Maverick (Hell's Handlers MC 2)

Relief hit her hard. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d have done if Baccarella told her the rider had worn a Handlers’ cut. Devastating wouldn’t begin to describe her emotions.

Shit. What a mess. If she were smart, she’d ask, no beg, Baccarella to pull her before she got sucked in any deeper. Her feelings for Maverick were genuine, and causing her to make fatal errors in judgment. But she couldn’t walk away. She needed to protect him. She needed to ensure that when she was called back to DC, Mav and his brothers would be free from prosecution.

Because she’d officially dived into a pool of gray, and there was no end in sight.

“I’m staying right at the clubhouse, sir. I truly don’t believe the Handlers are involved in human trafficking. It just doesn’t add up.” Lefty’s name was on the tip of her tongue, but she had no idea what the Handlers had done to him or had planned for him. The FBI digging around Lefty would potentially lead them right back to Mav’s club. No, she needed more information before she divulged that tidbit. And that meant leaving Lefty’s fate to the Handlers, for now at least.

“Well, I know they killed Shark and Agent Rey. We just can’t prove a damn thing. I can feel it in my goddamned gut. Start digging, Little. When you check in in two days, I want something concrete—unless you’re looking to give living in a cardboard box a whirl.”

“Yes, sir,” she said as her mind spun in a million directions. How on earth was she going to satisfy her boss and keep Maverick out of jail?

What a nightmare.

“Stay safe, Agent Little,” he said before disconnecting the call.

Clad in nothing but a damp towel, she shivered. The air in the bathroom had cooled since her hot shower, leaving her chilled. After hiding the phone once again, she quickly dressed in jeans and a Hell’s Handlers’ shirt Shell had gifted her. Not surprising, it had quite the low neckline, showing off the small amount of cleavage she had, also thanks to Shell and “the best bra ever invented.” The two women were similar in size, but Shell had a few more curves.

As she made her way down the stairs, her stomach growled. If she kept hitting the diner for their mouthwatering and sugar-laden meals, someone would have to roll her back to DC. Maybe a breakfast of coffee and fruit would undo some of the recent damage she’d done.

Hushed male voices came from the kitchen, making her slow her stride. The men were always careful to keep talk of club business behind closed doors. Maybe they’d forgotten she was in-house.

“She get a look at your face?” Copper murmured.

“Nah. Kept my helmet and face shield on.” That was Rocket.

Stephanie almost threw up right here in the hallway outside the kitchen. Her breath started coming in pants, and she struggled to keep quiet. Shit. They had been the ones to rescue the woman. While she was relieved the woman was safe and being cared for, worry for the Handlers ramped the anxiety right back up. They were too close to this. Too close to being a casualty of Baccarella’s blind ambition.

“She was in some bad fucking shape, Cop. Beat all to shit,” Rocket whispered.

“Fuck.”

Oh God, that was Maverick’s voice. Any hope he was uninvolved dissolved on the spot.

“Raped?” asked Copper.

Rocket growled, like an animal issuing a warning. “She didn’t say much, but she whimpered when she lifted her leg and climbed my bike.”

“Sick bastards,” Copper said. “Did I not tell Lefty I would bring war to his doorstep if she were harmed?”

War? Jesus. Baccarella would have a field day with this information. Hell, he’d probably sit on it and watch it play out just to swoop in at the last minute. Arresting Lefty and Copper at the same time would make him the Golden Boy of the FBI. Hello, new director.

It couldn’t happen.

“Tell you what, Cop, she was one tough broad. I offered to call a prospect to bring a car so she wouldn’t have to ride an hour on the bike, but she said she didn’t want me to risk myself any more than was necessary. Somehow, she made it the whole way then walked into that ER with her head held high. Lefty may have tried, but he sure as fuck didn’t break her.”

“Took her to the University ER?”

Steph imagined Rocket nodding in the severe manner he had. “Figured the trauma center was so used to seeing horrible shit they’d be less likely to dig too deep.”

“What the fuck are we gonna do about Lefty?” Maverick asked. He sounded hungry, eager to go after Lefty. “Feel like it’s a fucking test. He’s calling our bluff. We got the girl, no one wants to start a fucking war unless absolutely necessary. So he fucked her up to see what we’d do.”