Page 26 of Outlaws of Tulsa

I’ll find out where this little girl came from and send her back, even if I have to spank the answers out of her. I’ve done a lot worse in my lifetime. This is a cakewalk.

As though I have a sixth sense, I feel Hadley when she exits the restaurant. Bermuda is beside her, grinning. He may be wearing a leather cut, but his worn baseball cap, holey jeans, and shit kickers make him look like the Oklahoma boy next door. In an alternate reality, those two could be siblings maybe. I track her with just my gaze, watching her every moment.

The dart of her eyes to the tree line past the parking lot.

The fake smile.

The tensing of her muscles.

The slowing in her gait.

“Fuck,” I grumble. “She’s gonna run.”

I no sooner get the words out of my mouth when she takes off. The girl is tall and skinny, her long legs eating up the distance before Bermuda even realizes she bolted. Without another word, I tear off after her. I may be a lot older than her, but I’m not some fat-ass biker. I’m in shape and I can catch a little runaway like it ain’t shit.

Her brown hair billows out behind her as she seems to fly with inhuman speed. My boots kick up gravel behind me on my chase. I can hear Gibson and Bizzy laughing while Dragon catcalls me. Fucking bastards.

Hadley never makes it to the tree line.

I snag her by her hair, jerking her to a stop. She screeches, but I don’t relent. I drag her flailing body to my chest and bring my mouth to her ear. Her chest rises and falls with each ragged pant of breath.

“Stupid, child.”

“I’m not a child.”

“You are.”

“I hate you.”

I laugh, twisting my grip in her hair so my knuckles are against her scalp. “Fucking hate me. I don’t give a shit. You’re mine to look after and I told you running away wasn’t going to work for me, goddammit.”

“I’m not yours,” she says fiercely, emotion in her voice. “I’m no one’s. You made sure of that when you killed Junior.”

Here we go again.

I’m tired of hearing about that dumbass punk.

“You’re going to stop this shit right now. We’re going to hold hands like you’re my fucking girl and then we’re going to leave. You fight me on this and I’ll make your life miserable when we get back. Feel me?”

Her body trembles. “I won’t be your slave.”

I roll my eyes. Girl watches too many fucking movies. “You will if I demand it.”

My threat has its intended effect because she submits. Good girl. Her body relaxes as she mutters out an “okay.”

Releasing her hair, I grab her shoulders and twist her to face me. Her eyes are watery but no tears have fallen. In the sunlight, she has a few visible freckles on her nose and cheeks. It’s cute. Dark lashes bat against her apple cheeks and her plump lips are pursed together in a pout.

Blaire.

My sweet Blaire.

I’m struck by how similar they are. Dark brown eyes. Pale skin. Pert nose. My palms cradle her sweet face and I lean in so I can memorize every detail.

“W-What are you doing?” she whispers.

“Lookin’ at you, kid.”

“Why?”

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