Spec (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 2)

The cavalry had arrived.

Still squeezing with the crook of his elbow, he held firm against the guy’s throat. His prisoner struggled, flailing as he tried to escape. But he didn’t know shit about fighting, and Scott had been training in jujitsu since he was six.

The bikes quieted to a low hum as shouting overwhelmed his senses. At that moment, he realized just how much he trusted his brothers with his own life and, more importantly, Olivia’s. They’d take care of her until he got this fucking hood off his head.

He counted to ten as he tried to block out all the noise. The body on top of him went limp.

“Thank fuck,” he whispered as he lifted his arms. Two hundred pounds of man squashed him to the ground.

“I’m fine!” Olivia shouted. “Forget about me. Scott!”

Light footsteps smacked on the pavement. A soft breeze blew from her body as she dropped down to his side. She grunted. “Fuck, this piece of shit is heavy.”

A chuckle he thought came from Tracker loomed above.

“Baby, don’t hurt yourself,” Scott said. “Track, that you? Get this fucker off me.”

The weight disappeared but was immediately replaced by a much lighter one as Olivia scrambled on top of him. She went to work on the hood, yanking it off his head.

He blinked as the glare from the row of bikes seared his eyes. “Fuck, I’m glad that thing’s off.” Olivia’s tear-stained face came into view.

“Are you okay?” she asked in a rush. She ran her hand over his body even though she knew he hadn’t been beaten.

“Shh, baby, I’m fine.”

“But the hood!” Hysteria tinged her voice.

Lifting his hands, he called out. Someone get these fucking things off me. Lock appeared seconds later with a master key and released his wrists. A locksmith was a good friend to have. As soon as his hands were free, he rotated his wrists, then sat up with Olivia in his lap.

“I’m okay,” he whispered as she threw her arms around him and squeezed until her muscles shook. “Promise.”

“We gotta get the fuck outta here,” Curly said. “Someone’s gonna drive by and call the cops.”

Nodding, Scott stood without letting Olivia go. She crossed her ankles at his back and clung to him, clearly okay with the public contact. “They get away?”

“We got the one you knocked out. Locke’s bringing a cage, and we’ll load him up.”

“You know him?” he asked his president.

Curly shook his head. “Don’t recognize him.”

“Lobo wants to meet you tomorrow night. Grim’s Bar.”

Curly winced. “Fucking hate that shithole. At least it was a shithole a decade and a half ago.”

“Worse now, if you can believe it,” Ty called out.

With a snort, Curly turned toward his bike. “Let’s roll. I know it’s late, but I want everyone in church. Liv, Brooke and Ray are at your place. I figured neither of you would want to be alone. You did good calling me, honey.”

Olivia straightened in his arms. “Thank you.” Her smile was genuine, but Scott barely noticed.

“What the fuck?” he growled.

“Oh shit,” someone murmured.

He set Olivia down and cupped her face. Worry and a hint of pain swirled in her eyes.

“He fucking punched you?” Familiar rage simmered in his blood. The same fury that had him beating the fuck out of Dante the other day. The same white-hot, murderous impulse that had him shooting the kneecaps off Curly’s rival a few months ago. His pulse thrummed, sending blood to the muscles he ached to put to work. His breathing sped, and his vision blurred.

Someone dared to put a bruise on his woman’s beautiful face.

His woman.

He glanced to where Ty hovered over the still body of the man he’d knocked out. That asshole wasn’t the one to bruise her, but he was the only one they’d captured. And beating him to a bloody pulp would go a long way toward soothing the beast. Scott dangled off the ledge by one pinky finger. And that finger was weakening by the second.

“Hey.” Olivia’s gentle yet firm voice coaxed him back into the moment. She wrapped her smaller fingers around his wrists where his hands held her face. He flinched as she touched his abraded wrists. “Stay with me,” she whispered.

“Olivia, we need to go. You got him?” Curly cut in.

“I do.” She nodded but didn’t tear her gaze away. “Scott, we have to go. I can already hear sirens in the distance. Someone must have seen us.”

“They hurt you.”

“Yes. That stupid goon punched me. But I’m here, and I am all right. What’s more important right now is for us to leave.” She glanced at the guy on the ground before looking back at him. “You’ll get your time with him. But it’s not right now. Please get me out of here.”

The gentle plea worked its way into his chest and around his heart. He nodded as the fog cleared. Oliva stood before him, bruised and terrified but calm. The angst inside him shifted its focus from intense fury to the imminent threat of being arrested again.