Curly (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 1)

There. Direct and to the point, in case he was thinking they’d be starting something. Not that she’d be opposed to a repeat of last night in the physical sense, but even that could eventually lead to screwed-up emotions and hurt. Though now that she knew how he tasted and how that mouth could melt her brain, he’d be hard to resist if he wanted another go.

“Works for me,” he said, making her frown.

Just like that?

That wasn’t disappointment she felt.

It wasn’t.

“Why are you frowning?”

“Oh, no reason. Just surprised you agreed so easily. I thought maybe after last night…”

“What? That’d I’d start picking out china and searching for wedding venues?” He laughed.

Well, when he put it that way, she just sounded stupid. “No. That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Look, babe, I think you’re hot as fuck. I respect the hell outta you and think you seriously kick ass. I’m down for a fuck any time you want, but like you, I’m not interested in anything more. Ever. You know I had an ol’ lady before I went to prison?”

A what? Her expression must have shown her confusion.

“An ol’ lady is basically the equivalent of a wife.”

Her jaw almost hit the table. “You were married?” How did she not know that? Oh my God, was he still?

“No. Not legally, but in the MC life, an ol’ lady is like a wife. A serious relationship.”

“Wow. I had no idea. Is she still…” She couldn’t even ask the question without her stomach souring. Never would she have considered Curly the cheating type, but she’d die if she found out some poor woman was waiting at home for him while he’d been driving her wild last night.

“Shortly before the police arrested me, I caught her getting done from behind by Prick at our clubhouse.”

Brooke winced. “Shit.”

“It wasn’t the relationship people make movies about, but I loved her and we were committed. Or supposed to be.” He grunted, then took a sip of his coffee. “I ended it with her and stripped Prick of his title as Sargeant of Arms in the club. A few weeks later, I was arrested. I don’t know if she played any part in that, but the back-to-back betrayal is all twisted together in my head. I trusted her. I trusted Prick. I don’t trust anymore. Not easily.”

“Oh, wow.” The things this man had lived through.

“Yep. Pretty sure that’s why Prick was so eager to help the cops frame me. Payback’s truly a bitch.”

“Holy shit,” she breathed. The story made her heart hurt.

“So I get it, Brooke. I get why you don’t want to tie yourself to a man again. Feel the same way about relationships.” Wrongfully imprisoned, and he lost his girlfriend to the man who helped put him there. What a mind fuck.

“Well, we’re quite a pair of headcases, aren’t we?” she asked just as the waitress arrived with their breakfast.

“Yeah, so no offense,” he said once she’d delivered the food, “but I’ll never trust a woman with anything besides my dick.”

Brooke flinched at the harsh declaration, but it was the same thing she’d said to him, only cruder.

So how come it hurt to hear him say it?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CURLY’S PHONE RANG Wednesday morning as he stepped out of the pet store with Harley, who was more interested in his boot laces than walking toward the car. He’d loaded up on toys, a dog bed, enough food to last this little girl a while, a bin to store all the food, and a bunch of other shit he didn’t need but ended up buying.

“Hello?” he said without checking who it was. At the same time, Harley simultaneously tugged the laces on one boot while managing to shimmy right in the path of his other. “Fuck,” he shouted as he did some sort of ninja move to avoid falling on his ass or squashing his new baby. Once steady with one hand on the shopping cart and the phone nestled between his ear and shoulder, he scooped up his rascally pup and deposited her in the cart’s child seat.

“Having some trouble over there?” Scott’s amusement came through loud and clear.

“Scott. Good to hear from you, man. Don’t get a puppy. They’re more trouble than a jealous club whore.”

Scott’s booming laugh caught the attention of Harley, who tilted her head and stared at Curly.

“You’re lucky you’re so damn cute,” he muttered as Scott still laughed.

“A dog, man? Seriously? What’d you want, a bitch that wouldn’t talk back to you?” Though joking, Scott already spoke more like a biker than he had when Curly first met him months ago.

Curly snorted. “Something like that.” He’d shoot himself in the foot before admitting he couldn’t stand the quiet around his house. After living in prison with hundreds of other men, he’d expected to want nothing more than peace and silence, but it turned out he’d become so accustomed to a level of constant noise and the company of a cellmate, the silence drove him up a wall. It was either find another living creature to inhabit his house and time or become an alcoholic. “How’s shit going with you?”