Little Jack (Hell's Handlers MC 6)

Some of the remaining mourners lingered as they got into their cars, watching the scene with nervous curiosity.

“I’m coming for you, assholes. Enjoy your freedom while you’ve still got it because one day real soon you’re gonna miss it.”

“Dad,” she tried again. “I really don’t think it was them.”

“Holly, I said be quiet. Get behind me. I don’t want their filthy fucking eyes on you.” He pushed her out of sight.

The next thing she knew, the doors opened behind her, and two men emerged wheeling the now closed casket containing her sister’s body out of the funeral home. Holly gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

Oblivious to the tension, the undertakers wheeled the casket down the ramp and to a waiting hearse. Her father’s body tensed.

All the bikers revved their engines at once. Holly resisted the urge to cover her ears as the sound rose to deafening.

“Fucking disrespectful animals,” her dad mumbled as the last bike tore off behind the group.

While he’d seen it as a disturbance of the peace and quiet, Holly had viewed the simultaneous bike-rev as a sign of respect. A little tribute to Joy, biker style.

“They’ll pay for what they did to your sister, Holly. If it takes my last dying breath, I’ll make all those fucking bikers pay.”

Holly swallowed as she watched the bikes fade into the distance. It felt symbolic. Her old life disappearing, leaving behind something unfamiliar and ominous.

CHAPTER ONE

LJ STUFFED HIS size-fourteen feet into the running shoes he’d worn long past their prime. Yeah, those suckers needed replacing before he ground his knees or ankles to dust, but they were like a longtime lover. Comfortable, familiar, a perfect fit.

Or so he’d heard. He sure as hell didn’t have any experience with long-term relationships, but word on the street made them sound like old, beat-up shoes. He chuckled to himself. Maybe that analogy was why he hadn’t held on to a woman longer than a few months. Most of them probably wouldn’t appreciate the comparison to stinky old footwear.

Okay, that was bullshit. He knew the real reason he shied from commitment but preferred to blame it on something more straightforward.

After hydrating the fuck outta himself all day to make up for hours spent pouring a different kind of liquid down his gullet the night before, LJ resigned himself to the one hangover cure that worked every time. Running. It sucked balls while he was at it, but pounding the pavement for a good ten miles sweat out whatever toxins were making him feel like shit. So, at five in the evening, he finally dragged his sluggish ass off the couch and got ready to run.

Only perk that came from hitting the bottle as hard as he had the previous night was a deep, dreamless sleep. A rare feat. However, choosing that route was a slippery slope with only one of two endings. Alcoholics Anonymous or swallowing his gun. Since neither outcome sounded desirable, LJ kept a tight handle on the amount of alcohol he typically consumed.

But last night had been a special occasion. A celebration quite a long time coming.

As he stepped outside, LJ slid his Oakley’s over his nose, but not before the sun singed his throbbing brain straight through his eye sockets. “Last time I fuckin’ drink ever again,” he muttered, as he jogged past the empty second-floor apartment next to his. His limbs moved like they were made of wood instead of flesh and bone. Picking up the pace, he turned the corner only to narrowly avoid taking out a woman carrying a box twice her size. “Whoa, shit,” he shouted as he dodged right.

Whoever she was, she yelped and staggered back, unbalanced by the heft of the box.

LJ lunged forward, snatching the heavy load from her with one arm as he used the other to steady her by her shoulder.

“Holy crap, you’re huge. And you just saved my life,” she said, panting with a hand pressed to her heaving chest.

LJ chuckled as he set the box on the concrete walkway. “Since I was the one who almost took you out, I’m pretty sure the save doesn’t count.”

“Oh, it counts,” she argued, voice full of sass. “And I’m pretty sure I’m the one to blame since I got all cocky and decided to haul the biggest box in the trunk.”

With another chuckle he straightened, faced her, and—fuck me—his dick punched against his running shorts in an instant.

“I’m Holly,” she said, a sweet smile playing on those pouty, unglossed lips as she stuck out her hand.

Holly. A sweet name to go with that sugary smile. God, she was…lush was the only word that came to mind. On the shorter side—well at least compared to him—curvy as fuck, with tits he’d kill to bury his face between, the woman was just his type. He hadn’t been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her ass yet, but he bet it was round and jiggled as she walked. Jesus Christ, he could get lost for days in all that softness.