Maverick (Hell's Handlers MC 2)

All day, he’d been twitchy, wondering where she was and what she was doing. Was she uncomfortable sitting in the car for the ride back to DC where she lived? Was she still stressing and feeling misplaced guilt over what happened with King? Her cousin had the personality of a dead fish and had whisked Steph out of the clubhouse almost before he’d had the chance to say goodbye.

Christ, he needed to stop thinking about her. None of it mattered. Not like he was going to try and keep some kind of relationship going. She’d gone back to her life. Time for him to do the same. And he could start with getting a good drunk on and finding a warm body to occupy his bed.

Speaking of…

“Hey, baby, welcome home.” Carli, one of the Handlers’ Honeys sidled on up to Mav. A shot in each hand, she stopped about six inches away from him. “Missed you, baby,” she said in a syrupy, high-pitched voice. “Had us all worried.”

Her tone was almost accusatory, as if he’d made some kind of reckless choice. Rode his bike on the wrong side of the highway going ninety instead of being held against his will and tortured.

Carli had been Mav’s go-to when he didn’t have time or energy to go searching for someone new. Recently, however, she’d been edging toward major clinger. Meant it was time to put the brakes on. That was the excuse he was going to give her, anyway. Nicer than telling her his dick just straight-up had no interest in her. Seemed he couldn’t get it up for any woman he’d come across since meeting Stephanie. Except Stephanie herself, of course. Shit, just thinking about her gave him a semi.

“’Sup, Carli?”

She downed one of the shots then nestled the other in her ample exposed cleavage. “Thought you could use a drink. You’ll have to get it yourself, though, baby.”

He barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Ain’t your baby, Carli.” Folding his arms across his chest in a dismissive posture, he didn’t make a move toward the shot.

“Oh…uh…I know.” Her grin wobbled, but she wasn’t deterred. “How about we move somewhere a little quieter? You’re probably pretty sore, huh?” She licked her cherry red lips and pursed them, looking more like a duck than a sexpot.

Sore? She had no fucking idea. There were cracked ribs on both sides of his chest, so every breath was agonizing.

“Not tonight, Carli, okay? Got too much shit on my mind. Go find one of the other guys. One of them will take care of you.” She’d been singling Maverick out lately, and that wouldn’t bode well for her future with the club. The Honeys were there for the guys, all the guys. They didn’t get to be overly choosy. Once in a blue moon a Honey caught the eye of a brother and ended up an ol’ lady, but that shit was rare.

Might sound like a raw deal to some, but the girls got the protection and support of the club in exchange. Most of the girls came from shit backgrounds and loved life with the club. But they weren’t actual members and needed to get with the program if they wanted to stay.

For a second, he feared Carli might cry. Shit. Was she really that spun up over him? He was never gonna make her his ol’ lady. She had to know that. Even if he’d been interested in her, with a background like his, he didn’t have the first fucking clue how to be with a woman long-term.

“Nah,” she said. “Turns out I’m not in the mood like I thought I was.” Pulling the shot from between her tits, she slammed it down, then stepped back away from him.

“You got a role here, Carli. Don’t forget that.”

“Right, Maverick.” With one last puppy-dog look at him, she spun on her hooker heel and marched toward the exit.

That went well.

If he were smart, he’d grab one of the other Honeys and drag her back to his room, but he’d already proven he was a damn fool. His dick only wanted Stephanie and, lucky for him, his bed still smelled like her. So instead of searching for a woman, he’d be spending the night alone smelling his sheets and buffing the missile like some horny teenager.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“PLEASE CONTINUE, AGENT Little.” Special Agent Maddox sipped his water and flipped to a new page in his notebook.

As if he needed to take notes. As if there would be something new she’d reveal the third time around. Unless he suspected she’d lied and was trying to trip her up. She was getting all spun up in her own head. Would it be unprofessional for her to bonk her forehead against the table a few times before answering his question?