Joy (Hell's Handlers MC 7)

“No,” Jazz whispered as her legs seemed to lose all their support. She sank down on a chair opposite the couple who’d come to mean so much to her since she’d moved to Townsend. “Who…What…” She swallowed around a lump in her throat as tears immediately came to her eyes. Back and forth, she glanced between the two until her gaze finally settled on Mama V. She’d thinned, almost too much, and her face had taken on an ashy tone over the past few weeks. “Oh, God,” she whispered.

How had she not known something was wrong? How oblivious could she possibly be?

“I made sure no one knew,” Mama V said in a voice full of sorrow.

“Huh? What?”

The compassionate smile Mama V sent Jazz’s way had guilt wrapping around her like a rope. Here she was, obviously suffering through something significant, and Jazz was the one requiring comfort. Selfish much?

“I can practically hear the questions bouncing around in your head. You couldn’t have known. I was very careful to hide it from everyone and made sure Viper knew to keep it quiet.” As she spoke, she lifted a frail hand to her head, brushing her long hair behind her ear. “Won’t be able to hide it for much longer, though.”

Her hair had thinned, the thick silvery locks Jazz loved looking stringy and sparse. Life could be so cruel.

“So, um, are you okay? I guess I’ll start there.”

Viper, who’d remained silent though the tough man looked ready to cry himself, threaded his fingers through his wife’s. Cassie tightened her hand around his as she smiled at her husband.

Jazz’s heart clenched. Cassie would make it. She had to. She and Viper deserved to live through their golden years together until they reached the end far, far in the future.

After a heavy sigh, Cassie said. “I have lymphoma. The doctors have been positive about my prognosis, and we’ve chosen an aggressive treatment course.” She winked. “Don’t worry, Jazz, this old bird isn’t ready to fall from the nest just yet.”

“But how are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling all right.”

Viper snorted as he rolled his eyes, making his wife chuckle.

“Okay, fine. I feel like crap ninety percent of the time, but I’m tough.”

“Yes, you are, beautiful,” Viper said. “You make Izzy look like a kitten.”

All three of them laughed, though Jazz had to force the sound through her lips because it’s what Viper expected.

“Well, uh, what can I do? Do you need food? I can’t cook for shit, but I can have a prospect start bringing you meals from the diner. Do you need rides to treatment? Someone to keep you company when you’re not feeling well? Do you want me to take over watching Beth for you? Maybe I can—”

Cassie reached out and covered Jazz’s hand with her own. Had it always felt so small? Delicate? Breakable? Was her mind now weakening the woman due to her diagnosis? Or was she just that fragile now?

No. As Cassie said, she was tough. Strong. And seeing her as anything less did the remarkable woman a disservice.

“Just seeing your beautiful face makes my day so much better, sweetie,” Cassie said with the wonderful way she had of making everyone feel special and loved. “But I’d never say no to visitors if you’d like to swing by the house from time to time.”

“You got it. I’ll come the day after Christmas.”

With a smile, Cassie patted her hand. “Good. Now you run off and find Izzy. I imagine she’s a bit…cranky by now.”

The laugh that bubbled out of Jazz this time as genuine and felt damn good. “I know. I’m thinking I should have worn a helmet and body armor.”

As the three of them shared a laugh, Jazz rose. Using a gentle touch, she wrapped her arms around Cassie. “Love you, Mama V.”

“Oh, sweetie, I love you too. Like you were my own.”

After hugging Viper and promising to bring him some of Holly’s pastries from the diner when she stopped by, Jazz headed out to find Izzy once again. Only this time, the excitement of the new baby had been dampened by Cassie’s news. With a heavy heart, Jazz rounded the corner as instructed and ran smack into a brick wall. Or what felt like a brick wall.

It wasn’t, of course. It was worse.

It was Screw.

God, why did the man have to be so damn built? More than once, she’d fantasized about all those hard muscles pressing her into the bed. Or the wall. Or her kitchen table. Hell, they’d feel good any damn place. Too bad they came along with a man who viewed it his mission to make the Guinness Book of World Records for most sexual partners.

“Hey, Jazz,” he said, without his usual flirtation.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Was this part of the game? Throw her off with sincerity? He hadn’t made his pursuit of her a secret, not by any means, and everyone in the club assumed she wouldn’t give in because she didn’t want to be a notch in his bedpost.