Maverick (Hell's Handlers MC 2)

Probably not.

The man was an outlaw for crying out loud, something she seemed to keep forgetting. For all she knew, King ratted her FBI status to Mav…if he was even still alive. Jesus, maybe his MC hadn’t even been here.

Steph took a breath. Somehow, she needed to keep from panicking.

With nothing else to do, Stephanie closed her eyes and concentrated on taking deep, even, timed breaths, something she’d learned in the three Yoga classes she’d taken last year. Maybe, if she made it out alive, she’d finally get serious about working out.

Apparently, she’d mastered the relaxation technique well because, within minutes, the strong pull of slumber lured her mind away from the basement. It was either that or the knock to the head caused a severe concussion and brain injury.

“Shit. That ain’t a girl. That’s a woman. All woman.”

Shocked out of her nap, Stephanie’s brain was thankfully alert enough to feign sleep. Friend or foe was a mystery when it came to the deep and rich male voice hovering just a few feet away.

There wasn’t a response, but Stephanie had the impression whoever Low-voice was talking to had just glared at him.

“What?” Low-voice answered. “Copper said Mav asked if we’d found a girl named Stephanie. I thought we’d be coming here and finding some strung out teenager like Toni was back in the day.”

“You might wanna keep your fucking mouth shut when it comes to our Enforcer’s woman, Screw,” the second man said. His voice was just as deep, but darker, almost like he was in pain. “Unless, of course, you’re looking for a baseball bat to the head.”

At the mention of Maverick’s name in conjunction with her own, Stephanie relaxed a fraction. They referred to Maverick as though they knew him. Could these be men from his MC? Could he have sent them back for her?

Only one way to find out.

With a quick prayer she wasn’t making the wrong choice, Stephanie opened her eyes and blinked against the harsh flashlight shining directly in her face. Unable to lift a hand to block it, she rotated her head then gasped when the knot on her skull rolled across the table.

“Look, Jig, the chick’s awake,” the one called Screw said. Screw? What kind of a name was Screw? It sure didn’t inspire much confidence in his abilities.

“C-can you shine that somewhere else?” Barely recognizing the dry rasp of her own voice, Stephanie squinted and tried to make out the faces looming above her. What were the chances they’d brought some water? Maybe a Motrin or two?

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Screw said, redirecting the light so it shone down toward her feet. “You Stephanie?” Even through the dark, she could make out how handsome his young, clean-shaven face appeared.

She nodded and winced as the tender spot on her head was dragged across the table. “Is Maverick okay? They were…” Biting her lower lip, she shook her head. The memories were hideous, though nothing compared to having the actual memory of the pain like Maverick would have. But still…the smell of burning flesh, the hiss of pain, the agony in Maverick’s eyes. Stephanie shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears. “They were brutal to him.”

The man on her left stared down at her through dark, lifeless eyes as though studying a bug. He was an impressive hulk of a man. Impressive, but frightening. Yet for some reason, she instinctively knew he’d bring her no harm. He’d been through hell if the mess of crisscrossed scars on his left cheek were any indication. This man knew terror, knew pain, knew devastation.

His jaw ticked once before he spoke. “He’s at the hospital. Flirting with every double X chromosome in a mile radius. And talking about nothing but us hauling our assess back here and rescuing the sexy wildcat tied to a table in the basement.”

Sexy wildcat. Stephanie snorted out a grunt of forced laughter, and then her face burned hotter than the sun. Somehow in all this, she’d forgotten she was clad in nothing but some panties and a T-shirt. And the panties were wet and stunk of urine despite her earlier ice bath. Wasn’t a damn thing sexy about that.

“Sorry about the smell,” she whispered.

“Ain’t a thing,” Screw said as he dug in the front pocket of his black denim pants. He held up a small silver key. “Here we go. What do you say we get you free of this place and over to the hospital?”

The hospital was the last place she wanted to go. What she needed was a way to contact her boss at the FBI. The guy had to be minutes away from sending in the SWAT team. That couldn’t happen. It would blow the entire investigation out of the water.

“I don’t think I need a hospital, but I’d really appreciate it if you could unlatch me and drive me to my hotel.”