Spec (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 2)

“You think Spec is deranged now? Imagine what he’ll do if he finds you with your hands all over his woman?” Brooke added. “It’ll make what he did to your friend, Prick, look like child’s play.” Her words were forceful, but her voice trembled. She was as unnerved as Olivia.

A quick flash of worry sparked in Rag’s eye. What the hell had Scott done to his friend?

“Tell Curly we were asking for him.”

“Yeah,” Dante said as he stood with a grunt of effort. He stroked a grimy hand down her cheek. “See you around, princess.”

She narrowed her eyes as she wrenched her face away. That fucking nickname.

They lumbered off as though they didn’t have a care in the world. Olivia blew out a breath and sagged against the bench. Her heart ran wild, and her insides felt like Jell-O. She curled her hands into fists so Brooke wouldn’t see the shaking. “What the hell was that?”

“That was two guys from an MC Curly was involved with a decade and a half ago. They betrayed him and let him go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Now that he’s out and back in town, they’re pissed he wants nothing to do with them.” She stood and held out a hand.

Olivia blinked. Curly had spent more than ten years in prison?

Brooke shook her outstretched arm. “Come on. Let’s get back to the clubhouse. I gotta tell Curly about this. He’s gonna flip when he hears. Oh God, your throat is bruising already. They’re all gonna lose their shit. Hope you can handle some fireworks.”

Coffee and snacks forgotten, she gave Brook her hand. Together they dashed back to Brooke’s car and broke every speed limit hurrying back to the clubhouse.

Running from one biker who propositioned her to another who couldn’t stand the sight of her.

Fantastic.

She’d fled her home to find a safe place to lay low until her fiancé lost interest in her. Now she was fleeing a park with a woman she barely knew after being harassed by a pair of terrifying bikers.

On the positive side, she’d gone a full thirty minutes without thinking about Lance.

But what the hell had she gotten herself involved in now?

CHAPTER SIX

SCOTT RE-RACKED the barbell then used his fatigued abs to crunch to a seated position on the weight bench. He rotated his shoulder. Damn, he loved that burn in his muscles from an intense workout, even with a bitch of a hangover. When he’d left the military, he assumed to be ecstatic to leave behind the mandatory physical training, but not only did he straight-up like working out, he craved it—needed to channel his runaway thoughts into physical discomfort. As he pushed his muscles to the limit, the ache and strain gave him a few moments of mental peace. Thankfully, the rest of the guys had been all about his idea of adding a weight room into the design plans for the clubhouse. He spent hours there every day, mainly on the heavy bag, pounding his demons into fucking dust.

Or trying to. They were persistent motherfuckers.

“Hey, Spec,” Lock called from the doorway.

“Sup, brother.” Scott glanced at his new friend over his shoulder. The tension from yesterday hadn’t lingered. “Need a spot?”

Lock shook his head. “Nah. Curly wants all hands on deck out by the bar.”

“Uh-oh. Something happening?” As soon as he asked, the zing of needing action buzzed under his skin. Sixty minutes of pumping his muscles and taxing his heart hadn’t done shit to soothe the beast inside.

“Think so. His ol’ lady is here with that new chick, Liv.”

Liv? Fuck that. “Olivia.”

“Huh? Oh, no, man, she said it was cool to call her Liv.”

“She’s Olivia,” he said through clenched teeth. No fucking way was she getting all chummy with his brothers. Not when every one of them was probably picturing what she looked like under all those designer clothes.

Lock shrugged. “Whatever. Prez wants us. Think the ladies ran into some trouble.”

With a snort, Scott stood from the bench. “Probably needs someone to wipe the drops of sweat off the princess’ forehead.”

“What was that?” Lock asked over his shoulder as he walked out of the gym.

“Nothing.” Scott grabbed his towel then mopped his face. “On my way.”

He didn’t bother tossing on a shirt. Wearing clothes when he was sweaty like this sucked. If his naked torso offended the princess’ delicate eyes, all the better.

He was the last to arrive at the bar area. The rest of the guys stood clustered around what had to be Liv—Olivia—and Brooke.

“I’m fine.” Olivia’s highbrow speak came through loud and clear. “Seriously, Tracker, it’s not a big deal.”

“What’sa matter, princess?” Scott called out as he slung the towel around his sweaty neck. “You break one of your fake-as-fuck nails while you were shopping?” He’d never admit his first thought upon seeing her neat nails had been to wonder what they’d feel like raking down his back.