Maverick and Mistletoe (Hell's Handlers MC 10.50)

She nodded. “How about you? How hurt are you?”

“Sore as fuck, but alive and in one piece. So how the hell do we get our very fine asses out of here in time to wake up in bed together to the sound of the ocean on Christmas?”

Oh, that sounded like heaven, but with Christmas two days away, Steph didn’t hold out much optimism that they’d achieve that goal. “The one who tied me up—I think his name is Digger— he said they want money. You know the rumor going around the club about how much Curly got in reparations for his wrongful sentence. These guys are greedy fuckers who think he owes them for their original club falling to pieces when he went to jail. And now they’re all butt-hurt because he doesn’t want them to join the Handlers.” She snorted. “Like any of these maggots has what it takes to be a Handler.”

Joke of the year right there. They didn’t have the first clue about brotherhood or family.

“Christ, woman, I love you. Swear on my life, the second we get out of here, I’m finding a bed and making you come more times than you ever have in your life.”

Stephanie barked out a laugh. Leave it to her insane husband to make her laugh when she wanted to cry. “I’m holding you to that,” she mimicked, unable to keep sad longing from tingeing her tone.

For a moment, they merely gazed at each other, probably both lost in the same worst-case scenario worries.

What if this was it?

What if she never held him again?

Kissed him?

Touched him?

What if she had to watch him be beaten—or worse?

What if he had to see her be—

No. She couldn’t go there, or she’d lose her mind. So, she cleared her throat. “Let’s start brainstorming.”

CHAPTER NINE

HOURS LATER, MAV and Steph were still alone in the stifling garage. They’d tried shouting, but they realized that was a giant waste of time and energy after about thirty seconds. Wherever they were, nosy neighbors peeking through the windows weren’t an issue, unfortunately.

As time passed and the initial fear-induced adrenalin surge waned, exhaustion took over. He’d encouraged Steph to try to get some sleep, but nodding off in these godforsaken chairs with ropes cutting off their circulation was near impossible. Still, she’d managed to doze a few times only to be jolted awake when her head flopped forward.

Hunger had come and gone a while ago, but thirst didn’t provide the same courtesy. With each passing moment, his longing for water only grew, which was ironic considering he had to piss like a fucking stallion.

“How much time do you think has passed?” Steph asked in a groggy voice. She sat directly across from him, about six feet away. Close enough to see every flicker of emotion cross her face but too far to touch, which was what he needed. To get his hands on her and feel that she was as all right as she claimed to be. He hadn’t pressed the issue, but her light lipstick had smeared at some point before he’d been brought in.

Digger had put his mealy mouth on Mav’s woman.

He’d signed his death warrant.

“I don’t know,” he said, gazing around the barren room. Cardboard duct-taped to the windows kept them from having any idea of the time. “Seven hours or so?”

She gave him a sad smile. “Think it’s Christmas Eve yet?”

“Probably.” Even if they missed Christmas by a month, he’d make it happen the second they escaped this rat hole. And he’d make it the best damn Christmas she’d ever experienced.

“Mav?”

“Yeah, baby?” Would this incident send her sliding back into hellacious nightmares and severe anxiety? Another reason to kill these motherfuckers.

And he would.

That was a promise. His club would ensure it.

“I gotta pee.”

He laughed long and loud. “Me and you both, beautiful. Me and you both.”

“Mav?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m feeling a little panicky.” She squirmed as much as was possible without any slack to shift in a meaningful way.

His hands and feet had passed the tingling phase and moved on to numb hours ago. Part of him appreciated how he couldn’t see them. By now, they had to be an alarming shade of purple.

“My chest feels a little tight. So does my throat.” She still had dried blood on her lip, and her hair was what he could only be described as a rat’s nest. A bruise had bloomed on the side of her face as well.

Still, he’d rather look at her than any other woman on the planet. If she needed him to keep her mind from wandering down dark roads, then he’d do his damnedest.

“Hmm, I ever tell you about the chewing gum blowjob fiasco?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure hearing about you getting head from another woman is what I meant.”

He snorted. “Trust me, babe. You want to hear this story.”