Copper (Hell's Handlers MC 4)

Well shit. Would Joe be gunning for Lefty just as hard as Copper now? Were they gonna battle over rights to Lefty’s death?

“Heard he killed your brother. Sorry about that, man,” Joe said, sincerity in his voice.

Copper cleared his throat. He wouldn’t waste a second of time mourning Rusty, but Joe didn’t need to know that. That was club business, personal business for the eyes and ears of his men only. “Thanks,” he managed to choke out. “You can understand why we want to get our hands on him.

“Look, my guys are chomping at the bit to find him. We got a lot of manpower on this. But I gave you my word I’d deliver him to you, so when we find him, he’s yours. We’re gonna fuck him up first though, you hear?”

Copper didn’t respond.

“Promise we’ll leave enough of him for you guys to get your pound of flesh and for you to finish the job. But I need to give my men something. The two he killed were good fucking men.”

Looked like that was as good as he was going to get unless the Handler’s found Lefty first. And with Joe’s guys working with him recently, they had a better chance of sniffing him out. He got it, though. Had he been in Joe’s place he’d want some sweet revenge just as bad.

“Just as long as he’s conscious enough to enjoy his time with us.”

“He will be. You have my word. I’ll be in touch, Copper,” Joe said before disconnecting.

Copper handed the phone back to Zach.

“We’re gonna take off so you can rest, Prez,” Screw said. Neither he nor Zach asked for the details of his phone call. Most likely they’d gotten the gist from his side. “We’ve also got guys searching Rusty’s laptop and phone. We’ll destroy any evidence he had against you.”

Shit. In all the drama of being sent to the hospital, he’d forgotten Rusty supposedly had a recording of him comitting murder.

“Want us to send Shell back in?” Zach asked.

Fuck yes, he wanted his woman with him. “As long as LJ got her to eat.”

With nods and orders to take it easy, the two of them left.

Alone for the first time since he opened his eyes, Copper let his mind absorb all that had happened over the past few days. He knew himself, and it’d take some time before he came to terms with the anger over the circumstances of Rusty’s death. At some point, he’d have to suck it up and accept the unfulfilled feeling in his gut. Maybe once he saw the lifeless body, he’d finally feel some sense of justice. Now, he just felt cheated. He hadn’t asked, but he assumed the club had handled the situation before the cops got involved. They’d hold the body for Copper then determine the best way to dispose of it.

The door opened, and Shell popped her head in. “Hey, baby,” he said.

The tired smile she gave him had warmth filling his chest. As he watched her walk toward the bed, he had a thought that shocked him. Maybe, in some way, it was for the best. Rusty was dead. It was over. He and Shell could begin the process of moving-on the second he was discharged without the looming problem of dealing with Rusty.

He patted the bed next to him and without a word, she climbed in. They both sighed and within seconds, Shell was out cold. He closed his eyes, and instead of feeling anger, he felt pretty damn content.

Took way too much effort, but the next morning Copper convinced the damn doctors he wouldn’t hop right back on his bike if they discharged him. He had to sit through a lecture from three physicians and two nurses about taking it easy, letting himself heal, and staying off his bike.

Through all the bullshit, Shell sat by his side looking like a sleepy angel. She’d frowned and nodded at all the lecturers as though it was the first time hearing it. Then she’d promised each doctor she’d make sure he followed orders and acted like a good boy.

Whatever the fuck he had to agree to to get his ass out of the damn hospital he’d do it.

Felt like the doctors were mocking him. Ride his bike…he could barely fucking walk.

Later that evening, he was at Shell’s house lounging on the couch while Beth fixed him with her doctor kit. In the hours since he’d been released, Beth had fixed him no less than five times.

She’d listened to his broken leg with her stethoscope, taken the temperature of the bandages on his stomach, and held the toy pager against his cracked ribs. According to her four-year-old-logic, the shrill beeping would make him all better. She’d frowned and stared at the plastic tools in her kit when he didn’t immediately get all better. Only one problem with this little game—Beth wasn’t the gentlest of healthcare providers. A few times his eyes had watered with intense pain when she healed him. All through it, she beamed with pride at her ability to help.