Rocket (Hell's Handlers MC 5)

No, he could tell. So could the rest of her family. Which was why, after their initial flocking to see her, she’d distanced herself over the past few months.

“Tell me, what the cops have done? Where are they with your case? Are they staying on top of it because I can speak with them if you’d like.” As he spoke, he straightened his spine as though preparing to posture for the police.

“Whoa there, speedy.” Chloe held up the hand not wrapped around her coffee. “Take a breath. I do not need you to speak with the cops.”

Mostly because there was nothing to speak with them about. She’d given them a cock and bull story that led their investigation to a brick wall within minutes. As for her family, they’d gotten a completely different tale.

“You sure, sis? You don’t have to do this all alone.” His half glare half scowl was full of disappointment. “You don’t have to push your family away.” As he spoke, a yellow lock of hair fell in front of his eyes.

There was the heart of the issue. “I’m not, Scott. But I’m an adult. And I can handle it on my own.” Even if handle it meant becoming some kind of man-dominating junkie. “Besides, he’s been arrested. Trial is in a few months.” By then Scott would be off in some other country saving the world and unable to butt in. She sipped from her mug; the coffee not nearly as bitter as her lies.

“And it was someone you’d dated?” He shoved his hair back in place in a move that appeared frustrated. With the errant hair or with her?

“Mm-hmm.” Sounds were easier to lie with than words, but Scott was a trained interrogator. Wouldn’t take much for him to grow suspicious. Chloe forced herself to look him in the eye. “We went out a few times. I didn’t know him too well though.”

“Fuck.” He scratched his bearded chin. Normally, the military didn’t allow facial hair, but with special ops, they were often required to blend in with the culture, so those guys frequently sported facial hair. Or so Scott informed her. “Half the world is fucking psycho, Clo. Please tell me you’re being extra cautious with the guys you meet now.”

His expression was pained. For her. He’d suffered because she did. And because he was too far away to come comfort her and kick someone’s ass. That’s just who Scott was. He took care of everyone he knew and had a protective streak ten miles long. “Um, yeah, sure. I’m very careful.”

Lying to him made her stomach hurt, but no one could know her secret. She couldn’t imagine a single scenario where someone would understand what she was doing and why. Even others who’d been in a similar horrifying position didn’t react as she did. She’d rather lie than see shock and disgust reflected back at her.

He stared at her, clearly not believing her. “Don’t lie to me, Clo.”

Shit. Why the hell did he have to be so observant? “I, uh—”

His brow furrowed. “You’re not going out at all, are you? Not dating? Not even hanging out with your friends?”

Well…he wasn’t wrong, per se. She wasn’t actually dating and had pushed most of her friends away by constantly declining invitations. But how the hell was she supposed to explain to Scott the only time she could handle being around men was on her special nights, so to speak? Leaving the house wasn’t the issue; she could drive around in her car all day. It was being close to people. Other men mostly. In a space where they might brush against her or try to touch her. Men who might appear normal on the outside, but how was she supposed to know what lurked beneath the surface? One of the men who’d kidnapped her had looked totally normal. Sure, one looked like a stereotypical thug, but the other could have been her bank teller for all she knew.

She almost laughed out loud. She couldn’t bump into a man in the grocery store without losing her shit, but she had no problem taking strangers back to a hotel room for sex.

Jesus, she needed therapy.

Big time.

But that wasn’t an option. The man who’d rescued her asked her to refrain from telling her story to anyone. He’d promised his motorcycle gang or whatever it was would take care of the situation for her. So, she’d lied to the cops, lied to her family, and avoided therapy so there wasn’t anyone who could report the truth to the cops. Lying to a therapist was an option but seemed like nothing more than a waste of time and money. Though, if she were honest, she didn’t think she’d have gone anyway. She was too embarrassed to divulge her deep dark secret. Even to a paid professional who’d probably heard it all.