Maverick (Hell's Handlers MC 2)

The two men shared a look, then Screw shrugged. “Whatever the lady wants.” He started with her feet and had her ankles released in seconds. As he moved toward her hands, she flexed and pointed her toes then bent her knees drawing her legs to her chest one at a time. Pain shot through the stiff joints, making her bite her lip to keep from crying out. After only a few stretches, the worst of the pain dissipated.

Okay, that wasn’t so bad. Uncomfortable, but tolerable.

“Alrighty, ma’am,” Screw said, releasing her fourth limb from its metal cage. He was gentle, careful not to jostle her abused hands. “Yikes, that left wrist ain’t looking too good there, Steph. The fuck you do to yourself?”

Free at last, Stephanie tried to lift her arms out of the unnatural overhead position and return them to her sides. Nothing happened. The muscles just wouldn’t obey.

“We got you,” Jig said, cueing in on the problem without her uttering a word. The men shared another silent eye communication then moved into action. Each slid a very large hand under her shoulders and another under her elbows. “On three. One, two—”

They moved before she even thought about saying three. With much more care than she thought these big men could ever employ, they rotated her shoulders and brought her arms to her sides. Fiery pain burned through the ball joints of her shoulder, so fierce she couldn’t stem the shocked cry this time.

“Ahh, shit. Fuck.” She panted and went to bite her lower lip until she made the mistake of grazing the cut with her teeth.

This sucked.

Her left wrist throbbed like the heavy beat of a bass drum making her stomach tumble and roll. Good thing she hadn’t eaten in days. Vomiting all over these men would be one humiliation too many.

“Shit,” she bit out as sweat dotted her forehead and the room spun. “Give me a minute.” She closed her eyes and huffed through the worst of the pain. The men stayed with her, massaging her shoulders and upper arms until her breathing regulated. When she opened her eyes, two kind and concerned men gazed down at her.

Who the hell were these guys? They were criminals, outlaws. For all intents and purposes, at least in the eyes of law enforcement, they were the same as Shark. Gang members who’d be investigated and hopefully tried for their crimes. Brought to justice to prevent innocents from being harmed. Prevent the unsuspecting public from enduring a fate similar to hers.

But these two had been beyond caring. Hell, so had Maverick. He didn’t owe her a damn thing, yet he’d comforted her, made promises, and fulfilled them.

“Shark?” she asked after she was able to speak again.

“Not a problem anymore.”

Shit. He’d basically just admitted to a federal agent that he, or his club at least, killed a man. She now had first-hand knowledge of a murder. It would have to be reported. Action would be taken. Didn’t matter how much Shark deserved it. Didn’t matter that these men had protected others from Shark’s evil. Vigilante justice, outlaw justice, wasn’t condoned. It wasn’t legal.

And there were reasons for that. Good reasons. Society would crumble if every Tom, Dick, or Harry were out there enforcing the code of the Wild West.

“Ready to sit up, sweetheart?” Jig asked.

“God, yes. More than ready. And if we could burn this table before we leave, that would be great.” She chuckled at her own weak joke, but the men shared another of those severe looks.

What the hell was that one about?

“I’m going to lift you. You ready?”

Stephanie nodded. Jig’s long and thick arm worked its way under her shoulders. She tried to help as best as she could by lifting her upper body, but it was a mostly useless attempt. “Just relax, sweetheart, I got you.” Weakness wasn’t something Stephanie was used to, but at that moment, she was more than happy to let him do the work.

Once he had a solid hold on her trunk, Jig hooked a hand behind her knees and scooped her to a sitting position in a quick swoop.

“Oh, shit!” she cried as the floor and the ceiling switched positions over and over again. The dots of sweat became rivers, and her stomach lurched. She clutched at Jig’s arms then cried out again as intense pain shot through her wrists. The left one fell limply to her side, unable to even grasp the man’s shirt.

“Fuck, she’s gonna pass out. Screw, help me lower her again. When’s the last time you ate or drank something, sweetheart?”

“Sss been few daysss.” Her tongue felt like it grew three times in size, and the room spun more than the one and only time she’d binged on tequila shots.

“Stay with us, Stephanie.” Screw’s voice was right next to her ear, and his hands landed on her back.