Curly (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 1)

Dammit!

She’d left her phone downstairs.

Right then, all she wanted was to hide in her bedroom and call Curly. Like the night of the fire, she craved his calm, capable presence. Whenever he was in her home, she felt safe.

God, she wished he were there with her now. She’d drop to her knees and beg for forgiveness. Plead with him to have patience with her while she worked to open herself up to another person.

She loved the way he made her feel protected without being overbearing.

She loved the way he allowed her to be herself and supported who she was.

She loved the way he touched her and held her.

She loved—

It all came crashing down on her like a ton of bricks.

She loved him.

Loved him.

Oh, God, she’d been so stupid pushing him away when she should have held him close.

Ray quieted, which had her relaxing as well. Together they took another step.

“Broooke?”

She froze dead in her tracks. Ray did the same, but only for one second. Then he went nuts, barking and lunging forward, trying to break free of her grip. Pain tore through her palm as she struggled to subdue him. She bit her lower lip to hold back a cry as she managed to keep her grip on the collar tight.

“Brooke? I know you’re up there. There’s no point in hiding. Your phone is down here, so you can’t call anyone.” Evan’s sing-song voice had chills running down her spine.

She straddled Ray, trying her hardest to keep him under control, but he continued to bark and growl so loud she almost couldn’t hear Evan.

Evan. What the hell was he doing in her house?

“Here’s how this is gonna go, sweetheart. You’re gonna put the mutt in your bedroom with the door shut so he can’t bite me again. Then you’re gonna come downstairs and talk to me. If you’re not down here in forty-five seconds, I’ll come up there. And I’ll start shooting. Understand?”

Shooting?

She gasped and nearly collapsed to the ground as fear pelted her. Immediately, she recognized the changes in herself. Her posture slumped, her eyes cast down toward the floor, and she ignored the instinct to fight back. The sound of his voice had her falling back into the scared submissive mouse she’d been for years.

“Answer me, sweetheart.”

“Y-yes, I u-understand,” she called back.

As though on autopilot, she wrestled Ray into her bedroom. “It’s okay,” she whispered to him as she shut the door behind them. “We’ll be okay.”

She wanted Curly. Wanted to tell him she loved him before Evan did whatever the hell he was there to do. Drag her back to a life in California.

She wretched, clutching her stomach as the muscles contracted with extreme force. She’d rather die than live one more day as Evan’s thing.

“I’ll be back,” she said to Ray, though it was more to reassure herself than the agitated dog.

As she turned to leave the room, her gaze drifted over her freshly made bed, catching sight of her iPad.

Her iPad!

Holy shit, she could contact Curly.

She could do this. Get help. Save herself and Ray by being smart and reaching out for help. A surge of confidence rose in her. Fuck Evan. There was no way in hell she’d bow to that man again. She’d go down fighting.

But she didn’t have to do it alone.

She scrambled across the room and dropped to her knees beside the bed. Her right hand throbbed from restraining Ray, and she had a feeling if she removed the bandage, she’d find blood, but she managed to use her cramping fingers to unlock the iPad.

Quick as humanly possible, she opened Curly’s name in the messaging app.

“Time’s up, sweetheart. I’m coming up.”

Evan’s voice had her heart slammed against her chest so fast, the iPad wavered before her eyes.

911. My house. Please.

There wasn’t time to explain. After shoving the iPad under the bed, she ran from the room. “I’m coming down!” she screamed. “I’m on my way.”

Ray’s whines and frantic barks broke her heart, but she left him closed in the room. He scratched the door, and she could only pray he didn’t injure his paws in his desperate attempt to get to her.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she drew up short with a sharp gasp.

Even stood below with a gun in his left hand and a familiar appalled gleam in his eye. Other than that, he looked…different. Unwell. He’d lost a considerable amount of weight since she’d last seen him. Gone were the gym-honed muscles, replaced with a gaunt physique that had him swimming in his hunter-green polo. The hair he’d never let be out of place had receded a few inches and grayed. Dark smudges beneath his eyes drew her attention to his pasty face.

“What the hell happened to you?” he practically snarled. “You look like a cheap whore.”