Little Jack (Hell's Handlers MC 6)

“Holly.” She shook the offered hand and gave the woman a quick once over. By the smooth skin and youthful appearance, Holly guessed them to be within a few years of each other in age. Shell wore denim cutoffs and a fitted olive-green T-shirt. No jewelry or makeup even seemed to be present.

Low maintenance.

Holly’s kinda girl.

“So what is it that I can help you with, Miss Ward?” Holly’s father broke in, his voice flat.

Holly frowned. What was with him today?

Shell either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Shell, please,” she said with a sweet smile. “I’m here to talk to you about a fundraiser I’m organizing. It’s something my group has been running annually for the past five years or so, and Sheriff Coleman has always lent us deputies to manage crowds, direct traffic, and such. I wanted to see if we could count on you to continue that tradition this year?”

Holly’s lips twitched. Shell was good. She knew just how to demand what she wanted while making it sound like an innocent request.

“And what kind of event is this?” Her father asked, folding his arms on his desk.

Shell smiled. “It’s a motorcycle poker run to raise money for an anti-bullying campaign.”

Uh-oh.

“It’s been a very well attended event for the past year. Bikers come from all over to participate, and we’ve raised quite a bit of money in recent years. Last year my ol’ man was able to donate about ten thousand dollars to the local children’s hospital.” She said that last part with a note of pride in her voice. “We choose a different organization each year, but they typically support children or women.”

Her father didn’t so much as crack a smile. Whatever came next, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. “Um, Dad,” Holly broke in. Who the hell knew what she’d say when he acknowledged her, but she had to diffuse the sudden tension somehow.

But he never so much as glanced in her direction. Voice hard as steel, he leveled a gaze on Shell that had Holly’s gut clenching. “And who might your ol’ man be?” The words sounded like he couldn’t stand the feel of them on his tongue.

With all the confidence of someone who wasn’t facing a pissed off sheriff, Shell looked Holly’s father straight in the eye. “My ol’ man is Copper, the president of the Hell’s Handlers Motorcycle Club.”

For about three seconds, the room fell so silent, Holly could almost hear the Cliff bar she’d scarfed for lunch digesting in her stomach. Then her father chuckled. The annoying sound morphed into full-on laughter before long.

A hot flush of shame washed over Holly. Oh, how she wished she’d returned to the lobby to wait until her father was free. Beside her, Shell sat, calm as she’d been the entire time though her eyes weren’t quite as soft as before. The blue had darkened with irritation.

“Man, that’s some funny shit,” her father said as his laughter died down. “Bikers raising money for an anti-bullying campaign. No, Miss Ward, this office will not be participating in that farce. Nor will we have anything to do with the motorcycle club unless it involves locking the members behind bars for as many days as I can possibly manage. But you can bet your ass my officers will be there writing citations if one of you so much as crosses the speed limit or tosses a bottle on the ground.”

Shell gasped. Her eyes were so wide, they looked like they’d been drawn by a cartoonist.

“Dad…” Holly started.

“Will that be all, Miss Ward?”

With a sigh, Shell stood, shoulders straight and head held high. “I guess so. Thank you for your time.” She nodded at Holly before walking to the door.

“Miss Ward,” Holly’s dad called out as her hand landed on the doorknob.

“Yes?” She turned halfway.

“Sheriff Coleman may have looked the other way, hell, he may have colluded with the criminals you associate with, but he’s no longer in this office. I am. And I’m not so easily swayed from the law I swore to uphold. You seem like a nice kid. I’d hate to see you caught up in the inevitable fallout when my office dismantles the club. It’s not too late to walk away, but it will be soon.”

“Dad, Jesus,” Holly muttered. She stared at his stern face like she’d never seen him before. He’d basically just threatened the woman who came asking for help to raise money for a fantastic cause. Holly would be lying if she said living with a man who hated bikers above all hadn’t colored her opinion of them. Over the years, she’d grown to distrust her memory of the afternoon a biker president helped her out of a hot spot. Especially after irrefutable evidence came to light. She’d been wrong. Dead wrong. Curly, the MC president of her hometown club, was in fact the man who killed her sister and he now spent the rest of his days behind bars.