Little Jack (Hell's Handlers MC 6)

Holly trembled as she took two silent steps back down the hall. Thirty minutes wasn’t a lot of time to get to the clubhouse, let them know what was going on, and for the men to find the drugs. Just as she was about to pick up her pace, Schwartz spoke again.

“This is pretty fucking genius, Sheriff. How’d you think of it?”

Her dad snorted. “Ain’t my first rodeo, boys.”

Holly froze again. What? He’d done this before? Set someone up? Jesus, as bad as this was, she’d kinda hoped he’d just lost his mind over his biker hatred and acted out of character. But to know he’d been dirty before?

For a second, she worried she’d pass out if she heard much more, but how could she leave now? She tip-toed closer to the door once again.

“No shit?” Higgins asked.

“Yeah, back in Florida, there was an MC, real nasty fuckers. Legit drug dealers, weapons traffickers, prostitution, the works. They were slick, though. Couldn’t pin a goddamned thing on them.”

“So how’d you get ’em?”

Holly couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even blink. How’d he get them?

“About a week after my daughter was murdered, a drifter was arrested on a drunk and disorderly. We found my daughter’s necklace in his pocket. Didn’t take much to break the guy. He squealed after just a few whacks to the ribs. Confessed to my daughter’s murder.”

What?

But Curly had murdered Joy. Hadn’t he? She’d been told that for the past twelve years…

Oh shit.

No.

No! He couldn’t have.

“Oh man, if yer going where I think yer going with this, yer a fucking genius,” Higgins said.

She could practically see the evil grin cross her father’s face. “Bet you’re ass I am. My partner and I kept the confession on the down-low. Destroyed the interrogation tapes. We got lucky with the drifter. Committed suicide before we could even take care of him ourselves. Didn’t take much to plant my daughter’s body on one of the MC’s properties. Did something similar to what we’re doing with Carli. Paid some cracked-out whore to sneak Joy’s necklace into the clubhouse. She also took a few things from the clubhouse, which we planted with the body. Bing, bang, boom, irrefutable evidence. Guy’s rotting away for life, and the MC fucking crumbled after that.”

“Fuck,” Schwartz said. “You’re my fucking hero, Sheriff.”

Holly stood in the hall, hand over her mouth and shaking her head. How was it even possible her entire world had imploded in a matter of seconds? With unsteady fingers, she ended the recording. If someone heard that, her father would spend the rest of his life behind bars. But how could she keep it to herself and still look in the mirror each morning? An innocent man was rotting behind bars for her sister’s murder.

Disgusting.

“Twenty-five minutes,” Higgins said. Then someone clapped their hands together once and rubbed them as though preparing to dig in to a delicious spread.

Twenty-five minutes. Not a lot of time. As quickly as she dared, Holly tiptoe-ran toward the exit. With soft hands, she pushed the door open, slipped out, then held it as it closed so it wouldn’t make a sound. Once outside, she darted to her car. If they heard or saw her, she was screwed, so she circled her car around the building and left via the back exit. The maneuver avoided the conference room windows.

The moment she pulled out onto the highway, Holly floored the gas pedal. Her car shot forward, sputtered, then the speed began to drop.

“No, no, no!” she cried, slamming her palm on the steering wheel. “They said they fixed it! Shit!” She pulled off to the side of the road just in time for the car to utter a pitiful coughing noise and flat out die. Smoke drifted up from under the hood. Cars were not her thing; she knew next to nothing about them, so there wasn’t even a point in looking under the hood.

“Fuuuck!” she screamed. “What do I do? What do I do?” All she knew was she needed to get to the clubhouse even if she had to jump on the hood of a passing vehicle.

Jazz. She could call Jazz.

Scrambling, she opened her phone. “Hey, girl,” Jazz said after answering at the end of the first ring. “Aren’t you supposed to be—”

“Jazz, my car broke down on Chestnut Hill Road. I need you to come get me right now and drive me to the clubhouse. I can’t explain now, but it’s one hundred and ten percent an emergency.”

“Leaving the diner now.” The clatter of Jazz’s keys sounded in the background. “I’ll be to you in less than three minutes. Just tell me if you’re hurt.”

“No. Not hurt.”

Not physically anyway.

“Okay, I’m coming, girl. Hang tight.” Jazz disconnected the call and Holly waited by her car. She couldn’t stand still to save her life, so she paced. Something, anything to burn up the anxious energy shooting through her nervous system.