Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

“Christ, yes, Jazz,” Gumby said.

Screw wanted to interrupt. To tell her how much he loved her, but he gave Gumby this first moment to confess his feelings for her. For them.

“It’s so much more than need, Jazzy.” He cupped her face, blood be damned. “I love you. So goddamned much. I love you and I love Screw. When we thought we lost you today…”

She gasped, tears still falling. “God, Gumby, I love you too.”

Her gaze shifted to Screw, wary and unsure and that nearly killed him. He’d spend every day for the rest of his life making sure these two people had full faith in his love for them. They’d never doubt it, never doubt him again. He wouldn’t give them cause.

He winked. “You don’t think I’d let you two be in love without me, did you? Come on, the bed would be way too empty.” He pulled Jazz onto his lap. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear. Then his gaze met Gumby’s. “I love that man over there too. No way in hell are either of you getting rid of me now.”

Jazz let out a half laugh half sob. “I love you, Luke.”

He smiled. “Of course, you do. Who wouldn’t?” He kissed the top of her head. “Now can we please get you some medical attention.” He shrugged out of his jacket, wrapping it around Jazz’s uncovered shoulders.

“Yes,” Jazz said. “Just, can you two please stay with me? I was terrified I’d never see you again and I’m not ready to be out of your sight.”

“Just watch them try to make us leave,” Gumby said with a small smile.

Screw let Gumby gather Jazz in his arms and carry her out of the house. His brothers had left the house, giving the three of them a few moments. None of them were overly worried about cops showing up. The house sat far up the mountain and hunting in the area was typical. A single crack of a gun wouldn’t be questioned.

He rose to his feet then turned. Paul’s corpse lay crumpled in a heap on the ground. Rocket and LJ reentered the house.

“You okay, brother?” LJ asked.

He took one more look at the body of the man who’d terrorized his woman for so long.

One animal down. One more to go.

Fuck yeah. “I’m good.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

JAZZ’S HAND TREMBLED as she knocked on Cassie’s door for the second time that week.

This time, however, everything had changed.

Life no longer made sense.

On the one hand, she had everything she wanted. Everything she’d thought she’d lost. Gumby and Screw loved her. Their future, though they still had some challenges to overcome, looked bright and shiny. Full of love, pleasure, and opportunity. A huge part of her heart felt full to bursting.

But then there was this hole. This gaping emptiness created by the loss of Viper’s life.

And the guilt. God, the guilt nearly crushed her with its immense weight. The man had thrown his body on top of her, shielding her from the worst of the blast, and lost his life for it. How could she not feel responsible?

“Jazz!” Shell opened the door and immediately pulled her into a gentle hug. “God, honey, I’m so glad to see you. Come in, come in.” Shell ushered her through the door. Her eyes were bloodshot and there was a sluggishness to her movements, as though she hadn’t slept well because she’d spent the night crying.

Jazz fully understood.

“Cassie is letting Beth help pick out her clothes. Who knows what she’ll come out wearing.” She chuckled, but it was forced, like she felt obligated to be a light presence in the house.

Moving a bit like a robot, Jazz followed Shell into Cassie’s living room. They sat next to each other on the beige microfiber couch.

Jazz blew out a breath. Viper’s presence was everywhere in the house. From the Harley prints on the wall, to the shelf full of model motorcycles he’d assembled through the years. Then there was the framed photo, taken a good few years ago, of Viper, Copper, Zach, and Jigsaw. Each man had a more youthful appearance. Especially Viper. But what made her heart weep were the smiles. The happiness and ignorance to what would befall the beloved vice president.

God, she couldn’t do this. Couldn’t face Cassie. What if the woman hated her? What if she ordered Jazz out of her house? It might very well happen.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” Shell asked in a soft tone.

“What?” Jazz pulled her focus from the photo. “Oh, I’m fine.”

Shell gave her a sweet, empathetic smile. “Not so sure I’d say you’re fine just yet.” She ran a light finger over the bandage on Jazz’s head.

The six-inch gash she’d received at some point during the explosion had required thirty-seven stitches to close. Another twenty closed up the sternum wound. Then there was the warming blankets and heated saline for mild hypothermia. And a visit from a psychologist. The bumps, bruises, and smaller cuts were fixed with a few butterfly bandages and round the clock Motrin. She’d spent seven hours in the hospital before the doctors released her to Screw and Gumby’s care.