Joy (Hell's Handlers MC 7)

Snark and wit. Worked every time.

With an exaggerated shudder, Screw shook his head. “Jazzy, Jazzy, Jazzy, I’m crushed.” He slapped a hand over his heart and staggered back as though she’d stabbed him. “Shoulda just mentioned all that monogamy shit right of the bat. Nothing kills my boner faster.”

“Screw…”

He tossed her a cocky grin and winked. “Ain’t a thing, babe. Gonna take your advice though and head to the clubhouse. Find myself a Honey. Maybe two. Hell, maybe I’ll jump in on one of my brothers lays. Never know what the night will bring. You have fun with BOB, though. Hey! Maybe I’ll find a Bob of my own.” Another wink, then he was striding toward his car.

“Screw,” Jazz called after he’d made it halfway across her lawn.

He turned.

“Thank you,” she said. “For all this. It couldn’t have been easy.” Finally, a genuine, though small, smile from her.

One that pierced his chest for unknown reasons. Unknown and intolerable. “Ain’t a thing, babe. Mind if I drive by with my nightly conquest? Show ’em a little Christmas magic? Maybe it’ll earn me a second round. Or even a third.”

She didn’t so much as crack a smile at that one. In fact, her face fell so far it nearly slid into the snow.

It was a low blow, but no one took the shit he said seriously. Besides, she had no interest in fucking him, so she shouldn’t care if he paraded a whole bus full of easy women through her front yard. He sure as hell didn’t give a fuck.

At least that’s what he told himself as his conscience tried to make him feel like an asshole.

He’d parked a few houses down from her to avoid being spotted before she arrived home. As he drove past her house, he couldn’t help but notice her staring after his car, still standing in the middle of her front yard.

Whatever. She sure as hell had no right to be upset about anything he’d said or anything he planned to do for the rest of the night.

Though if that was the case, why the hell did he feel like he wanted to vomit at the thought she might be angry with him?

CHAPTER THREE

SHELL

“All right, I think we are pretty much set then, don’t you?” Shell asked as she gazed across the booth at two of the most important women in her life, Toni and Stephanie. As friends, they’d come a long way in the past year or so. At first, Shell hadn’t been thrilled by Stephanie’s involvement with Maverick, at least after it had been revealed the other woman worked for the FBI. Fear for the club, fear for Copper, kept her a little cold initially, but now? After experiencing first-hand Stephanie’s loyalty to both Maverick and the club, Steph considered her a treasured friend.

More than a friend, really. Each of the club’s ol’ ladies had become her chosen family. Sisters of the heart. And one of their sisters was about to add another little one to the next generation of Handlers. Hence the baby shower planning meeting.

“Yeah,” Toni said. She and Shell had become instant friends almost from the moment they’d met when Toni took over the diner she’d inherited from her parents. The diner Shell worked at. “I’ve got the food and drinks covered. Ernesto agreed to cater for us. Holly is on desserts, of course, and she’s going to be running the show, day of. Shell, you and Chloe have decorations covered. Jazz is bringing the mommy-to-be around two, and our dear brave Stephanie here has come up with some games to play.”

Steph rolled her eyes as Toni and Shell snickered. “I’m having a hard time picturing Izzy playing any game that doesn’t involve beating someone bloody, but I’m giving it my best shot. Actually, since her due date was yesterday, I’m really hoping she’ll just go into labor before the shower.”

Izzy was going to make a…interesting mother, to say the least. A kick-ass tattoo artist who also happened to be an underground MMA fighter—though not for the past nine months—Izzy wasn’t exactly the PTA-joining, minivan-driving type. In fact, the pregnancy had been an astounding shock in the first place. Despite her less than maternal ways, Izzy was truly a phenomenal friend and all-around amazing woman. Shell had a feeling boy or girl, Iz was going to raise one incredible kiddo.

“Um, excuse me, Miss Toni?”

All three women turned toward the timid voice coming from the slip of a girl who stood near their booth, staring at the ground.

Toni’s expression softened, and she shifted to face the young teen. Her ratty sweatshirt hung off her small frame, and she wore jeans with torn knees. Not the fashionable kind, the old and worn kind. “Lindsey, what did I tell you about dropping the Miss?”

The girl shrugged her slight shoulders. Hanging in straggly strands down her back, her long auburn hair would be gorgeous if it had a good scrubbing and someone to style it properly.