s.h.i.+t. He'd never forget the horror frozen on the dude's post-mortem face when they'd dug him up. It had taken him months to sleep in the f.u.c.king dark again. That had been some intense and f.u.c.ked up s.h.i.+t. He swallowed. After all these years, he wanted to hurl. Other kills had been much more gruesome. f.u.c.k, the disposal had been more gruesome. Something about digging the man up instead of letting him stay there.

They'd had orders, though, and they'd had to follow them.

"I ain't in here to discuss what went down with Boss, brother," he said as nice as he could, when he wanted to rip Rack's throat out.

"Nothing new there, brother."

"Yo', Rack, if you have a problem, you need to get gone," Val advised, chewing on the straw he'd just used to slurp up beer and thrusting his chin toward the door.

"We aren't here to dig up old s.h.i.+t," Digger advised, then laughed, although Outlaw didn't find what he said funny. "Get it? Dig?"

"Shut your dumb a.s.s up, pardner," Mortician growled. "With your Winnie-the-Pooh a.s.s."

"That was Trigger," the man amended.

"You mean Tigger, dumb a.s.s," Mortician corrected his brother. He rolled his eyes, reached over and slapped Digger's arm. The two men shared a strong family resemblance but Digger was slightly taller than his older brother.

"Can it. All of you," Outlaw said. He focused on his vice president again. "Heed my f.u.c.kin' words. You want somebody to pick on, go find somebody your own f.u.c.kin' size. She was hungry. You shoulda fed her."

"She's also homeless," Rack said with a smirk. "I didn't hear you inviting her to stay here. And you lucky I decided to bring her here and not take my money out of her a.s.s."

b.i.t.c.hes came and went. Every man in the club had his favorite piece of a.s.s and many of them had their old ladies. But the thought of Rack putting his big paws on that gorgeous little piece infuriated Outlaw. He shot from his seat, knocking it over, and grabbed Rack by the throat.

"You f.u.c.kin' touch her, I'm gonna let Digger shovel out your grave and give Mortician a shot at you with all his special little tools. We clear?" He pressed his fingers into the man's neck until his eyes started bugging out, then he abruptly released him.

Rack slumped into the chair, holding his throat and gasping for breath.

"Who the f.u.c.k else was with you?"

Rack threw him a dirty look and tightened his lips.

"That's the way it is, huh, Rack?" Outlaw didn't have time to deal with a young b.i.t.c.h who had more s.p.u.n.k than sense. However, he intended to impress upon Rack what a wise decision it would be not to harm her if he ever ran into her again. "I'll deal with you after this f.u.c.kin' meetin' ends. Right now, we gotta get ready for distribution and collection."

Outlaw braked his bike before killing the engine and toeing the kickstand down. The creek languished beneath the sun, the glare bouncing off the placid gray water. He stared at nothing in particular, enjoying the warmth on his face, though it was as cold as a motherf.u.c.ker. Lighting up a smoke, he walked to the edge of the water. He needed the peace and quiet, the beauty of nature. He had some hard s.h.i.+t facing him and if he didn't survive, he hoped his last thought would be of this place. The serenity to be found here.

G.o.d knows, he'd had little enough of peace, quiet, or serenity. Not in the last fourteen or fifteen years. Since the age of twenty, he'd killed G.o.d knew how many dumb f.u.c.ks. He'd stolen s.h.i.+t from rival clubs. He'd run guns. He'd moved drugs. He'd gotten himself and his brothers out of some pretty f.u.c.king tough spots. Outlaw knew his time was coming to a close. Motherf.u.c.kers just couldn't keep f.u.c.king with dangerous s.h.i.+t and continue to live. Sooner or later, luck walked the f.u.c.k away, leaving a poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d with a knifed or bullet-ridden body, then small parts of you buried deep in forests and s.h.i.+t.

Or buried the f.u.c.k alive.

His cigarette was almost burned out, but he took a drag anyway. He gazed to his left where lush vegetation mingled with tall trees before sloping to a flat carpet of gra.s.s and the creek. He stilled. For the first time, he noticed a bundle curled up beneath a tree. He squinted, angled his head first one way and then the other. That didn't look like just a discarded jacket.

"f.u.c.k," he said, releasing the smoke from his lungs and throwing the b.u.t.t aside.

When he reached it, he saw that, yeah, in-f.u.c.king-deed, the figure was real. He couldn't see her face, but he saw the small foot and delicate arch identifying her as female. This b.i.t.c.h had to be whacked out of her f.u.c.king mind to be out here without shoes. He should leave her the f.u.c.k here. If a b.i.t.c.h wanted to freeze the f.u.c.k to death, who the f.u.c.k was he to stop her?

He grunted at the thought, his conscience p.r.i.c.king him. He had a mother, sisters, and nieces. He'd want a f.u.c.ker to help one of them.

