Spec (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 2)

“I’m naked on the beach,” she said with a smile.

He frowned but let her change the conversation to lighter topics. With a grin, he palmed her breast, making her exhausted body attempt to come back to life. “You say that like I haven’t noticed. Trust me, if you’re naked, I know it.” He winked, thumbing her nipple.

“Mmm.”

With a sigh, Scott kissed her lips. “We should roll outta here. I got church early tomorrow.”

She pouted, which had him laughing. Even though she was fully exposed to anyone who happened to wander by, it felt as though they were cocooned away in their own little bubble. “I suppose,” she said as she sat up.

Ten minutes after getting dressed and groped by Scott, she comfortably rested against his back as he navigated the trip home.

To his home, rather. The Handlers’ compound. She didn’t have a home at the moment.

It was dangerous for her to think of the studio apartment as hers, even if the Handlers’ compound felt more like home with each passing day.

But it wasn’t home.

They passed a sign that read, Lithia ten miles. Part of her never wanted the ride to end. Being on the back of his bike as they flew down the road was almost as satisfying as sleeping with him.

Almost.

A loud rumble rose behind them as they pulled up to a stop sign.

Beneath her, Scott’s body tensed. He glanced in the small side mirror. “Fuck. Pull out your phone and call Curly,” he yelled. “Now! I’m gonna fucking floor it.” His voice was sharp, in full command mode. Gone was the open and giving lover she’d spent the last few hours with. In its place was the deadly Army Ranger and one-percenter. As she reached for her phone, she risked a glance behind her. A pack of single headlights grew closer along with the deafening roar.

Motorcycles.

Gaining on them fast.

Her heart lodged in her throat.

Scott hit the throttle, and they shot off with jarring force. She bobbled the phone but somehow managed to keep it from flying out of her hand while clinging to Scott. With one arm banded around Scott’s waist, she clutched him as tight as possible and tried to operate the device. Her hand shook as she scrolled to Curly’s contact.

Hearing anything from the phone proved an impossible task between the rushing wind, the thunder of the bikes, and the thick helmet. “Curly?” she screamed when she thought, hoped, prayed he might have answered. “We need help! A group of bikers is chasing us,” she shouted directly into the phone’s mouthpiece without bothering to put it to her ear. There wasn’t any point. “We’re a few miles out of Lithia on the way back from the beach.” Jesus, she should’ve paid more attention to the roads on the way there.

She peeked over her shoulder again. The bikes were close. Too close. Scary close.

“Hurry!” she screamed before stuffing the phone in the pocket of her hoodie.

“Hang on tight,” Scott shouted.

She squeezed around his waist so hard, it had to hurt, but the thought of flying off the bike as they raced along sent a wave of terror coursing through her. Plastering herself to his back, she fought to calm her breathing and keep from losing control. Freaking out wouldn’t help him or their situation.

Easier said than done when his heart pounded beneath her body just as hard as hers. He took a sharp right so fast that the bike tilted. Mere inches separated her from the abrasive road. If she’d been able to unlock her arms from around her waist, she could’ve touched the ground, and had her skin ripped off.

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath. When the asphalt never shredded her clothes or tore into her skin, and the bike righted, she was finally able to breathe.

The thunder grew louder and closer despite their speed. Scott’s bike was huge but not as agile as some.

Two bikes sped past them, one on each side. They veered toward each other at the center of the road, cutting Scott off. Two more appeared at their sides, matching pace.

If she weren’t clinging to him like a monkey, he’d be able to escape. She had no doubt he’d try some daredevil move to get away. But her presence hampered his ability to push the bike to its limit. His unwillingness to risk an accident with her at his back kept them from outrunning their pursuers.

He slowed the bike. It was either that or crash into the motorcycles in front of them. Suddenly, she wished he’d been in some monster truck club instead of a biker club. He could plow these assholes over and never look back.

But they were on a motorcycle and vulnerable to the world. She was so scared she could hardly breathe.

When they came to a complete stop, Scott kept the engine running, same as the other bikes.