Curly (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 1)

The first few years he’d been in prison, he’d dreamed of it. Being back at the head of the table with hordes of women ready to fuck him or suck him on command. Now, the idea held no appeal. Whether age, experience, or circumstance, he’d long since lost interest in letting social climbers get their greedy hands on him.

All he wanted was to crawl into bed with Brooke at the end of the night and wake to her each morning. Hers was the only body he craved, the only smile he cared about, the only woman he wanted touching him. At first, he’d assumed it was just one of those things that happened with age, but fuck, he’d known plenty of old-timers in the Outlaws who’d had a different twenty-something bouncing on their dick nightly.

Since his dick only got hard for Brooke these days, he was either staring down the barrel at a prescription for Viagra, or she meant a whole lot more to him than he was ready to admit.

Or think about.

And that had disaster written all over it.

As the song changed from something recent to nineties alternative rock, Curly caught sight of Scott out the corner of his eye. The soon-to-be enforcer stood next to one of the former horse stalls, laughing with a man who owned the dog in the stall. The guy was a few teeth short of a complete set and walked with a pronounced limp. He didn’t look like he weighed enough to handle a chihuahua on a leash, let alone eighty pounds of ferocious brawl-hungry pitbull.

As they talked, presumably about the dog’s fighting record and training, Scott slyly worked his arm up until he’d propped it on top of the horse stall.

Curly zeroed in on Scott’s hand. Palm opened and turned down, he gave off a relaxed and chill vibe. But it was all an act designed to throw the dog owner off his scent. Scott wiggled his fingers as though fidgeting. Then he pulled his arm back and folded it across his chest, and Curly just knew.

He’d dropped a piece of hot dog laced with Xanax into the dog’s pen right in front of its oblivious owner. Those were some enviable double-o-seven stealth skills.

Shit, if MC life didn’t do it for Scott, the devious bastard had a career as a sleight of hand magician.

Five minutes later, Scott strutted his cunning ass right out the entrance, whistling along with Nirvana as though he didn’t have a care in the world. The only acknowledgment of a successful exercise was a chin lift in Curly’s direction. But it was enough. Scott wasn’t one to be underestimated. If the man said he’d dose all those dogs, he’d get it done.

And he had.

A glance across the room found Jinx and Pulse grabbing a beer from the impromptu bar. With heads tilted close as they spoke, they seemed deep in an intense conversation for their ears only.

After checking on those two members of his new MC, Curly slipped out the same way Scott had gone. Since he didn’t have the training and skill Scott did to make himself invisible, he pretended to take a phone call as he walked by the bouncer. Once again, the lazy man barely paid him or any of the other people coming and going a lick of attention.

Part of him wanted to stick around until the dogs began to conk out, but a bigger, more dominating part needed to see Brooke. Hopefully, she and Nancy wouldn’t mind him crashing their girls’ night early. Even if they wanted their time together, he was more than happy to hang outside while they watched a movie or guzzled wine. All he wanted, all he needed was to be in Brooke’s presence.

Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we call that whipped.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“SO, HE STAYED the night, then?” Nancy asked as she pushed her oversized sunglasses up her nose. They wouldn’t be necessary much longer as the sun had begun its journey below the horizon.

“Mm-hmm.” He’d stayed Sunday night. And Monday. Tuesday too. Oh, and uh, all the other nights. One week was all it had taken for his absence to be noticed and his presence to be missed.

Greatly.

“Mm-hmm,” Nancy said in a mocking tone. “What’s that mean? Why are you acting weird?” She swung her legs off the side of the lounge chair, pulled her sunglasses off, and narrowed her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.” Brooke kept her gaze on the pool. Ray lounged in the dwindling sun out in her yard while the rest of the dogs scampered around, playing.

“No. There’s something going on.” Nancy tapped the end of her sunglasses against her pursed lips. “Is he bad in bed or something?”

Brooke snorted. “Uh, no.” As if.

“Ohhh, really?” Nancy waggled her eyebrows. “I feel as though I’m going to need more deets on that part, but first…what is it? Does he poop with the door open or something?”