Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

And then the murderer went for the fucking kill.

“Yo, VP, you won’t believe the shit I walked in on. G, here had his lips on this Screw dude, and Jazzy was all happily sandwiched between them.” Jester waggled his eyebrows and grinned a smirk that would make the devil run and hide. “Whatcha got going on here, Gumby? One woman ain’t enough for you anymore? Gotta add a little dick to the mix?”

Even from ten feet away, he felt Screw stiffen. Jazz did the same, pulling away from Hook and stepping up next to Jester who still wore the shit-eating grin.

“Um, Jester,” she said, glancing between Gumby and Screw.

Deny. Deny. Deny.

Gumby stood. “The fuck you been smoking, Jester?” He laughed as he pulled his brother into a hug. “Think you need glasses, old man. What’s the matter? Married life getting so boring you need to invent exciting sexual scenarios?”

Christ, he’d taking the front page of Screw’s book, shitty jokes to avoid real issues. And was anyone buying it? As the words tumbled off his tongue, Gumby knew he was being a colossal asshole. He didn’t need the stony mask of Screw’s face or the way Jazz’s smile fell straight to the floor to clue him in. But he couldn’t stop it. The instinct for self-preservation had been so deeply ingrained into him, so painfully beaten in, the denial came naturally.

“But…” Jester glanced between the three of them, his brow furrowed.

Jazz stood beside him, wringing her hands, face devoid of color and lips pressed together.

“Sorry, brother. I thought…” Jester cleared his throat. “My bad. Maybe you’re right and these old peepers are going.”

“That or your mind. Hallucinating and shit.” God, why couldn’t he just shut up?

Striker stepped forward, clapping Jester on the back. “Hey, brother, why don’t we give these three a second. We can go out and let our ladies know we arrived, huh?”

Hook had already slipped out the door.

“Yeah, sure,” Jester said before casting an odd look Gumby’s way. He took the path Hook did, preceding Striker out the door.

Just before stepping outside, Striker paused with a hand on the door frame. He peered over his shoulder at the three of them who were just standing like statues staring at each other. “I can see we fucked up,” he said, regret in his voice. “I’m sorry we just popped in unannounced. We’ve just been worried about you, G.” With that, he tapped his fist on the doorframe and walked outside, pulling the door closed behind him.

“Gumby…” Jazz strode toward him, wrapping her arms around him.

He couldn’t return the embrace, feeling like a wooden statue.

“It’s nothing,” he said as she stepped back with a frown. “I’m glad they’re here. It’s getting to be time for me to head back to Arizona anyway. Don’t want them to think I’ve abandoned my club.”

“But…I…we…” Jazz looked between him and Screw.

If she expected the other man to jump in and help, she was in for disappointment. From his rigid posture to crossed arms, Screw’s body language screamed fuck off.

“What was that?” Screw asked. “Said you need to get back to get some head in Arizona?” He laughed and the bitter sound pierced Gumby straight in the heart.

God, what this must be doing to Jazz. He risked a glance at her. Her forehead had scrunched, and her eyes had narrowed. She shook her head as though needing to shake the words around here brain to get them to make sense. “No, wha—”

“Sounds good, man. It’s been fun. Need to get back in the game as well. Those Honeys ain’t gonna suck or fuck themselves, right?”

“What?” Jazz whispered as her hands fell limp at her sides. “You can’t mean that.”

Screw laughed again. The sound was so ugly, Gumby flinched. “Of course, I mean it, Jazzy. You know who I am. What I do. Don’t tell me you thought this was different? Special?” As he spoke, he indicated the three of them in a triangular motion with his finger.

Jazz’s eyes fell shut. “You need to go, now,” she said in a calm, though trembling voice that must have been a shit load of work to maintain.

Each word hit him like a bullet, tearing through his skin and wounding his organs. He’d done this. He’d caused Screw to fall back on old habits and Jazz to push him away. He’d hurt the two people who’d given him so much. The two people he wanted above all. He’d destroyed them.

“See you ’round the clubhouse, Jazzy. Have a good trip back, Gumby.” He lifted his hand in a wave as he walked out the door, swagger in high.

Jazz turned her bleak eyes on him. She swallowed as a tear slipped from the corner of her eye and tracked down her cheek. “I—” She sucked in a breath that made her whole body shudder. “I’d like you to pack your things and stay at a hotel, p-please.”