Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

“I—uh, shit, thanks, Copper.” His face heated. Fuck, praise wasn’t something he had much experience with. Maybe it was his own fault for always giving people a reason to roll their eyes at him instead of praise him. Regardless, felt damn good to be appreciated and valued by his president.

The president apologized.

Wait until he told Jazz and Gumby.

Or not…because, why would he?

“The club will pay to have your truck repaired too. If I’d entertained the idea, you’d have had back up and gotten out of there quicker. Hopefully with fewer bullet holes in your truck.”

“Appreciate it, Cop.”

“All right, get your ass outta here. I promised my woman I’d stop by the diner for breakfast.”

With a lightness he hadn’t expected to experience today, Screw stood and extended his hand. “Copper, I love the fuck outta this club.”

“I know you do, Screw.”

With that, Copper shook his hand and Screw was on his way with only one thought on his mind.

Heading to the diner to have a meal with Gumby while they watched Jazz work. He’d have much preferred for the three of them to lounge around in bed all morning, exploring each other. The hard-on he’d woken with nearly had him begging for relief, but Jazz had to be at work damn early and he’d had church. So he’d been forced to put his lust on the back burner. From the tent in Gumby’s boxer briefs, he hadn’t fared much better.

Good thing they had all the time in the world later.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“WELL, HEY THERE, sir, would you like to see a menu?” Jazz said as she greeted Gumby at the diner’s entrance. She flashed him a flirty grin. Damn, she looked cute in her short denim skirt, combat boots, and her diner T-shirt. Of course, she had a cardigan covering her arms, but hopefully, one day she’d feel confident enough to bare some of her scarred skin.

Back in Arizona, she’d been different. Freer. While, she’d never been promiscuous or dressed in the slutty way many of the women involved with the club did, she’d had no problem showing some skin. Skimpy tank tops, short shorts, bikinis, sexy dresses. He’d been treated to the sight of her in all of them. Her hair, still in the pixie cut, had been streaked with colors she loved to change up. She’d been gorgeous and attracted scores of male attention like any beautiful woman did. Fuck, it used to drive him crazy to walk into the lobby of the autobody shop only to find some meathead slobbering all over her. And it happened plenty of times.

But that was all before. Before her body had been scarred.

Now, she dressed with the sole purpose of evading male attention.

“I’ll take one,” he said, tagging her around the waist and yanking her flush against him. “But I’m pretty sure I already know what I want to eat.” God, those glossy lips just begged to be kissed. But this was her place of business, and he respected her enough to honor that. The lip-lock would have to wait.

She shivered in his arms before glancing around. “Jesus, Gumby, way to get me all hot and bothered at work.”

He snickered, snatched the menu out of her hands, and followed her to a booth.

Across the room, Shell stood with an overflowing tray balanced on her hand and her jaw on the floor.

Whoops. Guess that was one closet he no longer had the comfort of hiding in. He’d have to make sure Screw kept his role in all this on the down low. It wouldn’t do to have anyone calling Jazz a slut for sleeping around. And the last fucking thing on earth he wanted anyone finding out was the fact that the three of them were fucking around together.

No matter how hot it was.

“Sit. I’ll grab you some coffee while you decide what you want.”

After slipping into the booth, he held the menu back out to her. “Surprise me. You know what I like.”

Jazz paused before taking the menu and sauntering off.

It was an intimate request, having her chose his meal. He shouldn’t be doing shit like that. With each day that passed, he observed just how well she’d settled into a life here in Tennessee. She loved her job, her friends, the MC. Even dropping hints to her about moving back to Arizona seemed like a wholly selfish move. He’d have to leave her here when his time was up. Leave her to Screw who they both knew would never claim her. Never claim anyone.

He’d go back to fucking everything on two legs. Gumby would go back to the desert where he’d bury himself in the closet and go back to nameless, faceless fucks in the dark.

And Jazz would be left cleaning up the mess of their short-lived kinky affair, wondering if they’d lied about how little her scars affected her beauty.