Rocket (Hell's Handlers MC 5)

“Wanna join us, brother?” Screw called across the mostly empty clubhouse. At three on a Saturday afternoon, most of the guys were home, gearing up for another night of debauchery. Screw liked to prepare for a night of fucking and drinking by fucking and drinking. Even though his name came from Screwball, he tended to live up to the more obvious meaning as well. Hell, that pool table was his favorite substitute for a bed. Not a weekend went by without him bending some broad over the felt. Screw squeezed the ass of the redhead. “Got more than enough to go around.”

What the hell? Something had to snap him out of his Chloe-induced funk.

“Yeah, I’m in.” He poured himself a second drink, then meandered on toward the pool table at the back of the room.

Screw lifted his chin toward the redheaded Honey. Tina, if Rocket remembered correctly. She caught his meaning and grabbed a pool cue. With her head cocked to the side and her crimson-painted lips pursed, she winked at Rocket. Step by step, she walked toward him, bony hips swaying, hand stroking the cue like it was a skinny dick.

Rocket shook his head once. Not Tina. No redheads. Not when there was already one fucking with his mind. He wasn’t known for being chatty, probably considered an asshole among the Honeys, but Tina caught his drift. After sending a pout his way, she shrugged and turned her attention back to Screw.

“I’ll take the blonde,” Rocket said.

“She’s all yours,” Screw replied, giving blondie a hard slap on the ass that propelled her in Rocket’s direction.

“Oooh,” she said with a giggle. “Lucky me.” When she reached him, she plastered herself against his side. The scent of three-dollar perfume singed his nose. “My name’s Lacy,” she said, stretching onto her tiptoes to reach his ear. Her breath reeked of alcohol and menthol cigarettes.

Even in her five-inch stilettos, she barely reached his chin. At six foot two, Rocket preferred his women taller and with some curves. Women with a little height and cushion fit him much better. Just an issue of alignment. Plus, he didn’t have to worry about snapping them in half if he got a little over exuberant, which happened from time to time.

“Rocket,” he answered, taking the pool cue from her hands.

“I know that.” She giggled again as he lined up his shot. The sound resembled loose change in a tin can, grating and unpleasant. Shit. What was with him? Didn’t matter what the fuck she laughed like. If she could kneel and suck, she’d provide the tension relief he needed and be happy to do it.

“Four. Side pocket,” Rocket said.

Screw snorted. “No fucking way.” The kid had been spending a ton of time with Zach, both assisting in enforcing for the club, and managing the gym. From the way he stood with his hands wrapped high around the cue, Rocket could see the extra hours at the gym were paying off. Thick biceps ringed with new ink stretched the sleeves of his T-shirt almost to the point of no return.

The difficult shot sailed into the pocket.

He raised an eyebrow at Screw.

“Sorry, oh master of pool,” Screw said lifting his arms in defeat. “I’ll keep my comments to myself from now on.”

Rocket straightened. “You do that. Starting to look like a meathead there, Screw.”

Another laugh, this one followed by a kiss to each flexed bicep. “I’ll take that as a compliment, brother.”

Rocket’s lips twitched as Tina oohed and aahed over Screw’s bulky muscles. “Baby,” she whined. “When are you gonna take me upstairs and put all that strength to good use?”

Screw might love the company of the Honeys, but he did not like the girls making demands on him. His face tightened. “When I’m good and fucking ready.” He stepped away from Tina and bent over the table. Along with hardening muscles, his personality had firmed up as well, taking him from the near goofy screwball to a serious, sometimes harsh member of the club.

“Nice shot.” The words were cooed in Rocket’s ear as a set of silicone tits engulfed his arm. “How about you line up a shot toward my center pocket.”

Rocket groaned at the same time Screw burst out laughing.

Christ, he was either getting too old or too smart for this shit. There was a time he’d have shrugged off the comment, grabbed Lacy’s hand, and found a dark corner of the room. Now, he needed a little something besides swirling air between their ears.

“Yeah, Rock, when you gonna shoot—”

Rocket sent Screw the glare that had scarier men than him backing down. Of course, the scowl only made Screw laugh harder. With a roll of his tense shoulders, Rocket glanced at Lacy. Her brown eyes were wide and expectant as she waited for him to give her the fuck she wanted.