Maverick (Hell's Handlers MC 2)

As the brothers filed out of church, Mav’s gut fluttered with excitement.

Playtime.

CHAPTER TEN

“THANKS, MICHELLE. I really appreciate this. Please don’t go out of your way to do anything for me,” Stephanie said as she watched the younger woman carry a stack of sheets and towels into the room.

“Call me Shell, and seriously stop. This isn’t out of our way at all, is it, munchkin?” Shell asked the chubby-cheeked three-year-old trailing her mother into the room, her short little arms wrapped around a pillow.

“No, mama,” the adorable kiddo said as she tried to see over the pillow. “Where’s the lady? I want to show her my boo-boo.”

Stephanie chuckled. “I’m right here, sweetie.” She plucked the pillow from the child and tossed it on the bed.

“This is my daughter, Beth,” Shell said over her shoulder as she made up the bed.

“Hi, Beth.” Stephanie crouched down so she was eye level with the little tyke. Beth’s strawberry-colored pigtails formed two perfect arcs off the sides of her round head. “You have a boo-boo?”

“Yes!” The little girl stuck her elbow in Steph’s face. “Yook at it. I felled off the slide at Copper’s house. I goed sooo fast!” Clearly, the small abrasion on the child’s elbow wasn’t causing her an ounce of pain because she relayed the story as though it was a great badge of honor.

With a roll of her eyes, Shell scooped up her little girl. “Miss Stephanie has a boo-boo, too.”

“That’s right, I do.” Stephanie held up her splint. “I broke my arm.”

Beth’s striking blue eyes that mirrored her mother’s grew wide. They beautifully complimented her light red hair. “Let me kiss it and make it better. That’s what Copper did to my bow.”

“Your elbow,” Shell corrected with a chuckle as the little girl squirmed out of her arms.

As gently as possible for a three-year-old, she grabbed Stephanie’s splint and gave the bandaging a dramatic smooch. “There, all better!”

If only.

“Why don’t you go grab Miss Stephanie a bottle of water from the refrigerator? Remember where they are?”

“Yes! I reached them myself,” the child shouted then shot off like she couldn’t be happier about the task.

“Sorry,” Shell said, “she’s never met a stranger.”

“Please,” Stephanie said, waving her hand, “she’s adorable. The perfect distraction right now. So, is Copper your ol’ man?”

Steph had met the MC president a few times in the hospital, and if she had to describe him in one word, it would be intimidating. A giant of a man with an unkempt red beard that she assumed was the reason for his name, he could scowl like no other.

A very unladylike snort shot from Shell’s nose. “Nope. Definitely not his ol’ lady.” There was a note of bitterness to her voice.

Oookay. “Hmm, sensing there’s a story there.”

Shell sighed. “There are about six stories there, none of which can be told without copious amounts of alcohol. Maybe once you’re off those heavy-duty painkillers.” Clearly, she didn’t realize this was a very temporary arrangement. She straightened and looked around the room. “Well, I think this will work. Sorry, it’s not very glamorous.”

Shell had set her up in one of the spare bedrooms at the clubhouse. It was fine. Not glamorous as she’d said, but there was a bed, dresser, and a small flat screen television to keep her entertained. What more could she ask for while she stayed with a group of outlaws and waited for her FBI contact to show? Besides, who knew what she’d overhear that would be useful for the FBI.

“So, are you with any of the guys here?” The trained investigator in Steph couldn’t leave stones unturned. Shell seemed so normal. So down to earth. A kind, friendly woman who apparently worked at a local diner and cleaned offices in town. Good mother, hardworking, sweet. She sure didn’t seem like a stereotypical biker whore. So, what the hell was she doing with these men?

“Nah,” she said, sitting on the end of the bed. “I grew up in the club. Actually, my father was the president back in the day. He was killed by an old enemy of the club.” She stared at nothing for a moment as though lost in painful memories. “Anyway, they’re family. Once you’re in, you’re in for life. And these guys take care of each other. Good care. They’d let me sit on my ass and spoil me if they had their way.” With a shrug, she smiled. “I’m just not built like that. I take care of myself. And my baby girl.”

An odd sensation slithered its way into Stephanie’s stomach, some kind of combination of guilt, worry, and admiration for this woman. With each person she met, her initial view of the MC was challenged. Yet still, at the core, they broke the law.

Daily.

Without remorse.

And her job was to put them out of business—permanently.