Little Jack (Hell's Handlers MC 6)

What an asshole LJ turned out to be.

Twice. Twice in the last twenty-four hours, he’d crowded her against a wall and got her all worked up, only to drop some grenade of a comment then leave her all hot and bothered. And she’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker both times.

She must seem like some kind of sex-starved bimbo to him.

Humiliation aside, Holly was just plain pissed to be left in a state of want yet again. Hell, maybe she was a sex-starved bimbo.

LJ was punishing her for everything that had happened since her father showed up last night.

Colossal asshole.

How had she thought him so kind those first few days?

“Holly?” Jazz’s concerned voice floated down the hallway. “You okay?”

As she blew all the air out of her lungs, Holly nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Jazz’s laugh was more of a grunt. “You’re a shit liar, sweetie. Here.”

Holly popped her eyes open to find her new friend holding out a tall shot glass. “You look like you could use this and then some. It’s a double, so go easy.”

Yes, a good drunk was exactly what Holly needed to forget the man who made her body sing and her mind scream. “Thank you,” she said as she grabbed the shot glass and downed the entire content as though it was water instead of two mouthfuls of tequila.

“Damn,” Jazz said with a chuckle. “I’m impressed. Shooting that much tequila at once takes commitment.” She leaned against the wall next to Holly and took her hand. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Had I known there was bad blood between the two of you, I’d never have let him cart you off like that. I just thought it was some kind of foreplay. Don’t worry though, I’m fully prepared to kick his giant ass into next week. Just say the word.”

The image of Jazz trying to take on LJ, who could probably snap her in half with one twist of his wrist, finally dragged a smile out of Holly.

“That’s better,” Jazz said as she bumped Holly’s shoulder with her own. “Wanna talk about it, or you want me to just take you home?”

Since Jazz had practically shoved her at LJ earlier and seemed right at home here in an outlaw MC’s clubhouse, Holly assumed her loyalty ran deep and she’d side with the club as soon as she found out who Holly’s father was. But as of now, Jazz remained the only friend Holly had in Townsend, and she desperately needed a girlfriend to confide all these swirling emotions to, so she took a chance. “LJ lives in the apartment next to me. We’ve only spent a little time together, but there seems to be a powerful…um…attraction between us.”

Her cheeks heated. More than likely, she was the only person in the building who’d blush over the mention of sexual chemistry. Earlier, as she and Jazz had made their way from the entrance to the bar, Holly noticed no less than three couples going at it hot and heavy in various corners of the room, not to mention some seriously dirty dancing all around the place. Not quite the drunken orgy she’d expected, but certainly more than she’d witnessed in public anywhere else.

“But, um, I’m pretty sure LJ hates my guts even if he wants me, and I’m crazy conflicted about my feelings for him at this point. He seemed insanely nice when we first met, but last night and tonight he acted just plain shitty.”

“Oh, fuck,” Jazz said on an exhale. “You’re the sheriff’s daughter.”

Holly’s eyes widened and she met Jazz’s gaze head-on. “What? How do you know that?”

She shrugged. “These dudes gossip worse than a bunch of high school chicks. They also think they’re good at keeping shit from their women when they actually suck at it. Since I’m in with all the ol’ ladies, I get the juicy gossip. And I hate to tell you girl, but the sexy baker who put LJ in a shit mood is today’s main chatter.”

“Wonderful.” Holly thunked her head against the wall. Could this situation get any more fucked up? It was time to go. Maybe even time to find a new apartment. Living next door to an outlaw biker who she happened to want more than she’d ever wanted a guy was a recipe for disaster. Especially when she was supposed to hate him on sight, or at the very least fear him, but all she could think every time he was in her presence was how good he smelled, and how hot he looked. Unfortunately, now she could add how amazing his hands felt on her body to that list. God, the simple glide of one coarse fingertip over the top of her breast made her hotter than the entire sex act with her last boyfriend. How the hell was she supposed to function knowing all that lived only a few feet and some layers of drywall away, but she could never have it?