Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

They held each other tight as their lips and tongues performed an unsophisticated and somewhat sloppy yet utterly perfect dance.

Jazz’s clenched her eyes shut as she absorbed the fulfilling sensation she only felt when the three of them connected in this way. When they said with their bodies what they couldn’t voice.

When she could pretend this would last forever instead of leaving her with a shattered heart when it ended.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“LJ’S GONNA CUT the security cameras in forty-five seconds. They will be out for exactly five minutes. Not a second more.” If the security officer didn’t check in with the alarm company within five minutes of losing camera footage, the authorities were automatically notified. Screw spoke into the comm unit Rocket had seemed to procure from thin air. Rocket, the man with black ops history who should probably be the one running this mission.

But that job fell to him. The fucking enforcer.

“10-4,” Mav replied followed with confirmation from the other two-man teams.

Since the day after the CDMC, they’d had eyes on the trucking company the CDMC used to transport weapons. Not only did Rocket commandeer comm units, he’d also procured a high-tech drone complete with hi-res imaging capabilities. And Christ if that didn’t make surveillance a fucking breeze.

In fact, this entire operation had gone smoothly thus far. Starting with LJ getting hired as a security guard. The initial plan had been to have someone apply for a driver position. They’d gone so far as to have Tex take an interview. During a tour of the yard, the manager mentioned how they were in desperate need of a nighttime security guard. Theirs had up and quit right before Christmas, forcing them to hire a contract security company which cost a shit load of cash. After learning that, Copper sent LJ in. He was hired on the spot. No background check, no references, not a goddammed thing. They put him on shift that night probably based on his size alone.

Mistake for them. Big fucking win for Screw and his brothers.

Now, not only did they have daytime footage from the drone, they had a fucking security guard inside. After days of surveillance, they basically knew every detail of how this company ran their trucks, exactly which ones the guns would be on, and—thanks to Gumby—the fastest and most effective way to disable them.

“Cameras out in five…four…three…two…one. Move,” Screw said, as he darted across the yard to the truck he and Gumby had been assigned to. Plan was to sabotage the trucks making it impossible for the weapons to be delivered on time. Gun running wasn’t the kind of business where deliveries could be rescheduled, or second chances were given. Whoever waited on the other end would be fucking furious and drop the CDMC no questions asked.

As much as Screw wanted to swipe the actual weapons, they couldn’t take that risk. First place Crank and his fuckhead club would look was the Handlers. Here, the blame could lie squarely on the trucking company who’d had a break in one night.

When Screw reached the truck he and Gumby had been assigned to, he planted his hand on the side of the trailer and tried to control his breathing.

Though this operation was relatively low risk, his heart pounded with the force of a stampede, making him lightheaded and queasy. Jesus, he’d never had a panic attack in his fucking life, yet he felt seconds from completely flipping the fuck out.

“Hey,” Gumby appeared next to him looking calm, collected, and sexy as fuck in all black with a dark cap, comm unit, and his glasses in place. He reached out and muted Screw’s comm before doing the same to his own. “Breathe. This is a cake walk. We planned the fuck out of it and have about eighteen contingency plans for everything from a hurricane to a terrorist attack. We fucking got this.”

“That’s not even…Oh, fuck.” He sucked in a breath that sounded strangely like a whistle being blown.

“Shit,” Gumby glanced left then right before capturing Screw’s face between his hands. “You got this Luke. You’re a fucking badass enforcer. Your prez trusts you, your brothers trust you, I fucking trust you. You. Have. Got. This.” Then he kissed him hard and fast before picking up the gas can and getting to work.

Christ that was exactly what he’d needed to hear. They’d planned well and each man there tonight knew their role. He trusted those men with his life. What he didn’t trust was himself. The weight of responsibility nearly ground him to dust.

Letting down his club was not an option. But his club wasn’t the only concern here. Gumby could be hurt. Jazz could be hurt. No, he would not allow this operation to fail.

“Hey, you gonna make me do all the work, slacker?” Gumby winked and the small gesture was the final kick he’d needed to get his ass in gear.