Maverick (Hell's Handlers MC 2)

“Man, LJ just got schooled by a girl. Damn, boy, how’s that feel?” Jig threw back his head and cracked up. It wasn’t often that man laughed, and Steph was happy to be the one to put a smile on his face.

“Seriously, LJ,” Copper said, chuckling as well. “Might not be willing to give you a patch if little five-foot-nothing girls can get the better of you with one sentence.”

For a second, Steph froze. He was joking, right? He wouldn’t deny LJ getting in the club because of some silly teasing, would he? But Copper winked, and she relaxed. These men and their vicious senses of humor.

“Hey, man, just looking out for her. She’s part of the fam now, ain’t she?” LJ asked.

The men grunted their agreement then went back to their drinks. How it was possible for her heart to both soar and sink to her feet at the same time, she’d never know, but that’s precisely what happened. Being treated as part of this big, loud, gruff family of bikers sounded like heaven.

But it was fake. And this was probably her last day, her final party, her last chance to spend time with Maverick. Because in two hours she had to call Baccarella. And even though she’d come up with a plausible lie, pinning Shark and Agent Rey’s murders on Lefty, she had no proof. She’d be pulled out of Tennessee, and the most she could hope for was that the FBI dropped the case due to insufficient evidence and never found out about her role in the charade.

“Trust me, LJ,” Mav said, “my woman has no complaints. In fact, I’m having trouble keeping up with her demands.” He squeezed her and nipped her earlobe as her face heated.

“Mav, shut u—”

The door to the clubhouse flew open, smacking against the wall with a loud bang that had her jolting in Mav’s arms. Every man turned, tense and ready for action.

“Get down! Now! Down on the floor,” a male voice yelled above the loud pulsing music as at least twenty people in blue FBI vests flooded into the room.

“Face down. Hands on your head. Right fucking now!” The first man in the clubhouse held his gun level with Screw’s face as the newly patched brother shoved his Honey behind his back. “You too, ma’am. On the floor. Now!”

Stephanie froze. She couldn’t breathe, didn’t blink, didn’t so much as twitch. What was going on? What the hell was happening? She’d had no warning. No clue the FBI was about to raid the Handlers’ clubhouse. And for what? Was this it? Were they going to cuff her and yank her out like she was under arrest? That’s how they did it. To maintain cover. After the initial arrests, the agent was released and their character supposedly arraigned for some bogus charge, disappearing into the system until, eventually, someone worked out that they were a plant. Jesus, she wasn’t ready. This shouldn’t be happening. It wasn’t right. There was nothing to find there. No one to arrest. Did they somehow discover the information she’d been hiding?

Mav spun her around and gripped her shoulders, hard, giving her a little shake out of her stupor. “Stephanie!” he barked at her.

“W-what?” she asked. She didn’t have to feign shock or pretend to be terrified. She was both those things and more.

“Listen to me, wildcat. Do what they say, but don’t say a fucking word to anyone. You with me?”

She nodded and swallowed as tears welled in her eyes. Mav’s face swam before her, concern for her written all over it. This was the last time she’d see him. The last time he’d hold her or touch her or make her feel alive. It might be foolish, but she had to tell him how she felt. She grabbed his face and kissed him hard on the lips. “I love you, Maverick,” she said before dropping to her knees then laying on her stomach with her hands over her head.

She’d probably never know his response, but it didn’t matter now. It was over.

Maverick lay on her left, hands on his head as ordered. About six feet away on her right, Copper also assumed the same position. Waves of fury poured out of him so strong they were palpable. He wasn’t one to follow orders, but to give them. And he’d be ripshit over the invasion of his family’s safe zone. Especially since Shell was upstairs putting Beth to sleep. There’d be hell to pay over this.

But Steph would be long gone.

Within minutes, every man and woman in the clubhouse was on the floor in the position of surrender. Special Agent in Charge Baccarella waltzed into the clubhouse like he owned the place, papers in hand. Hatred welled up inside her. Hatred for being put in this position, hatred for being left in the dark, contempt for the smug grin he cast her way when he made eye contact. How many times had she been on the reverse of these raids? Too many to count.