Curly (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 1)

Her friend’s gaze held sympathy. “I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to live with abuse for so long like you did, so I’m not judging you, Brooke. Nor am I suggesting it will be easy to let Curly have an important role in your life or that it will be perfect if you do. But I can tell you that when a relationship works, it’s worth every ounce of effort you put into it.”

“My husband almost broke me, Nancy.” Her throat tightened as a sob threatened to burst free. “Not physically, but my spirit. I don’t think I’m strong enough to start over again if I need to.”

“Sweetie, I never met your husband, but I’ve met men like him. Boys, really, who think the world owes them whatever the hell they want from it. Curly is a man, not a selfish boy. He’s drawn to your independence and confidence. Anyone who is around the two of you together can see that in under a minute.”

Brooke let Nancy’s words wash over her. She had some thinking to do. Some soul searching. Burying her head in the sand wouldn’t work.

“Besides,” Nancy chirped with a smile that was both evil and cheery. “This time, you have me, and if Curly is a shit to you, I’ll take him out. Can’t be much harder to euthanize a six-foot plus man than it is a large dog.”

Brooke snorted out a laugh that made her cough. “You’re a little scary right now.”

“Damn straight,” Nancy said with a nod. “Okay, enough of the man talk. Who do we have to bribe around here to get a basin of water and some soap? No offense, but you’re kinda nasty. I’ll help you wash up so you don’t risk getting your new fancy gloves wet.”

“No, I can manage it—” She caught Nancy’s fierce glare and snapped her mouth closed. Shit, she really didn’t let anyone help with anything beyond caring for the dogs. And then it was only because Nancy and David owned a vet clinic and performed services she couldn’t. Come to think of it, she’d never so much as asked for a small favor. Brooke would rather drive an hour to a store to buy something she needed than borrow from her best friend.

And why?

Because she was afraid of trusting others. Afraid to let herself need someone and end up hurt, alone, and scared all over again. Afraid to lose what she’d built for herself and who she’d fought so hard to become. Afraid she wasn’t good enough, that she was too needy, that she was all the things Evan accused her of.

She’d nutured that fear and allowed it to grow into a monster that no longer recognized reason. And she’d nearly gotten her dogs killed because of it. Because her idea of independence belied sense.

Years had passed since Evan had any say in her day-to-day, yet he still had control over her. Everything she accomplished in her daily life, from the simplest of tasks to the monumental she did with demonstrating independence in mind. She’d spent years proving again and again that she didn’t need him when walking away from the marriage should have been enough to send that message.

At some point, she had to live with the fear, not under the fear. She had to climb out and move forward despite being afraid. Wouldn’t that be true victory? Actual independence?

What a fool she’d been. It was long past time to pry Evan’s talons out of her brain and let people into her mind and heart.

Starting with a biker named Curly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“LET’S ROLL,” CURLY barked as he stormed across the emergency room lobby.

Instantly on alert, his men bolted to their feet. All through the waiting room, wide-eyed would-be patients stared with awe and a bit of fear in their gazes.

“It’s him?” Scott asked with a hungry gleam in his eyes.

“It’s him.”

Curious whispers trailed them as they left the ER waiting room as one fearsome unit. Curly didn’t attempt to stem his fury. It rolled off him in waves, no doubt reaching the innocents waiting for their turn with the physicians. They’d survive—maybe not their illness, but they’d survive the rough group of pissed-off bikers storming past them.

“What’s the plan?” Tracker asked as they burst out into the muggy night—or rather early morning air. Last time Curly had seen a clock, it’d been shortly after two. Couldn’t be more than two-thirty at that point.

“Fuck the plan,” Curly growled. “This ends tonight.”

“Back to Prick’s?” Scott asked, nearly giddy with glee. The same excitement that had Curly beginning to question his sanity.

“Yes, and we’re not leaving until the motherfucker gives us his farm and agrees to get the fuck outta town and fucking stay there.”

“Put him six feet under. Takes care of both,” Scott muttered.

Tempting as it was, Curly couldn’t risk them murdering Prick in cold blood. And he didn’t have the patience tonight to make it look like a fucking accident. Prick had friends on the police force who’d love nothing more than to send Curly back to prison for good this time. Hell, Office Gibson had already approached him. Any undue harm that came to Prick would be like putting a flashing neon sign over his head saying, “I killed him.”