Little Jack (Hell's Handlers MC 6)

Vat of coffee in hand, he opened his front door and nearly stomped on a sizable white bakery box with his clown-size work boot. Written in a flowy script across the lid were the words Thank You followed by a smiley face. Man, if the contents of that box were half as delicious as Holly’s cheesecake, he’d be doing her favors every chance he got.

Hopefully, a few of those favors would be of the sexual variety. Ever since meeting her, he hadn’t been able to scrub the image of her curvy as fuck body from his mind. Especially not once he’d jerked himself to completion over a fantasy of that soft body naked and spread out for him on his bed.

LJ lifted the box and opened it to find an assortment of giant cookies. Immediately, the scent of chocolate and fresh-baked goodness tickled his senses and he inhaled a deeper hit. Some of the cookies were clearly chocolate chip, some smelled like peanut butter, others deep dark chocolate, and then…snickerdoodles. Oh man, somehow the sugar goddess next door knew his weakness. Cinnamon and sugar.

Hell fucking yes.

Was five in the morning too early to gorge on cookies?

Fuck no, it wasn’t.

After stuffing an entire cookie into his mouth, he moaned. God, that woman could bake. The box was filled to the brim. After devouring a few more, he carried what remained in the box to his work truck. Holly had made so many cookies, he could bring the container to church that evening and still have plenty to binge on. Sharing the goods might help kick her business off the ground because if there was one thing he knew about his brothers, they liked to eat. Especially if the food came from a pretty woman.

Though he just might leave out how smokin’ hot Holly was. None of those assholes needed that information.

Midway through a sweaty day, LJ tossed his hard hat in the bed of his truck before guzzling water straight from the gallon jug. With the bandana he wore under the protective helmet, he wiped his sweaty head. One job site down, three to go.

“Heading out, boss?” Gary, one of the electricians he frequently contracted asked, opening his own large bottle of water.

“Yeah, man. Gotta head over to the bank job. We hit a snag with the plumbing.” LJ rolled his eyes. This was the second time in a month his plumber had called with some bullshit issue he should have been able to solve. Might be time to look for a new one. “Kinda hate to leave though. Been loving working on this place.”

“Tell me about it,” the shorter man said as he wiped his mouth. Gary’s long black hair was braided down his back, sticking out from the hard hat he hadn’t bothered to remove. “Always nice to work with an unlimited budget.”

“Seriousl—” The loud blare of multiple sirens had both men’s heads whipping around.

“What the fuck?” Gary muttered as three cop cars came tearing up the extended driveway in full showboat mode. Lights, sirens, screeching breaks, the works.

“No fucking clue,” LJ returned, but the intense churning in his gut let him know this was gonna fuck up his day but good. “Oh, fuck,” he said as the door to the lead car opened and out stepped—or stomped—Sheriff’s Deputy Richard Schwartz, the biggest douche nozzle LJ had ever had the displeasure to meet.

As though he had the authority of God, Schwartz marched his way over to where LJ and Gary stood with four other officers trailing behind him. Schwartz stopped about two feet from LJ. The gleeful smirk on his smug fucking face was as much a show of power as his hand resting on the butt of his gun.

“Dick,” LJ said, working to school his own smirk.

Schwartz’s face turned red, and he scowled so hard he was a risk of facial injury. Guy must not be much of a poker player.

“You in charge here?” Schwartz was about six-foot with sandy hair and an overall pretty-boy look. Think boy band meets country bumpkin. He took his job as deputy sheriff in the small town of Townsend way too seriously and was one of the few cops the Handlers’ had never been able to bend to their will. Thankfully, the sheriff kept him in line ninety-nine percent of the time. Looked like today was going to be the one percent Sheriff Coleman couldn’t control.

“Sure am. You want a tour? See how the other half lives? Can’t imagine you’ll ever make it to this type of life on a cop’s salary.”

Eyes narrowed, Schwartz snorted. “You’re the hired help. Pretty sure dirty fucking bikers aren’t snapping up all the mansions.”

Well, he had a point there. LJ certainly didn’t have the moola to own a ten-bedroom monstrosity, but he was pretty fucking satisfied with his life. With a frustrated sigh, he said, “The fuck you want, Dicky? I got too much shit to do to be standing around waiting to see if you’re gonna ask me on a date or if you just wanna suck me off.”