Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

“Good to know,” Screw said.

Was that relief in his voice?

Once again silence fell.

As he said, he’d made no secret about wanting to sleep with her and had been turning up the heat big time lately. Screw was exactly the type she went for. Arrogant to the point of cocky, built as hell, a take-charge man who would no doubt act that way in the bedroom. Screw fucked any and everything that walked, male or female. He made no apologies about the quantity of temporary lovers he had, instead wearing it like a badge of honor. He’d take them one, two, hell, three at a time in any combination of genders, and while the fact he was bisexual didn’t matter to her—okay that was a lie, the thought of him getting it on with another man mattered, but only because she’d had one or two hot as hell fantasies of him and another man going at it—the cavalier attitude he had toward sex did matter.

Jazz wasn’t naïve. Nor was she a prude or a virgin. She liked sex as much as the next girl, maybe even more, and she’d had a one-night stand or two, okay, maybe five in her day. But things changed. Life had thrown her one big curveball that dried her sex life up cold. But even when she’d been in a position to be free with her affections, the men she’d been with didn’t have such a who-gives-a-fuck attitude about sex. Nor were they in her inner circle. Sleeping with Screw would be disastrous in the sense that she’d still have to see him every day. She knew herself, and one time with him would never be enough. He was too potent, too charming, too magnetic. Despite her best intentions, she found herself inexplicably drawn to the man and it would only worsen if she let him touch her.

Hell, one kiss two weeks ago and she couldn’t get the damn man off her mind. What the fuck would happen if she let his cock inside her?

Maybe it was a good thing she had a concrete reason to say no.

“You hang up on me?”

“No.”

“Jazzy?”

Her eyes fell closed. “Yeah, Screw.”

“Take your jacket and your boots off. Unwind from work. I’ll let you go.”

It was those times when he spoke to her as though he cared that she weakened in her resolve to keep him at arm’s length.

“Can’t have you falling asleep when I finally get inside you, now can we?”

And then he killed it.

Every. Damn. Time.

“Goodbye, Screw.”

His inability to remain serious with her was probably for the best. Kept her from doing something stupid like forgetting her own problems. If the idiot ever realized all he had to do to get her was to drop the act and show her the real man, she’d be screwed.

No pun intended.

“Bye, Jazzy.”

“Hey, Screw?” she said, cursing herself for giving into curiosity.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Everything okay? With the club…I mean with Copper wanting to talk to you?”

His heavy sigh was so unlike him, she frowned.

“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we? Bye, babe.”

He disconnected the call and it was a full two minutes later that Jazz realized she was still in her coat and boots. Still leaning against her front door.

Still frowning at the empty foyer.

No. He would see. She needed to keep out of his business and not ask how the meeting went next time she saw him.

As she finally pushed off the door, a flash of heat shot through her alongside the memory of Screw’s lips on hers. His strong hands at her waist.

“Get out, get out, get out,” she said, hitting the heel of her palm against her forehead. Maybe a hot bath and an early glass of wine would scald him from her memory.

CHAPTER FOUR

SCREW – 2004, TENNESSEE

“Do you understand what we’re saying here, Lucas?” Principal Kavanaugh asked. The old dinosaur stared at him with his sausage fingers folded on top of his messy desk. His two chins wiggled like Jell-O when he tilted his head to the side as though he actually gave a fuck. As though Luke was too stupid or too oblivious to notice the way ol’ Kav’s gaze drifted at least a dozen times toward where Luke’s mom sat next to him, no doubt staring at her tits.

What a fucking joke. He pretended to act all concerned about Luke’s education and shit, yet he was the same as everyone else who tolerated him, hoping for a shot at his mom.

“Yep. Got it.” Luke slouched in his chair, causing his baggy jeans to ride up, but he didn’t bother fixing them.

“So you understand this is your last opportunity to turn yourself around?” Kavanaugh’s gaze slid to his mother again before focusing back on Luke. The old bastard seemed nervous. Like he really didn’t want to make the adoring smile Missy—the fucking mother of a student—aimed his way disappear. Hell, the bastard probably had a puddle of rancid sweat pooling between his chins. Was his stubby little dick hard too? Probably.