Zach (Hell's Handlers MC 1)

As Zach closed the distance between them, Toni gasped and rushed forward. “What the hell happened to your hands?” She lifted one large hand and stared in horror at the ravaged knuckles. The skin resembled meat fresh out of a grinder.

“Picked the wrong opponent.” His voice was so flat, so dead, a prickle of fear coasted up her spine. This was a man in pain. Suffering. “Way too tall and hard for me to beat.”

Her face screwed up and she looked to Rocket. What on earth was Zach talking about?

“Tree,” was all he said.

A tree? Zach had attacked a tree? In all the time she spent with him, she’d never seen him lose his cool. Sure, he was the enforcer for an MC, so she was well aware he had a capacity for violence, but she always imagined it was meticulous, calculated. Pounding a tree until he decimated his knuckles was an act based purely on out of control emotion.

Whatever happened that day had devastated him. He needed care, softness, and she could give that to him. She could put her reservations about men like him on hold for one night to care for him.

“Come on inside,” she said.

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded and trudged toward the house.

With a heavy heart, Toni gave Rocket a sad smile. “Thanks for bringing him here.”

He scratched at the dark stubble covering his square jaw. “Take good care of my boy. Be gentle with him.”

His message seemed to have a deeper meaning than just being gentle as she doctored his wounds, but she wasn’t in the mood to decipher riddles. As it was, those were more words than he’d strung together in the two times she’d met him.

“Will do.”

Without further discussion, he returned to his bike and followed the car down the drive. The second biker must have been returning Zach’s bike because he deposited the motorcycle in Zach’s garage then took his place in the passenger’s seat of the car. Probably not the easiest to ride a motorcycle with hands that were falling apart.

Face expressionless, he waited for her on the porch. “Didn’t want to bleed all over your door,” he said raising his bloody right hand as though she’d forgotten.

“No worries. I’ll get the door.” When she reached the top of the three steps leading to the house, she grabbed her recently poured mug of coffee. The porcelain was still warm to the touch, so the coffee would be as well.

“Here,” she said taking extra care with him as she placed the cup in his hand. “Drink it. It will help sober you the rest of the way up. Hope you like it sweet.”

She opened the door and moved to let him pass. Once he was in her home, she wrapped an arm around his waist and guided him to the bathroom. “Sit.” She pointed to the closed toilet lid.

Listening to her for once, he sat. “Ugh, shit.” He spat a sip of coffee back into the mug. “That’s fuckin’ sweet.”

Her lips quirked. “I warned you. Drink it anyway.”

He grunted then sipped again, swallowing this time.

While he choked down the coffee, Toni rummaged through the cabinet under her bathroom sink for first aid supplies. There wasn’t much, but at least she found some antibiotic cream and bandages. She also grabbed a wash cloth and an empty basin.

Zach’s gaze never strayed from her, heating her skin with its intensity. So many thoughts swirled through her head. The situation was so far out of her normal, she had no idea how to proceed. Did she ask him what happened? Should she play it off and act as normal as possible? How the hell was someone supposed to know what to do when a sexy outlaw biker ended up in their bathroom injured and distraught in the middle of the night? Why was there no precedent for that?

Oh, because things like that never happened.

After she’d filled the basin with warm, soapy water, she placed it on the countertop next to the sink. Taking the wet cloth, she moved over to Zach. Without her asking, he widened his legs and let her move in close.

The second she stepped between his spread thighs, she realized her mistake. He may have been injured, and his head may have been fucked up at the moment, but he was no less potent. In fact, his slightly vulnerable state only drew her more. Playing on every caring, nurturing, feminine instinct she possessed.

And then there was the heat; his body radiated it. And the scent; woodsy, fresh, masculine. And of course, the arms; muscled, inked, and so close they could wrap around her with ease. But worst of all was the fact that his head was now breast-height. If he wanted, all he had to do was lean forward and capture her aching nipple in his mouth. Her thin T-shirt and even thinner lace bra did nothing to hide the effect he was having on her.