Zach (Hell's Handlers MC 1)

Done with his work for the evening, Zach stuffed the bat in his saddle bag and mounted his bike. The warm night was still young. Most of his brothers would be at the club’s bar, the Double H. After drinking for a few hours and collecting women, the party would move to the clubhouse where it would become much more R and even X-rated in some cases.

Zach wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity to drink with his brothers and find a willing woman to kill a few hours with, but tonight he pointed his Harley toward his house. An uncomfortable restlessness crawled through him. Maybe it was letting Bill off with little more than a whack and a warning. Zach hadn’t had time to work out that day, either, too busy helping Prez with a problem.

Someone had roughed up a few of their strippers after hours behind the strip club, which was what had tied up most of Zach’s day. He’d worked to coordinate increased security while Copper and Maverick worked to discover who it was. Man, Zach wouldn’t want to be those assholes when the Hell’s Handlers caught up to them. And they would. Maverick could follow a trail better than a bloodhound.

When he was about five minutes out from his house, his Bluetooth chirped in his helmet. He tapped the button on the outside of the helmet, activating the phone. “Hey, brother, where the fuck are you?” Speak of the devil. Maverick’s voice filled his helmet. They’d prospected together for a about ten months until Maverick was voted in. He’d joined the club about a year before Zach.

“I just left Bill’s.”

Maverick laughed. “You leave any of his bones intact?”

With a snort, Zach hit the throttle and flew toward a yellow light. It switched to red about one second before his wheel hit the intersection. Eh, close enough. “Yeah he’s fine. Louie gave him a warning shot and I offered up some friendly advice. Dude can’t take much of a hit though. He was down and sniveling after just a love tap from Louie.”

“Sounds about right. That man’s softer than your mama’s tits. You meeting us at the Double H?” Maverick’s slurred voice sounded distracted. “Hold your fucking horses,” he whispered.

A feminine whine had Zach laughing. “What the hell do you need me there for? Sounds like you got yourself a plaything for the night.”

“Eh, she’s all right. A bit clingy, but, man, what an ass. We’re about to take off. Just wanted to let you know I wouldn’t be here in case you came ’round.”

“Thanks, brother. I’m heading home, anyway. Feel like I need to beat on the bag for a while, get some tension out. And watch out for the clinger. You might wake up tomorrow handcuffed to the bed with a marriage license waiting for your signature.”

Maverick snorted. “Like I’d stay till morning. You know, pounding pussy is better stress relief than pounding on a heavy bag, right?”

Most of the time Zach would agree, but for the past few weeks he’d been edgy. Bored, maybe. Suffering from same shit, different day syndrome. Sure, the pussy and tits might be new, but the air between their ears was the same. And it was getting routine. Maybe skipping a few nights of partying would get him back on track.

Or at least have him horny enough not to give a shit if he was bored.

“Not tonight, bro. You go enjoy your new toy. I’ll catch you tomorrow.” Zach coasted to a stop in his driveway. A man and woman were just climbing out of a car in the driveway next door. Dressed in a pair of tiny cutoffs and a fitted tank top that hugged her generous breasts and the gentle swell of her stomach, the woman shut her door and waited for the man to lock the car. Had to be the daughter of his next-door neighbors. Or former neighbors. They’d died in a wreck a few days ago.

“Your loss, brother.” Maverick disconnect the call.

Zach’s gaze drifted back to the neighbor. What was her name. Trisha? Tori? Something along those lines. They’d grown up next door to each other, but seeing as she was a handful of years younger, they weren’t exactly pals. He’d left for the army before she’d even been in high school, if he recalled correctly.

One thing was for certain, she’d sure grown up to be a looker. Big round eyes, the color of emeralds, had watched him coming and going a few times over the past week.

What he knew of her was based on a few flinty memories. She’d often sat in the bay window at the front of her parents’ house watching him and his friends make jackasses of themselves in high school.

Both her parents were prejudiced assholes who rarely let their daughter out of the house to have any fun. She was either at school, home, or working at the diner. Those green eyes had captivated him, even as a kid, but for a different reason than he was drawn to her now.