Rocket (Hell's Handlers MC 5)

“How come?” Would she tell him? Mention she’d had a traumatic experience a few months ago?

“Oh, um, I’m just a homebody.” Clearing her throat, she wiggled her hand out from under his and dropped it onto her lap. He immediately missed the soft skin under his. “So, uh, what do you do?”

Rocket leaned his back against the torn vinyl of the booth. “I’m a contractor. I own a construction company in Townsend.”

Her mouth turned down. “Townsend?”

“Yep. Something wrong with Townsend?” He took a sip of the watered-down coffee the place kept flowing. Was it his club? Or some other connection to Townsend that had her looking like a scared rabbit once again.

“Huh? Oh, uh, no.” She rubbed her bare arms below the short sleeves of her shirt as though chilled though the restaurant was pleasantly warm. “Of course not. I’m not over there very often. I hear the town has a pretty high, um, population of criminals.”

Population of criminals? He almost spit the coffee across the table. She was fucking adorable. “What? You mean the bikers?”

Her face paled. What was that? Sure, he hadn’t expected she’d welcome any of them with open arms, but her face showed genuine terror.

“Uh, yeah,” she said. “I guess that’s what I mean.” She was practically whispering.

Rocket scratched his chin. Was she curious about the man who rescued her? Odd, she seemed almost fearful at the mention of bikers. Was it just the association with that night? Shit, maybe he’d done too good a job of convincing her not to go to the cops and made her afraid of the club. He had to tread carefully here. Seemed as though he had the power to turn her in favor of or fully against his club. “Run into them from time to time,” he said, casual as he could manage. “Had a few work for me over the years.” He shrugged and rested his palms on the table.

She quickly glanced down at his hands, then back at him.

“Never had a single problem with any of ’em. They’re not angels,” he said with a slight chuckle. Understatement of the year. “No one would argue with that, but they’re sure not the devils some think they are.” He made sure to give her his full attention, tone serious, in an attempt to convince her his club was no threat to her.

She snorted. “I’m sure they’re a bunch of teddy bears.”

Well, that was sarcasm if he’d ever heard it. His eyes narrowed. At what point had she decided his club was the enemy? And why? Not only had they been the ones to rescue her, but Maverick’s woman even visited her at her house after Chloe was released from the hospital. The two had chatted and Stephanie never once reported a seeming hatred of the club.

“You have a bad experience with one of them?”

“No.” She answered too quick. “Just not a big fan of people who think the law doesn’t apply to them.”

It was Rocket’s turn to scoff. “Clearly, you haven’t had much experience with the law dropping the ball more often than not.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he knew the error of them.

Chloe had been expressly asked not to cooperate with law enforcement regarding her kidnapping and rape. Was that why she hated the Handlers? Did she feel there was a lack of justice or punishment for her rapists?

Two of her rapists were already dead, killed by the club when rescuing others, young girls, who’d been kidnapped and sold to the highest bidder. As for Lefty, he’d get what he deserved and more. Maybe once Lefty was no longer breathing Chloe would be able to take a breath.

And not hate the idea of his club.

Not that her opinion of the MC should matter. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t a thing. Wasn’t a date or a relationship. It was two wounded souls who fucked and got hungry.

Simple as that.

The waitress took that moment to arrive with their pie. Chocolate crème for Chloe and good old-fashioned apple pie for him.

At the sight of the sweet treats, Chloe’s face lit up. “Oh, man, those look amazing.” She leaned across the table and inhaled deeply. “Do you smell the cinnamon in yours?”

Hand on her hip, the middle-aged waitress rolled her eyes. “Y’all need anything else?”

“I’m good,” said Chloe. “So, so, good.”

Rocket chuckled and picked up his fork. “We’re all set, thanks.”

“Mm-hmm,” she said as she clacked away on small heels.

He couldn’t help but notice the way Chloe kept eyeing his pie as she unfolded her napkin across her lap.

After picking up his fork, Rocket slid it through the pie with ease, gathering a huge mouthful onto the tines. Before lifting it, he dragged it through the mound of vanilla ice cream piled on the plate. He could practically hear the saliva shooting out of Chloe’s glands. “Here,” he said holding up the fork.