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Rocket (Hell's Handlers MC 5)

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Wasn’t gonna happen right then. Hell, who was he kidding, it never was going to happen. His dick had pretty much given up the ghost unless Chloe was around. She was better than an entire bottle of Viagra for waking his cock up.

Just as he opened his mouth to blow Lacy off, his phone rang. Saved by the bell. “Gotta take this,” he muttered as he glanced at the screen.

Fuck.

Esposito wasn’t backing off this time. Rocket hovered his finger over the decline button as he stared down at his old boss’s name flashing across the screen. The impulse to send it straight to voicemail was only eclipsed by the need to know what they wanted from him. His neck had been itching for days and that usually meant a shitstorm was rolling in.

“Everything okay, brother?”

“What?” He glanced up at Screw as he realized his face must have shown his displeasure. “Yeah, s’all good.”

“You coming back or you want me to entertain Lacy for you?” Screw leaned his hip against the pool table, arm slung across Tina’s shoulder. The Honey was lazily tracing the Hell’s Handlers logo printed on his T-shirt.

“Have at ’er. Sorry,” he said with a forced smile for Lacy.

“No worries,” she chirped, making her way back to Screw. The three of them would be up in Screw’s room going at it before Rocket finished his call. He’d bet his Harley on it.

“What,” he barked into the phone as he stepped outside. A quick glance around revealed he was alone. Good. This call required privacy. Copper knew the details of Rocket’s life prior to prospecting for the club, but he was the only one.

And Rocket planned to keep it that way.

“No hello? Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?” the familiar yet unwelcome voice said.

“My mother didn’t teach me shit. She was a strung-out crack whore who died in a raid on her coke den. Surely you remember.”

A grunt was the only response.

“Need you, Logan.”

Rocket pinched the bridge of his nose. “You must, if you’re busting out the Logans already.” Same manipulative shit as always. “Wasting your time, old man.”

“Don’t even want to hear the job?”

Rocket laughed. “Fuck no.”

Silence fell over the line. Rocket had met Lt. Colonel Nicholas Esposito at Parris Island back when he was an eighteen-year-old grunt in boot camp. The guy had followed Rocket’s career, even afteer he became General Esposito, and eventually retired from the Marines. Two years after that, he’d sought Rocket out for his private security—aka government sanctioned black ops—organization. All gung-ho and oorah after multiple tours with the Marines, Rocket had separated from the military and signed a very exclusive contract with Esposito’s company, DarkOps. He’d convinced himself he’d be saving the world and making bank doing it.

What wasn’t to love about that?

“This is important, Logan. And dangerous. A real adrenalin rush of a job, just how you like it.”

“How I liked it, old man. Past tense.”

“I need your skill set for this. You’re the fucking best and you know it.”

So, the job required explosives. Or maybe a sniper. Rocket had excelled in both arenas, but explosives were where his true talent lay. Hence the handle Rocket. Esposito employed plenty of other snipers, but no one as good or as fast at assembling bombs which were virtually impossible to defuse.

“Been out of the game for five fucking years, old man,” Rocket said using the nickname he knew drove Esposito nuts. The man wanted nothing more than to be smack in the middle of the action himself, but at sixty, he was long past his operational prime. “My skills are rusty at best. I’m liable to kill myself along with your mark.”

That was bullshit and Esposito knew it. Rocket hit the range at least once a week. His skills with a rifle, and a hand gun for that matter, were as tight as ever. Not to mention his little explosives lab in the basement of his house. He may not use the shit often anymore, but he’d be a damn fool to let the skills slip.

And he was no fuckin’ fool.

Except when it came to one curvy redhead.

Thoughts of Chloe invaded his mind and filled his dick. Fuck, now he was trying to get rid of Esposito while he had a damn boner.

Wonderful.

“Look, old man, I’m gonna make this simple for you. The answer is no. It’s always going to be no. Every one of these phone calls is a waste of your time.” He’d said those same words more than once since he walked away from DarkOps. Each time Esposito had eventually backed off.

“Can’t accept that this time, Logan. You owe me and I’m finally calling it in.”

Fuck.

It was the truth. With the shit Rocket knew, he never should have been allowed to walk away from DarkOps. Esposito had paved the way to his freedom without any backlash. Sort of…



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