Never had she thought she’d be wishing for the slithering reptiles but even a shed full of the most venomous of serpents was preferable to what she found in her shed.
Hundreds of big angry assault rifles.
SCREW LET OUT a low whistle as he watched Gumby work the speed bag. “Looking good there, baby,” he said as he propped his shoulder against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. “Sexy as fuck. Who knew you were so good with little hanging sacks?”
Even as he snorted out a laugh, Gumby scanned their surrounding as though worried someone would overhear their flirty banter. He chose to ignore the pang of discomfort at the thought the man might never be able to own his sexuality and claim Screw in public because, well, he didn’t want Gumby to claim him in public.
He didn’t want anyone to claim him in public.
How the hell would he get new tits and ass if people thought he was locked down?
Not that he had even a passing interest in anyone but Jazz and Gumby these days…
After the epic night the three of them spent together, his heart and body were on Team Relationship while his head remained stubbornly on Team Never Gonna Happen. He’d never felt closer to two people, and it freaked him the fuck out. He didn’t want closeness or emotion, or that goddammed R word. He also chose to ignore the inner voice telling him he was full of shit.
As soon as Gumby saw they were alone he said, “Zach didn’t have any shirts in your size?”
Screw barked out a laugh. “He did, but this one draws in more customers.” He winked as he flexed. Sure enough the tight polo stretched across his chest and nearly popped at the sleeves. Truth be told, he hated the damn thing. Way too uncomfortable, but as Z said, it did draw lots of stares.
Gumby’s included. “Mm-hmm,” he said as he faltered and missed the bag.
Screw snickered. “Careful there. Don’t wanna drop your guard and have someone mess up that pretty face. Your girlfriend might protest.” His phone rang. “Speaking of,” he said, as Jazz’s name flashed across the screen. “Hey, sexy lady, I was just talking about y—
“Screw, I’m out in the shed in my backyard and it’s full of guns.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Big nasty action movie type of guns. Assault rifles or whatever they are called.”
He shoved his hand into his hair, gripping the strands hard. “You’re fucking kidding me. Please tell me this is your idea of a bad fucking joke.”
Gumby went on alert, dropping his arms and stepping closer.
“No. Not a joke at all. I don’t know what to do. What do I do? I’m totally freaking out over here.” Her voice bordered on hysterical.
“Okay, babe, calm down. Breathe, you hear me?”
He listened as she sucked in a few deep breaths then released them. “Y-yeah. Okay. I’m okay.”
“Listen to me, Jazz. Gumby and I are on our way. I want you to go back in the house. I’m going to call Thunder and have him go in to sit with you until we arrive. Do not go back outside for any reason. Do you understand?”
“Um, yeah. Okay.”
In the background, he heard the sounds of her closing the shed and hopefully returning to the relative safety of her house.
Without even knowing what the issue was, Gumby had ditched his hand wraps and began stowing his gear in his duffle. At this hour, only a few members were working out, but it wasn’t as though Screw could leave them in the gym unsupervised.
Gumby pulled out his phone. “I’m calling Zach,” he said as though reading Screw’s mind. He’d exchanged numbers with most of the club before their raid on the trucking company.
Screw nodded to the other man. Damn, not only was Gumby an eager and skilled lover, he was a loyal team player who’d shown Screw without words how much he trusted him over these past few days. His blind acceptance of a problem and action to solve it proved that.
“I’m inside,” Jazz said through the phone.
Screw kept his gaze on Gumby who paced away while updating Zach.
“Lock the door. Did you see Jeremy at all while you were out there? Do you know if he’s home?”
“Jeremy? Why—oh, my God. Do you think this was him?”
Who else would it be? Had to be fucking Jeremy. As a prospect for the CDMC with easy access to Jazz’s backyard, and a strong aversion to all things Hell’s Handlers, he was the prime and only suspect. But to what end? To set Jazzy up? Maybe to set the MC up? Or was it legitimate storage of his club’s weapons in a place no one would ever think to look?
Everyone knew Jazz was too skittish of snakes to venture out to the shed a second time. Hell, it’d been a running joke at the clubhouse. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility to think she mentioned—