Curly (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 1)

David shrugged. “Don’t think we’ll ever know that. He’s not chipped and didn’t have a collar.” He brushed his hands on his jeans then grabbed the wagon handle. “Okay, I’ll be back later to check him over and give him his meds. Depending on how alert and agitated he is, I might need some help subduing him.”

“I’ve got a few trainings later this morning, but I should be home by three the latest.”

“Okay. Good if I swing by around four?” He pulled his ballcap off and ran his hand through his sweaty red hair.

“As long as you bring Nancy this time. You know she’s the only reason I tolerate you, right?”

Laughing, he shut the shed door started back around the house with her at his side. “Trust me, she’s the only reason I tolerate myself most days.”

“Phew.” Brooke fanned herself. “Sweating already. Gonna be a scorcher today.”

“Make sure you hydrate while you’re running around with the pups all day.”

“Yes, Doc, I will. Speaking of hydrate, you and Nance wanna stick around for a drink or two tonight?”

“You bet.” He collapsed the wagon then shoved it in the back of his large SUV. “See you at four?”

“I’ll be here.”

Brooke stood in the driveway and waved as he drove off. He and Nance only lived about two miles away. When the trip wouldn’t melt her face off, she loved to take Ray and jog over for a visit.

Once David’s car was out of sight, she sighed. As much as she’d love to head inside and luxuriate over a second cup of coffee, there were chores waiting. Dogs to feed, kennels to clean, and clients to visit.

Opening the front door, she called out, “Come on, Ray.” Her faithful buddy trotted out the door and toward the gate leading to the backyard. He knew the routine. They’d been at it long enough.

As Brooke went about feeding the four dogs she was currently fostering, her mind drifted to the wounded pup sleeping away in the quarantine kennel.

She had a soft spot ten miles wide for all dogs, but the abused and neglected ones spoke to her heart. Even as injured as the Cane Corso appeared, the wounds on the outside of his body would heal with time and proper care. It was the ones on the inside that took longer if they ever fully went away.

She knew that firsthand. Even after years of therapy, she still had internal wounds that felt gaping at times. Animals didn’t have the benefit of being able to talk through their trauma, and have someone tell them what they were feeling was not only okay, but it was also normal. She understood the agony of keeping the pain deep inside as well. It’d been a long time before she’d opened up and sought help for her own suffering.

In more ways than one, she felt a kinship with these mistreated and abandoned animals. And if all she could do was give them a safe place to stay, food to fill their bellies, and lots of love, she’d damn well do it.

Though in this case, maybe there was something to be done. Something that could prevent more gravely injured animals from ending up on the side of the road.

And the first step involved some research time on her laptop.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE SECOND CURLY stepped foot in the tire shop, it was as if he had been transported almost fourteen years back in time. Not much had changed as far as he could tell. The old registers were gone, replaced with sleek computers, but aside from that, the place was as he remembered the last time he’d been there. Four days before the cops pounded on his door and arrested him in the middle of the night.

“Welcome to Ty’s Tires,” a man said from behind the counter. He had his back to the door as he erased a name from a schedule on a whiteboard. The same whiteboard Curly used to leave inappropriate drawings on when he’d been younger. The place might have computers, but that didn’t mean Tyler would use them. He’d always preferred pen and paper to anything higher-tech.

Curly cleared his throat. “Hey,” he said.

“Anything I can help you with?” Tyler turned, and his eyes widened to a comical width. “Travis,” he whispered.

Growing up, the two of them had been inseparable. Cousins with sisters for mothers, they’d seen each other at least five days a week throughout their entire childhoods, even after Curly’s mother died. Both had developed a love of motorcycles early on and, all through high school, had pledged to patch into the True Outlaws together. They’d been a team.

So at twenty-one, they’d prospected. Curly had fit right in, taking to the rough and gritty lifestyle like a raccoon to trash, but Tyler could never get past some of the acts committed by the club. He’d bailed three months into prospecting.