Little Jack (Hell's Handlers MC 6)

He did not just whistle at her, scumbag style…

Finally, after nearly dislocating her shoulder, she reached the latch and opened the glove box.

Out tumbled a shiny black pistol. Holly knew her way around a gun. A girl didn’t grow up with a cop father and not learn to shoot, hell, she even had one locked in a small safe under her bed, but she hadn’t been prepared for this one and recoiled as though it were a snake instead of a weapon.

“Hands on the wheel, now!” Higgins shouted as he drew his own weapon and aimed it at her through the window.

A rushing waterfall sounded in her ears. Higgins continued to yell, but the words didn’t register.

Finally, after staring through the windshield for long seconds, the deputy’s screams broke through her haze. “Last time I’m gonna say it. Get out of the vehicle. Now.” He reached inside and pulled the lever, opening the door.

“It’s not my gun! I didn’t even know it was there. I haven’t touched it and I’m not going to.” She lifted her hands by her ears and used her foot to push the door open. Slowly, so as not to spook the deputy, she slipped out of the car.

“Is the gun registered?”

Was it? How the hell would she know, but damn she sure hoped it was. “It’s not mine. I don’t know anything about it. I didn’t even know it was in there. Please, you can call LJ—Jack. I’m sure he’ll straighten this up.”

With his weapon still trained on her, he said, “Move around to the front of the vehicle. Face the windshield. Palms flat on the hood.”

Why the hell wasn’t he listening to a thing she said? “Um, I don’t want to name drop or anything, but my father—”

“Oh, I know who your daddy is, Holly.” He maneuvered his slim body around the car. “What’s your daddy think about you whoring yourself out to the MC?”

Heat from the hood of LJ’s truck, singed her hands, though it wasn’t nearly as hot as her face. If she turned to mortification in the dictionary, she was pretty sure she’d find a picture of a woman standing in this very position. The posture had her feeling exposed despite being fully clothed. She was vulnerable. Unable to fully take in her surroundings and protect herself.

“I’ve removed the weapon from the vehicle.”

Holly jumped as he appeared next to her.

“Gotta pat you down. Need to make sure you don’t have any other surprise weapons on your person.”

“I don’t. I told you, that’s not my—oh!” His hands landed heavy on her shoulders. He stroked straight down her back then up her sides. The journey of his hands seemed more like a caress than a search for contraband.

Holly stiffened. What the hell was she supposed to do? She couldn’t say, “Excuse me, officer, you’re touching me too intimately, please lighten it up.” Could she? Would that land her in even hotter water?

Nausea swirled in her stomach as she clenched her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut and prepared to endure the unprofessional search.

Then his hands came around her sides, up and over her breasts where he paused and squeezed. Holly shrieked and jerked back. The situation had gone from slightly over the line to so far past it; the damn thing disappeared from view.

“Stop! You can’t do this!” Holly tried to turn, but his hand pushed like a lead weight on her back, smashing her flat against the car’s hood once again. Only this time, she landed hard and with an “oof.”

To anyone passing by at fifty-five plus miles per hour, the scene appeared as though an officer was subduing a resisting perp.

“Hold still until I finish,” he said as his hands roamed once again. His hands stroked over her ass, down her legs and back up. He stepped closer. The ridge of what could only be an erection pressed against her ass.

Tears burned in her eyes. The one hope she clung to like a lifeline was the fact they were in public. He couldn’t rape her on the side of the road with cars driving by. Some Good Samaritan would notice and stop to help.

Right?

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he finally released her. Holly let out a shuddered breath. She was too terrified to be relieved at that point. Just because his wandering hands were no longer on her, she wasn’t out of danger yet. As long as she remained in his presence, she couldn’t relax.

“Well, ma’am,” he continued as though he hadn’t molested her. “You may stand up.”

Holly straightened, wincing at the discomfort in her hip where he’d slammed it into the car. She turned and forced herself to meet his gaze instead of curling into a ball on the ground like she wanted.

Higgins was still close, too close and the sick twist in her gut intensified.