"f.u.c.k."

With another curse, he brushed aside the jacket and revealed a head of golden blonde hair. Long and thick, it covered her face. He turned the bundle over.

"f.u.c.kin' motherf.u.c.ker."

Her eyes were blackened and her lip and nose b.l.o.o.d.y but he recognized Boss's daughter. Someone had worked her over. He really, really, really didn't need this s.h.i.+t. He should leave her right the f.u.c.k here and let her go and join her f.u.c.king father in the afterworld.

Outlaw felt the pulse at her throat. Weak and reedy, but there. He hated to look at her, hated to see Joe Foy in her gorgeous features. Whereas the male members of her family were big and masculine-but even Outlaw had to admit handsome f.u.c.ks-this girl was little. She reminded him of how much her father had betrayed Outlaw-the entire club. He'd looked up to Boss and loved him like a father. Only to be stabbed in the back and have to face the decision of choosing his own life over Boss's.

He hated that f.u.c.ker. Would never, ever f.u.c.king forgive him.

Outlaw stood, spat near her head. His conscience had deserted him when he'd made his first kill, determined to move from Probate to a fully patched in member. He'd been a kid, but responsible for looking after a houseful of females. He'd appreciated the brotherhood, the loyalty, a place where he could find his own species-men. His uncle and cousin had been around, yeah, but in his immediate household, he'd been surrounded by girls. A mother and five sisters. And, later, as his sisters f.u.c.ked with d.i.c.khead after d.i.c.khead after d.i.c.khead, a mother, five sisters, and three nieces. f.u.c.k him, but his family couldn't seem to produce d.i.c.ks to save their f.u.c.king lives.

Boss and Rack had accepted him for him. They hadn't blamed him for all the woes in his mother's life. He'd been able to forget the pitiful circ.u.mstances of his conception. They'd let him do that when no one else would.

Now, gazing at this battered girl, he wanted to walk the f.u.c.k away, but he couldn't f.u.c.king do it. Away from the male-infused atmosphere of the clubhouse, Outlaw could hear his mother's voice, see her beloved features. She'd want him to help this girl. She'd raised him to help. She was good and kind and loving, and if he could do s.h.i.+t over again, he'd do so much f.u.c.king different. He'd wouldn't have f.u.c.ked a swath through a battalion of women. He wouldn't have lied.

He wouldn't have killed.

But he'd found Boss and his brothers and gotten the acceptance and male influence he so craved. At the clubhouse, he could belch, fart, f.u.c.k, pick his nose, curse at the top of his lungs, and do whatever s.h.i.+t he felt like without having to worry about female sensibilities.

Crouching down, he scooped her into his arms. She weighed next to nothing. A strong wind would knock her the f.u.c.k over. She pulled in a deep breath, half gasp, half sob.

He could always take her to town, put her up in a motel, keep her pockets flush until she figured out what to do. That was the sensible thing to do. Motherf.u.c.kers were gunning for him, meaning he didn't need the distraction of a virginal p.u.s.s.y. Because, f.u.c.k him, he'd done a lot of s.h.i.+t, but as far as he knew he'd never f.u.c.ked a virgin or such a young b.i.t.c.h. b.i.t.c.hes at least had to be legal drinking age to get in his bed. He just couldn't get her c.o.c.k study out of his head, though. Her fascination with such a cherished part of his anatomy tempted the s.h.i.+t out of him.

f.u.c.k it. He'd take her to the clubhouse. It was going to be a f.u.c.king tedious ride with her unconscious. The clubhouse was closer than town, any-f.u.c.king-way.

Twenty minutes later, Outlaw was striding into the clubhouse carrying Boss's daughter. Early in the day, not many people were around. Most of them were preparing for tonight when brothers from a smaller club rolled in to pick up the s.h.i.+t that needed distributing. The Dwellers didn't need to dirty their hands with drug distribution and gun running no more. They'd paid their dues. He'd paid his dues. So had Mortician, Digger, and Val. Even Johnnie, his cousin, who wasn't a full patch member anymore.

After Boss tried to f.u.c.k them up the a.s.s with another club and after Outlaw put him to ground, Outlaw had had to decide if the club would wage war with the smaller club or if they could somehow work together in a way to benefit both organizations. He'd moved his mother out of her house and relocated her to the place he owned two hours away. He'd moved to the club, for all intents and purposes. Motherf.u.c.kers knew where his mother lived, so he'd had to wrap away any thoughts of retaliation against him through her. Fortunately, though, they'd come to a peaceful resolution.

For now. s.h.i.+t could change any time, so whenever the other MC members set foot on Death Dwellers' property, his boys were out in force.

