Curly (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 1)

As he gripped the steering wheel in the optimal ten-and-two position, Curly blew out a frustrated sigh. After what he’d been through in his life, no one could blame him for his hatred or distrust of the cops, but this guy certainly wouldn’t give a fuck. Counting to ten, he willed himself to keep from mouthing off and making shit worse for himself.

The cop took his sweet time walking from his department vehicle to Curly’s truck. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and walked in a slow swagger like he’d stepped out of some wild west movie. All the while, Curly watched through his side mirror, sitting there like an idiot waiting. Aviators blocked the officer’s eyes, but something about the slightly crooked set of his nose and the divot in his chin rang familiar.

After what seemed like a solid five minutes, the officer made it to Curly’s window. He rapped against it and made an old-fashioned roll-down motion with his hand. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Curly hit the button once, and the window slid open. “Afternoon, officer. Something I can help you with?”

So there was a bit of sarcasm in his voice, he wasn’t a damn saint.

“Was behind you for a bit there. Think you got a taillight out.”

The fuck he did not. He’d owned this brand spanking new truck for a grand total of three months. “You sure about that? Truck’s new.”

“You saying my eyes don’t work right?”

Stay cool. “Nope, just be surprised if my light is out. That’s all.”

“Huh. Sounds to me like you’re mouthing off. Am I gonna have to ask you to step out of the vehicle?”

The fuck?

It was then the officer pulled his sunglasses off.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Curly squeezed his steering wheel hard enough to leave permanent indents in the leather.

“Travis fucking Bryant,” the cop said with a smug, self-satisfied grin. “Heard you were back in town. Long time no see.”

“Officer Gaines,” he said in response as his stomach soured. This guy had been a rookie cop with something to prove the year Curly was arrested. He’d been mean as a fucking junkyard dog and just as willing to sink his teeth into any part of Curly he could. He’d been loaned to the homicide department from patrol as an extra set of hands for the investigation. When everything unraveled for the department last year, no one had been able to prove Gaines had anything to do with framing Curly, but he wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find out this fuck-bucket’s hands were dirty. “I see you haven’t moved up from traffic stops in the last thirteen years. Shame. Seemed like you had such a promising future.”

His beady little eyes narrowed, reminding Curly of a nasty rodent. He folded his arms, resting them on the open window. “Actually, I just got promoted to detective last year. But, enough about me. What have you been up to since I last saw you?”

Christ, how he wanted to seize this asshole by his collar, yank him in the car, and bash his face against the steering wheel until he bled. Just because he didn’t want to live the same violent, sometimes brutal lifestyle he’d had as a younger man didn’t mean those parts of him had died. Now, he hid them behind the desire to remain out of prison and make up for losing thirteen years of his life. Instead of acting on the fierce impulse, he asked, “Since I’m guessing my taillight is just fine, you wanna get to the real reason for this little circle jerk?”

“Oh, just wanted to welcome you back to town properly, is all. Let you know we got eyes on you.” His white teeth flashed as he smiled, the perfect target for Curly’s fist.

“Officer Gaines, you have heard that I was framed by someone in your department, haven’t you? Or did you miss that particular memo?”

The cop’s lips thinned and his nostrils flared. Curly didn’t give a shit about taunting the bull. Let him charge and see just what happened to his horns.

“Think I can let you off with a warning this time. Get that light fixed.” Gaines straightened and tapped his fist against the windowsill. “Good seeing ya, Travis. ’Spect it won’t be the only time.” As he began another slow stroll, this time back to his car, he called over his shoulder. “Little birdie told me you were planning on getting the old MC back together. Sounds like a great idea.”

Motherfucker.

How the hell did he learn about the MC? Curly would bet his new pup none of his guys blabbed. That left Prick. It’d explain how his old SAA got away with letting dogs maul each other without concern from the police.

Goddammit, once a traitor, always a traitor. As though sensing his distress, Harley climbed into his lap and lapped at his chin.