Rocket (Hell's Handlers MC 5)

A horn honked outside. The driver Esposito sent. Even though she couldn’t see the driveway from where she sat on the bed, Chloe turned toward the window. Her throat worked as she swallowed what was probably tears.

“Clo,” he said. Sure enough, her eyes were misty when she turned back.

“Logan,” she said, voice cracking. “You promised.”

He moved to her, catching her face between his palms. “I sure as fuck did. I’ll be fucking back.” Then he kissed her with a desperation he’d never felt before, trying to pour all the love, all the words he couldn’t yet say into her.

She clung to his shirt, tears wetting both their cheeks.

The horn blared again, popping the bubble that had surrounded them for a few seconds. Rocket ripped his mouth from hers and grabbed his bag. Without another word or glance in her direction he strode straight out of the room, down the stairs, and out to meet his fate, leaving his heart behind. He couldn’t have so much as spared her another glance. Had he seen the tears or the attempted bravery in her eyes, he’d have caved and told Esposito to go fuck himself.

And he’d have lost his shot at Lefty forever. Because Esposito wouldn’t just let the bastard go. He’d take Rocket’s chance at vengeance for himself.

The idea of Chloe lying in his—their—bed, tears staining the pillow nearly made him turn around, but he forged on and climbed into the black Escalade idling in his driveway.

Once seated, he shot a quick text to his president and then Scott, letting him know he was out and to get his ass to Rocket’s house to pick up his sister. Then he turned off the device, slipped on his dark sunglasses, and transformed into the role of operative.

He had shit to do and a woman to return to.

I promise.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

AT EXACTLY TWO-fifteen a.m., sixteen days after Rocket left home, the same black Escalade he drove off in rolled up his quiet driveway. He’d never been so damn glad to see his house. And he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and wrap himself around the woman who’d been on his mind non-stop for the past two weeks.

An agitated restlessness zinged through him, making the journey home seem twice as long as it should have. The entire time, he’d felt like a caged animal, first trapped on a plane then hours in the damned Escalade wondering if in fact Chloe would still be at his house. Seeing her car parked at the top of the driveway tamped down some of the nerves, but actually finding her in his bed and getting his hands on her were the only things that would finally pacify the rabid beast inside him.

He blew out a breath trying to get himself in check, but it was useless. Until he touched his woman, he was going to be riding the line of sanity. The past two weeks had been far worse than advertised. He wouldn’t have believed the job could get shittier than murdering an innocent man and woman, but throw in a child and it was a million times worse.

The kid had been conveniently left out of the file Esposito presented him at the construction site. Once he arrived in Mexico, and received the full dossier, his mind had been blown by the absolute evil of the man he used to work for.

As the SUV came to a complete stop, Rocket ran a hand down his face. He was tired. So damned tired, and the atrocities that he’d been asked to commit on this mission would stick with him for a long time. Probably forever.

Without so much as a word for his driver, whoever the brooding fucker was, Rocket grabbed his bag and hopped out of the large SUV. He winced as the landing jarred his sore body, especially the brand-new knife wound on the back of his calf. The one that came dangerously close to severing his Achilles tendon. And what a fucking mess that would have been.

Walking slowly in deference to the multitude of bruises and aches he’d garnered this trip, he made his way toward the door. The Escalade sat idling behind him. What the fuck for? It’s not like he needed a babysitter to make sure he got in the house okay. God, he couldn’t wait to be in an actual bed. With a soft, warm, sleepy woman.

“I hear your objective was completed successfully. I suppose our business has concluded. For good this time,” Esposito’s voice came as no surprise. In fact, he’d expected the asshole much earlier. Seemed the old man enjoyed showing up uninvited to peoples’ homes.

“My part’s done. You still have a delivery to make.” Rocket made a dramatic show of looking around. “In fact, where is my package?”

“On its way. I expect it to arrive within two days. You’ll be contacted about a delivery time and location.” The motion lights attached to Rocket’s three car garage illuminated Esposito enough Rocket could see he wore black jeans and a black sweater.