Spec (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 2)

His fists flew, connecting with Dante’s face again and again. Blood sprayed up in an arc before splattering across the ground. Olivia stared in a mix of relief, horror, and fear for Scott. Dante was huge and gave as good as he got.

“Scott!” she shouted again. When he didn’t answer, she tried, “Spec!”

Nothing. He was in a trance. Blind to everything around him but the man he’d kill if he didn’t stop hitting him.

Olivia rushed forward. If she had to risk a whack to the face to keep him from committing murder, so be it. As she drew close, a loud bark followed by a shout of, “Olivia, don’t!” had her freezing a few feet from the deathmatch.

Lock rushed past her. He threw himself at Scott, grasping under his arm. Tracker tagged her around the waist and hauled her away from the danger zone. For his efforts, Lock ended up with an elbow to the nose.

“Calm the fuck down, Spec!” Lock shouted at Scott while blood dripped down his chin.

More men rushed over, but Olivia only had eyes for Scott. Her heart pounded, and her head swam with the implications of what was happening. Dante lay on the ground, bloodied and unmoving.

Had Scott killed him? Her stomach lurched.

Scott fought Lock’s hold as he tried to lunge for Dante again.

“A little help here?” Lock called out.

Ty came out of nowhere, latching onto Scott as well.

“Get the fuck off me,” he shouted, jerking his arms out of his brothers’ hold.

He whirled around and stumbled a few steps back. His eyes were wild, unfocused, and full of deadly intent as they connected with hers.

If he hadn’t shown up when he did, she shuddered, not wanting to go there. She’d rather focus on Scott. Whatever had happened, it was as though he’d disappeared into some out-of-control violent episode. Terrifying and heartbreaking.

“Scott,” she whispered as she took a step forward.

“Liv, stay back,” Ty said, his voice full of warning. Tracker still held her.

“What the hell is going on here?” a loud voice boomed from the gathered crowd. “Oh, fuck.”

Olivia diverted her attention to the newcomer. A cop. In uniform. She sucked in a breath.

“This you?” he asked, looking straight at Scott, who had blood on his clothes and knuckles as well as bruising on his face.

All he got for an answer was a sneer.

“Knew when I heard there was a party here tonight there’d be trouble. Of course, it was you. Who the hell else would it be? Scott Hughes, you’re under arrest—”

“No!” Olivia shouted, jumping forward without thought. Once again, Tracker held her back. “Fuck, Tracker, let me go!”

“Get her the fuck outta here,” Scott yelled, pointing at her as he was pushed to his knees and then cuffed.

“You can’t arrest him!” she shouted, flailing against Tracker’s hold. “Tracker! Let me go!” This couldn’t be happening. He’d saved her. He already hated her. Now he was going to be arrested because of her?

Tracker’s arms came around her in a vice grip, stilling her wild movements. “Sweetie, let us handle it,” he whispered. “Spec will be fine. He’s fucking tough as hell.”

“Get her in the fucking apartment!” Scott screamed over his shoulder as the young police officer dragged him off.

Tracker lifted her around the waist and carried her toward the house.

“No! Please, Tracker. He was only helping me.” Her heel connected with Tracker’s shin as she struggled to get down.

“Ow, woman! Chill the fuck out.”

With a wince, she sagged. “I’m sorry. I just can’t let him be arrested for helping me. That guy would have… he was going to… you know.”

Tracker stiffened, then set her down. “Then I’m sorry Spec didn’t kill him.” Before she had a chance to make a break for Scott, Tracker ushered her into the barn. “Hey,” he said, gripping her shoulders. “We’ll work it out. Trust me, okay? He doesn’t want you to see him like this. Go upstairs, pour a drink, and let us sort it. Okay?”

Freaking men. “Fine,” she grumbled. “But I’m not happy about it.”

Chuckling, Tracker hugged her. “Understood. I’ll send Brooke up in a minute.”

Olivia nodded against his chest, hugged him back, then trudged up the stairs. Pouring a drink involved more effort than she had the mental capacity to manage, so she grabbed an open bottle of wine from her refrigerator, yanked the cork with her teeth, and guzzled right from the bottle.

After a few good swallows, she headed to her tiny closet, kicking her heels off on the way. She couldn’t sit around waiting to hear something. She’d go insane. So, she changed her clothes, washed off her makeup, and made her way back to the kitchen for the rest of the wine. Who knew how long she’d been standing at the counter drinking when someone finally knocked?

“Scott?” she cried as she yanked the door open.