Copper (Hell's Handlers MC 4)

He was gonna have to put a call into his dentist because he was pretty sure he cracked a damn tooth working to keep the hatred in his mouth. God damned piece of shit trying to play it off as Shell’s fault. Now that his eyes were finally open, he didn’t believe a word outta Rusty’s two-faced, thieving mouth.

Would he have believed it three days ago, before he talked to Shell? Didn’t really matter now. But the shame of the way he shunned Shell after hearing Rusty’s news would hang from his neck forever.

“Yeah, I’m ten minutes from you.”

“See ya, bro,” Rusty said sounding much more upbeat than he’d been moments ago. He could almost be called fucking giddy.

The ten-minute drive only took him eight. Copper dismounted after cutting his engine in the clearing used by tourists as a scenic overlook. He had to admit the view was breathtaking. Sometimes, living surrounded by such gorgeous sights, it became easy to take it for granted. He paused and breathed in the fresh mountain air.

Maybe he’d bring Shell and Beth here for a picnic after the dust settled.

“Rust?” he called, looking around. His brother’s truck was there, but no sign of the man himself. “Where the fuck are you, brother?”

He gave one last look at the mountain view then turned around before calling, “Rusty!” again.

“Right here.” The sound came from directly behind him. Before he had the chance to turn, a bone-crushing pain cracked across his right shin.

His knees buckled, and he hit the ground like a stone. “Fuck,” he cried as instinct kicked in and he curled around the throbbing shin. Glancing up, he squinted against the blinding sun. “What the fuck?” Rusty stood over him, a baseball bat slung over his shoulder like a lumberjack with an ax.

Each time his heart beat, pulsing blood through the arteries in his legs, the injured shin throbbed with a ferocious pain. Fuck, if that leg wasn’t broken, he’d eat that fucking bat.

“Hey, brother,” Rusty said with a grin that had the hair on Copper’s neck standing on end.

“Why?” It was the only word he could think to say at that moment.

“You think you’re so untouchable. Leader of the pack. Always acting like you’re better than me. Lording your authority over me. Acting like you’re my fucking father. Who’s got the power now, asshole?”

Jesus. He’d heard from Shell how much hatred Rusty had for him, and he’d believed her words, but experiencing the vehemence firsthand was shocking. All his life, he’d tried his damnedest to do right by Rusty. His failure was monumental.

“I only wanted what was best for you, Rusty.”

“Bullshit. All you wanted was to be better than me.” He spat on the ground next to Copper’s head. “Not better now, are you?”

Never once, in his entire life had Copper considered himself above Rusty. Sadness swamped him. Would Rusty have turned out another way if Copper had raised him differently? Was this just who Rusty was, a narcissistic sociopath? Or had Copper made him? His gut told him Rusty was who he was. Like Toni said, not everyone with a difficult upbringing turned into a monster. In fact, most didn’t. “So this is how it’s gonna be, Rust?” Copper asked. He rolled to his back and propped on his elbows. No chance in hell of standing on that leg.

His blood brother shrugged. “Nah. This is how it’s gonna be.”

Before Copper had a chance to react that cryptic statement, a size twelve biker boot careened toward his face. Rusty’s boot made contact against the side of Copper’s head with an audible crack. Seconds before his skull collided with the rocky ground, Copper had one thought. Shell was going to lose her shit when he didn’t show at the diner.

The pain in his head made it impossible to fight the inevitable. The sound of Rusty’s laughter penetrated the looming fog of unconsciousness.

Copper was fucked. He hadn’t told a damn soul where he was going. His brothers were smart fuckers though.

Someone would find him.

As long as Rusty left something to find.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“EGG WHITE OMELET?” Shell asked Izzy. At least three days a week Izzy ate at the diner, and always had an egg white omelet with spinach, tomatoes, and a side of fresh fruit.

Boooring.

But it could explain why Izzy looked like some kind of goddess whereas Shell still hadn’t returned to her pre-baby weight over four years later.

Such is life.

“Nah, not today. I’m going to have the cinnamon roll waffles with bacon. No…sausage. No…bacon. Actually, I’ll take the bacon, but can I have an extra side of sausage?”

Shell blinked, and across the booth from Izzy, Stephanie snorted out a laugh. The death-glare Izzy shot her had Shell laughing as well. After picking up her butter knife, Izzy pointed it at Steph. “You, shut it.” Then she swung the blunt weapon in Shell’s direction. “And you! You’ve had a child, you should empathize with me. Buncha bitches,” Izzy muttered.