Rocket (Hell's Handlers MC 5)

There’d been those three little words that followed Rocket out the door the day he left it all behind. You owe me. He’d had known all along Esposito would come to collect one day. And he had, a few times, though each and every one Rocket managed to wriggle out of it.

“Won’t do it,” Rocket said.

“You don’t have a choice,” Esposito shot back, the unspoken threat clear in his tone. Do this or I’ll make sure what should have happened to you five years ago happens now.

The line went dead.

Fuck.

“Fuck!” Rocket yelled. He was going to have to involve the club in this. DarkOps would send someone for him. Hell, they’d probably go after one of his brothers or sabotage the club’s business dealings to get him to fall in line. The club knew little of the past that might be coming to bite them all. He couldn’t and wouldn’t leave them vulnerable like that.

But goddamn, this was the worst possible time to bring mayhem to the club’s doorstep. Copper was hobbling around with a broken leg and healing stab wounds while all the club’s energy was focused on tracking Lefty. They didn’t need his shit mucking things up even more.

He glanced at his phone. Seven p.m. In about an hour or so, Chloe would be heading out to find her boy toy for the night. Or for an hour. Despite his mood, Rocket almost laughed. An hour. Who were these jokers she was fucking? He had no doubt he could drag the encounter out longer than a measly sixty minutes.

A smile curled his lips. He loved a good challenge.

With the threat from Esposito, Rocket was well and truly fucked.

Might as well go get fucked in a more pleasurable way.

CHAPTER FOUR

HEELS CLICK-CLACKING across the polished hardwood floor, Chloe weaved her way to the mahogany bar. Her head was high, shoulders back, and her body was hugged tight in a hunter green dress she’d splurged half her paycheck on. But, damn if it didn’t portray her as a confident woman on the prowl. A woman who knew what she wanted and went after it. A woman who didn’t suffer from crippling self-doubt and anxiety.

Appearances sure could be deceiving.

The dress was an off-the-shoulder bandage-style bodycon number. The thing fit her like it’d been designed with her body in mind. Not something that happened every day. Or ever.

Tonight had to count, had to hold her over, and keep the stress at bay for a few weeks. Tomorrow, Scott arrived. He’d knock her out and stuff her in a closet before he’d let her cruise the bars for random men to fuck.

“Day-um, woman,” the bartender said. “You are looking extra fine tonight. You know,” he said with a wink as he leaned on his elbows, a damp drying rag in his hand. “I can serve you way more than just a drink.”

Chloe tossed back her head and let out a laugh. Her long hair tickled the backs of her bare arms, making goosebumps sprout across her skin. Rich was nice to look at, had her favorite drink memorized, and flirted like no other, but that’s where the appreciation ended. At least on her end. There was no way in hell she’d risk taking him back to her hotel room. Sleeping with him would mean the end of her visits to that particular lounge, and she wasn’t willing to sacrifice her favorite meet-up spot for a quick romp with him. Besides, picking up a complete stranger was the only way this exercise worked. And the casual banter she always shared with Rich made him a friend of sorts, or at least put him on a level above stranger.

“Hmm,” she said, making sure it came out as more of a purr. Might as well have a little fun with him. “I’m sure you can. But I’ll stick with a vodka and club for now.”

He winked again. “Sure thing, gorgeous. You change your mind, you know where to find me. I’m off at two.” He rapped his knuckles on the bar.

She almost laughed. Long before two, she’d be tucked into bed, snoozing away. “I’ll remember that,” she said blowing him a kiss.

He caught it and pretended to stuff it in his pocket—their silly routine whenever she visited his lounge.

Chloe sat on the barstool and used the mirrored backsplash to scan the room. More than a few sets of male eyes were fixated on her back. A smile formed as the familiar rush of excitement flowed through her veins.

In here, she was the star. The men came to her and came on to her, but it was ultimately her decision who would be gifted her time and body. If a man annoyed her? She sent him away. If he laughed in a way that grated on her nerves? A drink slurper? Bye-bye buddy. They all wanted her, or wanted the assertive woman she pretended to be. These men fought for her attention with their winks, lusty grins, and offers of alcohol. But in the end? Each and every one of them was helpless to do anything but wait for her decision. Wait to find out who she’d choose, if anyone.