Curly (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 1)

Thirteen years in prison for a crime he hadn’t committed, and to someone like Gaines, it meant nothing more than a weapon to use against him. No sorrow, no regret, no apology for what had happened on behalf of a department that jackass still worked for. Nothing but smug superiority.

Not that he’d expected anything else. Running into the local PD for the first time since they’d locked him behind bars hadn’t been on the day’s to-do list.

He clenched the steering wheel until his arms shook. “Fuck!” he shouted, making Harley jump.

If Curly didn’t get some release, he’d crawl right out of his skin. He had to get on the back of his bike. And he knew himself. He needed someone around to make sure he kept his head straight.

Instead of turning left toward his own home, he kept on straight to Brooke’s. Fuck it. It wasn’t a goddammed date. It was therapy.

And he needed it.

Not her. Just someone to join him.

That’s what he told himself over and over again as his excitement grew with every mile he drove closer to her home.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

FOUR DAYS AND three notes.

Brooke sighed Wednesday morning as she set each strip of paper side by side on her kitchen island. Each had a similar theme, but this one was downright bone-chilling.

Nice try.

Two simple words, but it sent a spike of fear through her bloodstream.

The security cameras she’d installed the morning before lay in pieces on the ground beneath the note. Someone crushed them. Probably stomped on them with a boot. A biker boot just like the ones Prick wore both times she’d seen him.

Her options were to take these notes and the broken camera to the police, but if she shared her suspicions about Prick, that was likely to get her nowhere. Another option would be more cameras, maybe inside the house so no one could rip them down, but none of her windows had a great view of the kennel entry. She had no idea where Prick was hopping her fence, and it’d be insanely expensive to monitor the entire expanse. That left a third option.

Asking Curly for help.

Everything in her rejected the idea. Especially since she already found herself thinking about him way more than was wise. If she went down this path, before she knew it she’d be calling him every time she needed help opening a jar, and she’d be right back to the woman she hated. The woman who too timid to fight her own battles and waited on her man for everything decision.

Okay, maybe her fears were slightly dramatic, but bottom line, she would fight to the death for her independence. That meant she needed to solve her own problems, even the frightening ones. Besides, she had no plans to go near Prick anytime soon. Once the man felt confident she wasn’t a threat, he’d back off.

Just as she was about to brew a third cup of coffee and brainstorm some more, a pounding knock had Ray barking and scampering toward the door.

“Hold up, buddy,” she said, and the obedient boy immediately plopped his fuzzy butt down. His tail still wagged hard enough to create a wind tunnel behind him.

Bam, bam, bam.

Brooke frowned. She didn’t have any training clients that afternoon, and Nancy never knocked like the hounds of hell were chasing her down. So who the hell was it?

A shiver of fear ran down her spine. Prick?

No. He wouldn’t be brazen enough to confront her at her house in broad daylight.

Would he?

Bam, bam—

She yanked the door open to find a scowling Curly with his fist raised for another attempt at busting down her door.

“Seriously?” he practically snarled. “You don’t check who it is?”

Harley, who’d been at his feet, shot inside and pounced on an elated Ray. Together they darted off and out the dog door into the backyard, where the rest of the pups were running around.

“It’s eleven in the morning. I wasn’t exactly worried.” She told him the white lie as she waved him in. “Plus, I have Ray.”

He snorted. “Trust me when I tell you Prick is a piece of shit at all hours of the day.”

Her stomach turned, but she waved away his concern and avoided eye contact. “Prick’s not coming after me.”

Liar.

Curly barely seemed to hear her. He prowled into her foyer and began to pace. Agitated energy wafted off him in strong waves. Dressed in his typical jeans and T-shirt, he looked irritated and hot as hell.

Big surprise.

“Everything okay?” she asked as she shut the door and leaned her back against it. Any other time she’d been around him—aside from the bar incident—he’d been entirely in control, and now something seemed off. He came across as a ticking time bomb ready to blow. “You having trouble with Harley or something?”

Or had Prick done something? Shit, had he somehow found out about the notes? She could imagine him losing his shit over that.