Never Have an Outlaw's Baby: Deadly Pistols MC Romance (Outlaw Love) Read Online Free PDF Page A

different kind of club business.
    'Course, we came for pleasure, too.
    There was always somebody hanging around, waiting to get their ass kicked. The bar brawls out here were easy. They were fun. The motherfuckers on the receiving end always deserved it.
    Tina and Robby Olivers appreciated the regular cleanings we brought to their watering hole, knocking out the riffraff who threatened to chase away the drunks and the softer types passing through town.
    Piece killed his engine and stepped off his bike first. I followed him, heading into the bar. My brother pushed straight through the old timey saloon doors without noticing the pink slip taped to the window.
    It hit me like a ton of bricks when I stopped and read it. “Fucking shit,” I growled, taking it in.
    GOING OUT OF BUSINESS was in big, fat bold letters near the top. Didn't need to see the fuckin' fine print.
    I almost ripped the saloon doors off on my way in. Only took a second to scan the small crowd, and found my brother in our usual spot, at one of the corner tables next to grandpa.
    “Why didn't you tell me this place was closing up shop?” I asked, sitting down as Piece looked up, and pushed an extra beer over to me.
    Took a long sip. Thick, bitter, and dark. Just the way I liked it, second only to good southern whiskey. Could've used the harder shit today, when we were taking a kick to the nuts like this.
    “Figured you'd both be here to see her off yourself, boys,” Grandpa said, twisting his old Marine cap, full of crests and honors from Vietnam. “They're having their last big bash today before the whole thing goes belly up. Latest victim of the rot chewing up the poor damned town.”
    Yeah, fucking right . Seventy-five years old, and our hard as nails grandpa had never talked more truth.
    “What's Dusty doing?” he asked, folding a fist around his scotch and looking at us. All those fancy changes better pay off quick if the club ever wants stakes in Georgia again.”
    “Shit, Grandpa, that's what we're here for,” Piece said, slamming down his glass. “We haven't given up. Long as this patch keeps coming across the border, fuckers will talk about us. All the other assholes will know we're here, and they'll keep the fuck out of our territory.”
    “Ain't always that easy, boy,” the old man snorted, pausing to swallow more scotch. “The men moving in from Tallahassee, they ain't like the old clubs. No code. No limits. They'll slash your balls off just for the pleasure of it. Been hearing about them sending more scouts up here lately from Atlanta. They'd own the whole damned city by now if it weren't for the gangs and the Torches.”
    “Yeah, yeah, we've heard it all, too. The Deads are dirty motherfuckers, but they don't know the lay of the land like we do. These roots go deep,” I said, bristling at the thought of another club taking our hometown. “Home field advantage. That don't go down easy.”
    “Our roots are dying on the damned vine,” Grandpa snapped, giving me a hard look. The old man had the same bright hazel eyes I saw in the mirror every day, a Taylor trademark that bound us all by blood.
    “No, they ain't,” Piece growled, shaking his head fiercely.
    “Cut the crap, boys. If you can't see we're in trouble, you're both gonna get yourselves wiped when you step into the wrong shit. Deadhands MC isn't just mean as a snake. It's bigger than a grizzly, so big it'll be chewing up half of Dixie in a few more years and shittin' it out. We'll be lucky to hang onto East Tennessee”
    “Nah, Grandpa, you don't understand,” I said, stiffening in my seat. “Dust has got all kinds of plans to rebuild our coffers, get us into the gun trade. We're off the nasty shit. No more drugs. Early fucked up keeping us in a dirty, dying business for too damned long. Now, we got ourselves a second chance. Something cleaner, without as much blood.”
    “Jackson, son...” He paused, gripping my shoulder, shaking his head sadly. “Freddy.”
    His