Curly (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 1)

It was gone. Everything she’d worked for was gone in a matter of minutes.

Prick had taken it from her.

Despite all her professions of independence and capability, she hadn’t been able to protect what was hers.

She’d failed, and had it not been for Curly, the catastrophe would have been fatal.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CURLY’S INSIDES VIBRATED with a combination of terror, panic, fury, and relief.

Did Brooke realize she’d been seconds, seconds away from an agonizing death?

Less than twenty seconds after he pulled her and a small pug from the inferno, the entire roof caved in. Had he not happened to show up at the exact right moment, Brooke would be dead.

Dead.

Christ, his skin felt too tight, as though it was trying to shrink-wrap itself around his bones and drive him mad.

Stupid, selfless, amazing woman.

He blew out a shaky breath as he clutched her weeping form in his arms. The feel of her tears seeping into his shirt drove home the knowledge that she’d survived. She was alive, pressed against him, not charred to a crisp in that damned kennel.

Still, he’d have nightmares about the moment he realized she was in that kennel for the rest of his life.

He’d arrived less than three minutes ago to find a frantic Nancy screaming at him from Brooke’s front porch. With her cell pressed to her ear and make-up running down on her face, she half-yelled, half-sobbed out how the kennel was on fire. That’d been all he’d needed to hear to know deep in his gut Brooke was in terrible danger. The stubborn woman would never allow harm to come to her dogs while there was breath left in her body. If that meant charging full force into a burning building, so be it.

He’d driven over the grass and rammed his truck straight through her fence. Then, he’d practically flown across her yard, weaving around a bunch of terrified dogs to get to the burning kennel.

He’d always assumed the moment he’d stood in the courtroom, listening to the guilty verdict being read, would forever be the worst of his life. How could anything come close to the horror of being sentenced to life in prison for a crime he hadn’t committed? It’d been unfathomable.

He’d been dead wrong.

The second the flaming kennel came into view, and he realized they had mere seconds before the structure crumbled on top of Brooke beat out his conviction tenfold. He’d never shake the stark terror that slammed into him at the sight.

By some miracle, he’d found her on hands and knees close to the open door. She’d been groping the air, with her eyes squeezed shut and her T-shirt over her mouth as she hacked and coughed. As much as he loved animals, Curly hadn’t given a shit about anything but rescuing Brooke at that moment. But she’d never forgive him if he saved her only to let a dog die. So, he’d flipped the latch on the final kennel and scooped up the pug before dragging Brooke shirtless and filthy into the night.

That span of sixty seconds had shaved ten years off his life.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Curly glanced up into the sympathetic face of a paramedic. His buzzed black hair and round face made him look too young to drive, but the uniform and gear bag spoke to his legitimacy.

“May I check her out?” the paramedic asked.

Last thing he wanted to do was disturb Brooke, but red welts dotted her back along with one nasty-looking mark at the base of her spine. Once the adrenaline wore off, pain would set in, and she’d be miserable. At the very least, he wanted the paramedic to get some pain medication into her.

“Baby,” he whispered against the top of her head. “The ambulance is here, and the paramedics need to examine you. Okay?”

Her heart-breaking sobs had quieted to a soft sniffing with the occasional body-wracking cough. She nodded against his chest. Curly helped her sit, biting his lip as she winced with the movement.

“Ma’am, I’m Brody. Mind I take a look at you?”

“Go ahead,” Brooke rasped as she wiped her damp eyes. The scratchy voice ate at Curly’s heart.

The paramedic worked with quick efficiency. Once he’d assessed Brooke’s oxygen level, he placed a mask over her nose and mouth to provide fresh oxygen. Then he went about checking her burns, explaining his process in a soothing voice. A flashlight gave him a better view of Brooke’s injuries, but it was still difficult for him to fully evaluate the damage.

Brooke sat silently through the exam, only speaking when asked a direct question, but she kept looking around the yard as though counting the dogs. Her hand sifted through Ray’s fur. He was her steadfast anchor in the chaos as he’d been before.

“They’re all there,” Curly said. He ran a hand over her dirty hair. “All the dogs are safe. David just got here. Looks like he and Nancy are rounding them up.”