Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

Screw’s nostrils flared.

Once in place, Rocket held up a hand. The universal sign for hold up. Screw wasn’t sure he could. His heart pounded out of control. Sweat coated his palms making the weapon slippery in his grasp. He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, unable to stand completely still with the amount of adrenalin firing through his veins.

In. Out. In. Out.

The measured mantra kept his breathing from running out of control.

Seconds ticked by like hours.

Drops of perspiration rolled down his face despite the forty-degree temperature. The heat of Gumby at his back was the only thing keeping him from splintering into a thousand pieces. If Rocket didn’t move soon, he was going to fly apart.

And then, none of it mattered.

A high-pitched scream of suffering pierced the wooded quiet and all three of them reacted. Quick as a ninja, Rocket lifted his heavy boot and rammed it next to the doorknob.

Thank God for rentals whose owners didn’t give a shit about security. The door flew open and Screw charged forward, ignoring the bite of pain as a wood shard scraped his cheek. He shoved past Rocket, Gumby hot on his heels, coming to a dead stop at the sight before him.

Jazz, bloody, crying, cowered in a corner, protectively hugging her drawn up knees. And Paul, standing over her with a wicked looking knife.

A bloody knife.

Wild sunken eyes stared at them, not sane or even afraid. Paul’s complexion was pale and waxy with dark rings under those eyes. “Don’t move!” he screamed. “It’s not safe. I have to finish. I have to save her from him.”

Jesus.

The guy didn’t give a shit they’d just barged in, guns blazing. The demons in his brain had him so single mindedly obsessed with Jazmine, he couldn’t recognize true danger.

“I have to finish!” he yelled again. “She’s possessed. The devil lives in her. I can get him out.” He spoke so fast, the words ran together, difficult to understand. He also used his hands, waving the knife about with clumsy, reckless movements.

Jazz stayed silent, her body visibly trembling in the corner. Her face was covered in blood that ran from a wound near her hairline. Any other injuries were impossible to catalogue.

Paul turned toward Jazz, leading with the knife. “Just a few more,” he muttered.

Screw didn’t think, he just reacted, sprinting forward with one goal in mind.

Killing Paul.

Paul spun back around with a spine-chilling war-cry. He lifted his knife wielding arm, poised to throw, but it didn’t slow Screw. He barreled onward with a loud battle cry of his own.

The sound of his name being screamed registered somewhere in the back of his mind, but the thunder of blood in his ears and rage in his heart dulled it to a muffled roar. Paul’s arm advanced forward, the knife a fraction of a second from soaring through the air.

The loud crack of a gun reverberated through the room. One beat later, the knife tumbled from Paul’s hand. Jazz screamed. The knife landed on the laminate floor with a clatter. Screw skidded to a stop in time to see the man’s eyes dim as he crashed down beside his knife.

Screw whirled around.

Gumby stood off to the side, chest heaving as he lowered his gun. For one flash, his eyes appeared as feral as Paul’s, but then he focused on Jazz and sanity returned.

Screw collapsed to his knees beside her. “Jazzy?” They needed to assess her physical injuries, but she threw herself into his arms with a choked cry. Her naked skin was so cold, it made him jump.

Gumby knelt beside them, wrapping his long arms around the two of them.

Jazz sobbed loudly.

“We got you, baby. You’re safe. We got you,” Screw whispered in her ear though the words were as much for him and Gumby as for Jazz.

Gumby kissed the top of Jazz’s head, then Screw’s, lingering for long seconds as he held them.

Jazz struggled to sit back. Fuck, she was covered in blood, and now Screw was too. “V-viper,” she said, body shivering violently.

Screw exchanged a look with Gumby. They needed to get her to a hospital. “I know, baby. I know.”

“He c-covered me,” she sobbed, tears mixing with the blood and causing trails of pink to run down her cheeks. “He held me under him. I tried so hard to get out. I didn’t want him to do that. Why did he do that?” She grabbed the front of Screw’s shirt, giving a him a weak shake. She barely seemed to realize she was topless, freezing, and a bloody mess.

“Oh, baby,” Screw said as his throat thickened. “He did it because he loved you. So much. And he knew we needed you. Gumby and I.”

“We do, Jazz,” Gumby said. “We need you so much. He saved you for us.”

Her bloodshot eyes widened, and she choked out another sob as her body hitched. “You do?”