Copper (Hell's Handlers MC 4)

“Here ya go, darlin’.”

“Thanks, Thunder.” She sipped the drink and nodded her approval. After a quick wink, he was off taking care of someone else.

“Not sure big brother would like you ogling the baby birds like that.”

Her spine shot straight. Shit. Five years of freedom from that voice blasted away in an instant. Everything rushed back in the blink of an eye. The fear, helplessness, anxiety, guilt, shame. Every negative emotion her sixteen-year-old self had been forced to deal with while wholly unprepared. Her first instinct was to curl into a tight ball, making herself as invisible as possible. But she couldn’t cower, couldn’t show fear, couldn’t run. Facing Rusty was the only option. The frightened sixteen-year-old girl she’d been didn’t exist anymore. Shell was an adult. A mother with a daughter to protect above all else. Rusty had no power over her.

Lie.

One threat and she’d be right back where she was. Only this time, it was even worse. He now had two aces to play. Two people Shell would move heaven and earth to protect.

Copper and Beth.

Rusty wedged himself in next to her at the bar. She faced him, digging deep to gather her courage. “Welcome home, Rusty.”

“Well thanks, doll. You miss me?” Same green eyes as Copper. Same red hair and beard. Similar height. Clearly cut from the same physical cloth, the similarities stopped there. Whereas Copper was rough, raw, and fierce with a massive heart that bled for each and every man under his command, Rusty was nothing more than a narcissistic sociopath bent on satisfying his own desires at every turn.

And one of those wanted to be everything Copper was and then some.

To say Shell didn’t trust his motives would be the understatement of the year.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Copper will be looking for me in a minute. Might as well get a jump on tracking him down.” She set her drink down and took a step only to have a strong hand clamp down on her upper arm with punishing strength.

“Don’t think so, doll. We’ve got some unfinished business.” Hot, stale air wafted across her ear. She wrinkled her nose as the strong stench of stale booze and weed hit her nostril. Swaying on his feet, Rusty jerked her closer.

He was bombed. Which only made him more unpredictable. She would know.

“There’s nothing we have to talk about.” Shell tried to wrench her arm away, but the grip only intensified. Fear slithered through her, not so much of Rusty, there were too many men at the party that would never let a thing happen to her. But if Copper caught a glimpse of his brother’s hands on her? Shit would hit the fan in the messiest way.

“Sure we do, doll,” he slurred.

God, how she loathed the nickname. He’d called her doll all those years ago. It’s exactly what’d she’d been to him. A doll he could pull off the shelf and play with whenever he wanted. A toy that would take whatever was dished out and not fight back. Hearing the nickname again had her stomach rolling, and recollections she’d hoped were long buried rising to the surface.

“Been away from women a long time. Gotta lot of need stored up if you catch my drift.” Shell trembled. Her tongue thickened in her mouth, unable to form words. This was why she needed to leave. Rusty wouldn’t stop. And once he found out he’d fathered her child, he’d own her.

She had to leave. Opening her eyes, she saw Izzy making her way through the crowd toward her. Relief washed over her. Izzy was tough, so much stronger than Shell, and holy crap did she look like she was out for blood.

Narrowed eyes, flaring nostrils, clenched fists, she had it all going on. Jig called it her oh-hell-no look and warned them to run if she cast it in their direction. Right now, that look was precisely what Shell needed to bolster her confidence.

“Let go, Rusty,” Shell said with bite, ripping her arm out of his grasp. She refused to rub the sore skin. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt the tender flesh of her inner arm.

“Hey, girl,” Izzy said, drawing Shell close for a hug. Her way of removing Shell from Rusty’s reach.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “Who do we have here?”

“Izzy.” She held out a hand. “You must be Rusty.”

“In the flesh.” He slithered next to her and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Damn, woman, that is one bangin’ body. Say bye to your friend. You and I got a date in my room.”

Izzy snorted. “Don’t think so, buddy. I sure as fuck ain’t a Honey, and you sure as fuck don’t get to demand anything from me.”

Lips curling, Rusty snarled. “Look, bitch, your ass is in my house right now. You want to stay and play, you gotta pay.”