He headed for his room, glad Kiera and Ellen weren't in his bed, and laid the girl down. He frowned, swore, suddenly recognizing the oversized jacket on her. Rack. He'd deal with that f.u.c.ker in a moment.

Outlaw went to his private bathroom and grabbed a pan, filling it with warm water and his bar of soap. He got some towels and returned to her. It didn't take him long to strip her and he stared at the thin silvery lines crisscrossing her arms, thighs, legs and belly. Healed cuts.

What the f.u.c.k?

His mind searched for answers about why Megan Foy looked like she'd been used as turkey carving practice and breathed to talk about it. What stupid motherf.u.c.ker had sliced Boss Foy's daughter? The Death Dwellers weren't no b.i.t.c.h-a.s.s, fly-by-night club. The good deeds they bestowed upon the community allowed for some very positive press. Whatever crimes were committed were either overlooked or so well covered no one could ever accuse them. f.u.c.k, yeah, rumors persisted but no motherf.u.c.kers were insane enough to openly accuse them.

Which meant all Megan had to do was identify her father and that should've been enough to deter such s.a.d.i.s.tic marring of her beautiful skin.

Outlaw grunted. Those slashes and her a.s.s beating wasn't all ailing her right now. The outline of her ribs pressed against her skin. Either she was anorexic or she'd lost a s.h.i.+tload of weight due to starvation. Her shoulder blades and breastbone stuck out, making her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rounded and fuller, topped by tight, little red nipples. Golden p.u.s.s.y hairs matched the golden hair on her head. He wanted to spread her legs and lick that blonde-covered perfection for hours, lose himself in her sweetness.

Despite her scars and bruises, this was one gorgeous f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h. His d.i.c.k swelled and lengthened. Sometimes, a conscience f.u.c.ked you worse than taking the low road. Like now, for instance. He represented everything bad, beginning with how he'd been made. She was good, an angel in the midst of h.e.l.l. If he hadn't brought her here, he wouldn't have an epic b.o.n.e.r. He could've called Kiera and Ellen and f.u.c.ked the afternoon away until time for the meeting came. But, no, he'd brought this girl here, to his room. He must be going f.u.c.king soft.

Shaking his head and sighing, he decided to get to his task. Wasn't no use delaying what he had to do.

As careful as possible, he cleaned the dirt and blood from her face, hands, and poor, abused feet. She groaned and Outlaw noted a rush of pink replacing some of the paleness in her cheeks. He laid a hand over her forehead, finding her warmer than she should be. Rack. He needed gutting for doing this to her. Outlaw could only be thankful Rack hadn't raped her. Then, again, no matter his threats of taking his money out of her a.s.s, Rack knew Outlaw would've gutted him. Her color was returning, but she'd be in a lot of pain and needed rest, a place to heal. He picked the first T-s.h.i.+rt he put his hands on and dressed her in it before tucking the covers around her. He didn't know if she was asleep or unconscious or a combination and, really, at this point, he couldn't do anything more for her. He couldn't migrate too far from the clubhouse today. She'd either live or die. He'd gotten her out of the cold, cleaned her up, warmed her up.

Everything now depended on a G.o.d Outlaw had stopped believing in years ago.

Chapter 5.

"You're awake."

The husky words resounded in Meggie's brain the moment she opened her eyes. She blinked and coughed, trying to get her bearings, then moaned and clutched the side of her face.

Had Thomas found her?

She hurt all over. Not surprising because pain and tears had been Meggie's constant companions since her mother's marriage. She tried to lift her head and found her sight narrowed to one slit in her right eye. She couldn't see anything out of the left one. It throbbed with nauseating fierceness. A sliver of light beamed off the brick wall she faced and she frowned, too late remembering any small movement would aggravate her pain receptors. She tried to take in her unfamiliar surroundings, but couldn't fathom her whereabouts. She knew she was inside, in a bed.

"Megan?"

The voice sounded like Outlaw's. Impossible. He'd thrown her off the premises and the last thing she remembered was Rack and the guys he'd been with when they'd cornered her, exacting revenge, they said, because Outlaw had battered Rack thanks to her big mouth.

She lifted herself on her elbows and noticed movement. "Outlaw?" she asked, hoa.r.s.e. Her throat felt tight and scratchy. She sneezed and bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain.

He lifted a brow but didn't comment about the fact she knew his name. "Yeah?"

More movement and the sound of boots thumped to the ground from where he sat on a chair near the bed.

She cleared her throat. "What are you doing?" She was still hoa.r.s.e.

"Puttin' my feet on the floor so I can stand up," he answered. A moment later, the bed dipped as he sat next to her. His warm fingers gripped her chin and turned her face this way and that. "Lay back."

She complied, grateful for the comfort of the bed. He dropped his hand away, resting it on her belly. She scooted closer to him, not sure what compelled her to touch him every time he was near her. "Where am I?"