Maverick (Hell's Handlers MC 2)

And she knew.

There were no fucking shades of gray.

She’d been right all along.

Only black. Only white.

And King had officially been swallowed by the darkness.

But this wasn’t a case of doing what he had to, to maintain cover. This was a monster who wore human skin for a time and managed to fool even the most skeptical. Her knees wobbled and her head spun. She had to leave. Had to get out before they killed her…or worse.

“What the fuck did I say, King?” Shark asked. “I want her at the compound. You can kill her eventually, but it’s been a shit week. The boys need some fun first.”

Stephanie swallowed. Boys? Fun?

There weren’t too many ways to interpret that.

Without thinking, she took two steps back on legs that could barely hold her.

“Don’t even think about it, bitch,” King said. He stepped closer, and she flinched as the barrel of his rifle made contact with her forehead. “Swear to God I’ll explode your head all over this fucking forest.” There was no way the hatred in his tone was fake. He wasn’t acting.

She believed him.

Why? What was so appealing about this lifestyle that a decorated FBI agent would do a one-eighty and betray everything he once stood for?

Sure, he and his wife had a few money troubles, but enough to do this?

Frustration with the system?

Sticking it to the man?

It seemed too dramatic to be merely making a point.

The ultimate hissy fit?

“Let’s roll,” Shark said, turning on his heel and trudging toward the building she could see through the trees in the distance.

Top leered at her for a second longer before waddling after his master like an overfed but well-trained dog.

If there was any chance for escape, it was now or never. She was somewhat alone with her partner. Maybe she’d misinterpreted Rey’s actions and he really was an amazing actor and undercover agent. Maybe so good he’d even fooled his partner. “Please, Daniel,” she whispered as she started to back away again. “Let me run. Tell them I tripped you. You can call in later when this blows over.”

“Don’t. Fucking. Run.”

“Why are you doing this? What happened to you?”

“Bitch,” he practically growled at her. “If you don’t fucking move, I’ll shoot out your knee. It’ll hurt like a bitch, but it won’t keep you from what’s coming.”

Her stomach lurched, and she gagged as bile climbed high in her esophagus.

For one second, she had the insane urge to call out to Shark. To yell as loud as she could and let the scumbag know his precious King was an undercover FBI agent.

It wouldn’t matter if he pledged his loyalty to Shark forever. He’d be killed. That’s how it worked with gangs.

Nothing less than he deserved at that moment.

But she didn’t give into the urge. It wouldn’t be justice; it would be an act of vigilantism. It was the job of law enforcement and the legal system to handle his actions.

If she lived long enough to report back to her superiors.

“You can still leave,” she whispered as she started after Shark. King’s gun remained on her, and even though it was no longer touching her skin, she felt the sight of it like a needle stabbing straight through her skin.

He just grunted and said, “Move.”

“Why?” she whispered when Shark was out of earshot.

King grunted and shook his head. “So fucking naïve, Stephanie. You always have been. It’s all gray out here.”

No. She refused to believe it. This situation was clearly not on any gray spectrum. King was evil. Plain and simple.

“No, Daniel, I’m not naïve. But you sure are a fucking traitor.”

“You’ll never get it. And you’ll never survive this world. Wake the fuck up,” King said as he thrust his right arm forward and rammed the butt of his rifle into her head.

His murderous expression was the last thing she saw before her vision went black.

CHAPTER TWO

MAVERICK TILTED HIS head and stared through his one functional eye at the punk-ass guard Shark left as babysitter. Skippy was his name. A stupid brute who was good for nothing but taking orders and bashing heads. Like Mav was going anywhere with at least ten plastic cuffs anchoring his arms and legs to the thin metal chair.

He supposed he could stand in some sort of awkward crouch and shuffle his way to the door with the chair on his back, turtle shell-style, but then what the fuck would he do? His ribs were so busted he’d be lucky to make it ten steps before puncturing a lung and suffocating to death on the floor of this basement hellhole.

“Don’t you feel a little like a pussy, man?” Maverick asked.

Skippy grunted and slipped the strap of his M16 over his head. Another unnecessary precaution because Mav was pretty sure blood hadn’t flowed to his hands in almost two days. The straps hadn’t been quite as tight before that, but he’d managed to slip a hand out and break some assholes nose. Shark had his minions add a few more ties and cinch ’em down real tight after that.