Maverick and Mistletoe (Hell's Handlers MC 10.50)

“You know, we haven’t even been offered a drink? No bathroom with the little soaps. Damn, you fuckers are shitty hosts. Thought we’d at least get a charcuterie board outta this deal.”

The lead man kept a neutral expression, while the other two goons wore equal expressions of confusion.

“You know, little bites of meat, cheese, maybe some fucking grapes? A little something sweet to round it all out.” Fucking with them was more fun than it should have been.

“The hell’s he going on about?” Beer-gut asked.

“Nothing? Well, shit.”

A strangled noise left Stephanie. She pressed her lips together, but a bark of incredulous laughter snuck out.

“You done?” the guy who seemed to be in charge said.

Mav shrugged. “Sure.”

He was young, early thirties maybe. Too young to have been involved with Curly’s original club. The tanned hue of his skin and jet-black hair led Mav to believe he was of Latin descent. That and he had the Mexican flag tattooed on his left bicep.

“How about we skip the bullshit and get straight to business? Yes?” he asked without a hint of an accent. “I’m Lobo.”

Lobo? What the hell? “Short for Lobotomy?” Mav asked with plenty of snark. Fucking kids these days.

“Wolf,” Stephanie whispered.

“Give the lady a prize. That’s right. It means wolf in English. An apex predator. Top of the food chain. That’s where I live.”

Mav rolled his eyes. “Thought you said we were gonna skip the bullshit? We get it. You’re tough, you’re in charge. You snagged us, tied us up, and made us sit here all fucking night. We’re about to piss on your floor, so maybe get to the fucking point, Wolfie.”

Lobo smirked. “You know, my guy here had to have his fucking face sewn back up. Gonna have massive scars.”

“Look, I saw him before he got sliced to shit. Pretty sure this will be an improvement once it’s all healed.” He focused on Beer-gut. “You should be thanking my guy for his help.”

Lobo folded his arms across his chest. “This is True Outlaws territory.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Mav snorted. “The TOs disbanded over fourteen years ago when they abandoned their president to a corrupt police department. You trying to tell me you brought them back from the dead? You ain’t even wearing cuts. Riding a tricycle doesn’t make you a biker.”

“And yet, here I stand, and there you sit,” Lobo smirked. “Comfortable yet?”

A maniacal laugh left Digger. The guy was gross. Filthy didn’t even cover it.

“I want Curly. And I want the one they call Spec,” Lobo said as though ordering at a fast-food restaurant.

“Well, I wanna take a leak. Looks like we’re both out of luck.”

“I thought you wanted money,” Stephanie piped in.

Fuck. They’d had their attention on him, and now all three swung their gazes to her.

“I do,” Lobo said. “It’s just not all I want. Let’s say Curly and I have a history that needs a little resolving. Taking his money will be fun, but so much more fun if I leave him broken and bloody at the same time. Know what I mean, sweet thing?”

Stephanie’s throat worked as she swallowed. As Lobo turned away from her once again, she said, “I know you’re not gonna get shit from either of us.”

Damn, his woman was fierce. He wanted to both kiss the hell outta her and strangle her for mouthing off to Lobo.

“No?” Lobo asked as he rubbed a hand across his lower lip. “Hmm.” He walked toward Stephanie as slow as could be.

Mav grew tenser with each step the fucker took.

When he reached Stephanie, Lobo strode around the back of her chair and then rested his hands on her shoulders. He squeezed them as he leaned down until his mouth was next to her ear. His dark gaze locked with Mav’s.

Stephanie stiffened. Stark terror filled her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed as her lower lip trembled.

“I’m pretty sure we can think of some way to get you two to help me out.” Lobo slid his hand to the front of Stephanie’s neck. It spanned her throat, where he gave a lingering squeeze.

Stephanie squeaked.

Mav lost all ability to backtalk and desire to fuck with their captor. Lobo wanted no bullshit? That’s what the asshole would fucking get.

No one threatened his wife and lived to tell about it.

CHAPTER TEN

WHEN SHE’D MET Maverick, the fateful day she’d been betrayed by her FBI partner and taken hostage, Stephanie recalled being surprised by how calm she could be on the outside while her heart pounded and her blood rushed through her ears.

She’d have thought someone would hear the raucous whomp-whomp of her heart or the river-rapid whoosh of her blood. But no. From the outside, she appeared calm and serene.

And here it was again. A similar fascination with the same phenomena. She kept her gaze fixed on her outraged husband and her body perfectly immobile as Lobo whispered next to her ear. Inside, a stampede of elephants tromped through her stomach, and her heart hammered at a dangerously fast clip.