Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

Screw was right. He really was a fucking pussy. His left hand cramped up, making him realize his fists were clenched at his sides.

With a sigh, he shook out his hand, then tucked his spent cock back in his pants and pushed off the wall. As he stepped out of the room and turned toward the stairs, he froze.

Jazz stood in the hallway, halfway between the staircase and where he now stood. He swallowed as nerves tickled his throat. Had she run into Screw on her way up? Though he barely knew Screw, the guy sure seemed like the type to brag about his conquests. And after Jazz told him to back the fuck off? Yeah, he’d probably rubbed her face right in it.

“Hey…” he said, taking a slow step forward.

She gifted him a small smile but didn’t advance toward him. Though she didn’t run screaming either, so maybe she hadn’t witnessed the man who’d been trying to get in her pants sucking him off only moments ago.

Jesus what a clusterfuck. A twisted triangle of desire, denial, and now…secrets.

“Hey.”

“So, tonight…” She shifted then rubbed her upper arms over the glittery long-sleeved sweater she wore.

“Sucked ass?”

Jazz laughed and some of the heaviness in his gut dissipated. “Think I’ve had enough for the night. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hang out longer…”

The quiver of uncertainty in her voice had his chest tightening. Regret, remorse, frustration…desire. Such a pool of powerful emotions, and none of which he felt comfortable voicing to Jazz.

To anyone.

“Nah, I’m more than ready to take off.”

“Ok, great,” she said on a rush of exhaled air. She stood and waited for him to reach her in the hallway. The tight set of her shoulders and missing smile were all he needed to see to understand how much the night had affected her. From what he knew of this new version of Jazz, she loved the men and women of this club and they loved her. For her to be lying to them had to be killing her.

And she had lied. She wanted Screw just as much as he wanted her.

Even if she refused to reach out and grab him. He should have been excited about that prospect, except she’d turned him down as well. A little prickling at the back of his neck had him wondering if she was steering clear of all men.

And if so…why?

As she started to turn for the stairs, Gumby snagged here by the back of her neck and drew her gently to him. Without protest, she wrapped her arms around his waist, and rested her cheek against his chest where his heart still beat out of control. The feel of her, soft and warm against him, smelling like a juicy fucking orange, had his well-used dick twitching back to life.

Jesus, he was a sick fuck.

But then she sighed, a soft sound of contentment, and sex no longer dominated his mind. Now he wanted nothing more than to chase her demons from her life.

“I needed this,” she mumbled against his chest, sounding sleepy.

“Makes two of us.” After indulging in a few more moments of having Jazz in his arms, Gumby said, “Come on. Let’s get moving before you pass out right here.”

A soft chuckle was her only answer, but she let him wrap his arm around her shoulder and walk her down the stairs side by side.

With each step, the music grew louder. For the long moments while he’d been upstairs, driving his cock down Screw’s throat, the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Somehow, he’d completely forgotten a party waged on right below him. In true MC style, men and women drank and danced in various stages of undress, some well on their way to needing a room in the next few moments.

Of course, standing in the thick of it all, directly in their line of sight as they descended the steps was Screw. His head was tipped back as he drained a beer. The muscles of his throat worked rhythmically causing his Adam’s apple to rise and fall, and Gumby could think of nothing other than running his tongue over that very spot.

Beside him, Jazz tensed.

Was she having similar thoughts? Or did her mind stray to the disagreement they’d had earlier?

With just three steps left until they reached the first level, Screw glanced up, making direct eye contact with Gumby. When his gaze caught Jazz as well—or more accurately, Gumby’s arm around Jazz—his eyes narrowed with undisguised hatred. The glare didn’t last long though as a bimbo in a scrap of fabric and five-inch heels flounced into Screw’s peripheral vision. Almost instantly, his frown flipped into a deadly smirk. He snaked his arm out, tagging the Honey around the waist. She let out a window-cracking screech then giggled like a little girl as her body crashed into Screw’s. He leaned in, whispering something in her ear that had her rubbing her fake tits and no doubt well-used body all over him.