Little Jack (Hell's Handlers MC 6)

“Miss Lane, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down,” the officer who still held her around the waist said. “And you need to call off your dog before we are forced to subdue him.” Biscuit was still in full-on protective mode, growling at anyone who went near him.

“Wait! Where are they taking him? Where is he going?”

“He’s under arrest Miss Lane. Call off your dog!”

“What?” she screamed as the four officers guided a disoriented LJ out of the apartment. “No! Get him back here! This is fucking crazy!”

It was then she noticed her father standing near the door. He slapped one of the officers leading LJ on the back. Holly read, “Good work” on his lips.

“I want to speak to my father. Let me talk to my father.” She started struggling again, kicking her legs out, so the officer was forced to hold her in midair. “Put me the fuck down!”

“Miss Lane,” he stated, far calmer than she. “Call. Off. The. Dog.”

“B-Biscuit,” she finally said. Her dog immediately stopped barking and stared at his master. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s okay.” A lie if she ever told one. “Come here, buddy.” Biscuit trotted over to her, but he didn’t stand down. Instead, he emitted a low growl at the officer with Holly.

The officer kept a hand on her arm but stepped farther away from her protective dog. She’d honestly believed Biscuit would have been useless in a situation where she needed protection. Clearly, she’d underestimated her gentle giant.

I’m going to need you to come down to the station to make a statement. Then we can formally press charges.”

“Press charges?” She lifted an unsteady hand to her head, pushing the wild mane of her hair from her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Why wouldn’t a single one of these assholes listen to her? “I don’t want to press charges against LJ. Jesus, aren’t you listening? He didn’t do this.” She finally jerked free of her captor and stood in her now quiet apartment where her father and two other officers were waiting for her to exit.

They each wore looks of pity. Like she was the battered woman, unwilling to take action against the man who’d hurt her. Well, fuck that. She was more than goddamned willing to tell the whole world who hurt her.

“Fine,” she said, held high despite her face which now hurt like a bitch and her hands which were smeared with LJ’s blood. “I’d love to come down to the station and press charges against the man who did this to my face,” she said, pointing to herself.

She marched forward until she stood right in front of her father. He pulled her into a gentle hug. “Jesus, Holly. He’s going to pay for this, okay? I promise that piece of shit biker won’t lay a hand on you ever again. I’m throwing every charge I can possibly think of at him.”

Holly stepped back and out of his embrace. “Can you please have one of your deputies find some pain medication for me?”

“Yes, of course.” He gestured to one of the remaining officers. “Find her something to take for the pain.”

“Great.” She looked her father dead in the eye. “I don’t want to be hindered by pain when I formally press charges against Richard Schwartz for what he did to my face.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

BILE BURNED THE back of LJ’s throat as he sat in the interrogation room listening to the deputy recount the events of the morning. Someone had found him a T-shirt one size too small, and it stretched across his back, adhering to the dried blood from the scratches Holly had given him.

He’d hurt her. Fucking choked her. Did anyone here realize just how easily he could have killed her? Of course, they did. It’s why they’d been dispatched to the house. Some neighbor of the sheriff saw his daughter’s ravaged face and called him. Naturally, he’d assumed the guy Holly was seeing had been responsible for the abuse.

Fifteen hours ago, LJ would have lost his shit if he’d heard someone thought him capable of harming Holly. The notion had been inconceivable. Now? Well, now he sat silently in a sterile room with his hands cuffed to the table and his back stinging from Holly’s brutal fight for survival. He’d declined any kind of counsel. Whatever they wanted to do to him, he deserved times ten.

“Nothing to say?” the deputy asked. The guy looked like he could have been Schwartz’s long-lost cousin. Same high and tight haircut, same swinging-dick swagger, same smug grin. No doubt a bromance existed between the two.

Two assholes cut from the same motherfucking cloth.

LJ remained silent.

“So, all we’ve got outta you so far is that you don’t remember hurting her because you were having a nightmare?” the deputy asked, humor lacing his tone. He’d introduced himself at some point, but LJ’s brain was still a bit fuzzy. Something super generic like Smith or Jones…Brown. Deputy Brown.