Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

Jazz stormed off, walking past her girlfriends with a few mumbled, “I’m fines.” Holly tried to catch Jazz’s arm but she jerked away and continued toward the restrooms. Toni held Holly back from running after her.

For just a split second, so fast Gumby almost missed it, Screw’s expression crumbled, and his eyes followed Jazz’s path across the clubhouse. But as quick as it came, it vanished, and he was back to being a smug fucker.

“Huh,” he said with a shrug. “She looks pretty fucking hot when she’s pissed. Bet she’ll ride you damn hard. Better go get you some of that before her mad wears off.” He turned back to the bar and ordered another shot.

If he hadn’t seen the flash of anguish, Gumby would have believed Screw was as callus and unfeeling as he wanted the world to believe. But pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. Screw wasn’t a heartless, unfeeling asshole. Quite the opposite.

Still, it didn’t excuse him acting like a compete jackass at every pass. And it didn’t simmer the mad he’d worked up at seeing Jazz so undone.

Screw’s shot arrived and he lifted it to his lips. “To angry fucking,” he said.

Quick as a whip, Gumby lashed his hand out, smacking the shot away from Screw’s mouth. It sprayed across the bar and down Screw’s shirt.

“What the…”

“Hurt her again and I’ll end you,” Gumby growled before storming away.

He needed a few moments alone to gather his thoughts and this fucking party was not the place to do that.

“Hey,” he said to Holly as he walked up to the ladies. “There a quiet room I can hide in for a few minutes? I need to…uh…make a phone call.”

Smooth, Gumby.

The pitying looks he received let him know not one of the ladies bought his story.

“Head up the stairs. Third door on the left.”

“Thanks.”

Gumby took the stairs two at time. The whole way, the hairs at the back of his neck stood on end. When he reached the top, he risked a glance Screw’s way.

Sure enough, the infuriating and sexy man stared straight at him.

And damn if his traitorous cock didn’t love it.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

IF SHE’D BEEN smart, she’d have left an hour ago. Before the dramatic confrontation. Now, she’d lost track of Gumby, lied to her friends with the classic I’m fine bullshit, and been a grade-A bitch to Screw. Not that he didn’t deserve every word out of her mouth, but that wasn’t her. She wasn’t anybody’s doormat, but she didn’t lose her temper and lash out, either.

In her defense, the two men at odds had completely fucked with her head, making her question up from down and right from left. Any woman would have snapped.

That counted as a solid defense, right?

Now she had to apologize to the man who’d probably twist her remorse into a sexual innuendo, leaving her angrier than when she’d started.

Damn Screw. None of this would even be an issue if the man wasn’t so…potent. She could have shrugged off the flirting, let him down gently, and gone about her life.

But he was. So goddammed potent. He had this magnetism about him that drew men and women willing to shed their pride for just one taste of him. It’s what kept her trapped in his sticky web for all these months. Sickest part of it was she’d miss the attention if it disappeared. Being the focus of Screw’s sexual desire was…exciting. More than exciting, it was intoxicating.

With a sigh, Jazz trudged up the stairs, heeled boots clunking with each weighted, dejected step as she headed toward one of the bunk rooms where visitors often stayed. Bikers crossing the country or ones popping by to party for a few days who needed a place to crash were given the bunk room. The place had six no-frills bunk beds and a bathroom attached you couldn’t pay her to venture into. Thankfully, the Honeys took care of cleaning that place, though from what she’d heard, they did a half-assed job at best.

As she wandered her way down the deserted hall, she took a second to soak up the silence. Or quasi-silence. A heavy drum beat still pounded from below, but it was muffled and not nearly as overwhelming as it seemed just sixteen steps down.

A loud thump followed by an oomph had Jazz picking up the pace as she rushed to the bunk room. Finding Screw and Gumby beating each other to a pulp would be icing on the shit cake of the evening. Copper didn’t tolerate that nonsense in his house. They wanted to take it outside, no one cared, but tearing the place up drove the president nuts. Just her luck, she’d have to be the one to find them and tell him the two morons were battling it out in the bunk room.