Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

Her subdued demeanor terrified him. She was shutting down before his eyes. As she spoke, she tugged on the sleeves of her work shirt. Did she regret sharing her secrets? Is that what she was thinking about? How she poured the most painful part of her soul out only to be denied and rejected as if he were ashamed of her? Ashamed of them?

Fuck, this was all his fault. Yet he just couldn’t summon the words to fix it all. He couldn’t run after Screw because the thought of his club disapproving of him or casting him aside scared him above all. Yet as he watched Jazz turn her back on him, he wondered if the pain in his chest might be far worse than what he’d experience if his club shunned him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

SCREW STORMED INTO the clubhouse and straight over to the bar. He dropped onto a barstool with a heavy plop. When no one showed up five seconds later, he called out, “Hey, can I get a fucking drink,” to the empty room.

Of course, the goddammed place was empty. It was fucking nine thirty in the morning and everyone was dealing with the huge haul of weapons LJ just arrived with from Jazz’s house.

What a clusterfuck. Goddammed Gumby and his fucking inability to admit he liked cock. Screw blew out a breath. Gumby’s words had incensed him so fast and so fiercely he’d jetted without even making sure Jazz had protection and a place to stay. Of course, he’d remedied that by making sure Thunder stayed behind to help her pack and asking LJ if she could crash with him and Holly.

When they both looked at him with questions in their eyes, he’d fucking bitten their heads off with harsh words and stormed to his truck. Gumby could find his own fucking ride with his own fucking brothers who watched Screw with wary gazes as he left smoke in his wake.

“Fuck.”

Just as he was about to get up and grab a bottle, morning be damned, the click-clack of a women’s high heels reverberated behind him. Screw glanced over his hunched shoulder to find five-feet-nine inches of va-va-voom walking his way.

Giant tits, swaying hips, miles of skin on display, all topped off with some serious fuck-me heels and about a yard of platinum hair. She wore a seductive, red-lipped smile as she sauntered her way over to him. She was one of the newer Honeys, whose name failed him now. One he’d nearly slept with the fated night he watched Gumby and Jazz leave the clubhouse together, walking away from him.

The same night he’d first tasted Gumby.

Something he would not think of now.

“Well, hey there, handsome. Haven’t seen you as much around here lately.” The honey-thick voice of—what the hell is her name?—floated through the room.

Yeah, she hadn’t seen him because he’d been too busy being a stupid fucking cliché and getting his heart stomped on. Never again. A hot and easy fuck was exactly what he needed. So what if he’d need to get wasted on a Wednesday morning to make that happen?

“Well I’m here now, and trust me,” he said with a wink. “There’s a lot of me to see.”

She giggled, the sound raking across his eardrums like nails on a chalk board. He barely managed to contain a wince. Yeah, alcohol would be needed in fucking spades.

“Whiskey?” she asked as she made her way behind the bar. “Noticed it seems to be your drink of choice.” She batted her thick eyelashes his way. “I’ve noticed a lot about you, Screw, and that includes that there is a lot of you to notice.”

A generous glass of whiskey landed in front of him. He reached for it, but she didn’t release it, keeping her red tipped fingers firmly around the glass. “You gonna pay the toll?” she asked, lips which matched those nails pouting.

Kill me now.

No he fucking wasn’t paying any goddammed tolls. Especially not with a kiss. He wouldn’t be kissing for a long damn time. He’d drink this booze. Then have another. Maybe another one or two after that while flirting with this Honey. Hopefully his banter and sexy talk would get her wet and he could just take her up to his room, bend her over, fuck Jazz and Gumby out of his system then send whatever the hell her name was on her way. Then he’d drink more and pass out, hopefully to wake up forgetting the fact he’d let himself fall in love with two people.

There it was.

The two-ton elephant, not in the room, no this one was sitting squarely on his chest, crushing the fucking life out of him.

“Hey? Not much of a kisser? No problem. I’m more than happy to save these lips for your cock.” She released the glass, then straightened with a smirk as she watched him down it in two large gulps. When he set it down, it was full again in under five seconds.