Rocket (Hell's Handlers MC 5)

The motherfucker.

“Fuck you,” she yelled, lunging forward out of Rocket’s grasp.

Scott caught the waist band of her jeans, dragging her back to him. She seethed, struggling against her brother, but he held firm, wrapping her in his bulky arms and whispering in her ear.

Though Scott still restrained her, Rocket slipped his fingers through hers. At once, she settled. After he was certain she wouldn’t be committing murder, he focused on the video. There it was, right there. The goddamn winning hand.

On the screen, Lefty sat on the floor in an empty room, clearly a prisoner. The grainy feed didn’t allow for details, but he appeared to be slumped against the wall, injured. Esposito wouldn’t have been able to resist taking a bit of fun for himself.

“You give me what I want,” Esposito said. “And I’ll give you what you want. Hand delivered to your club alive and kicking. Simple as that.”

Christ, he could taste the thrill of killing Lefty. And it was delicious. “I’ll do it,” he said, tossing the phone back before the clip ended.

“No!” Chloe cried out, once again struggling against her brother’s hold. “No, Logan, you can’t.” Her voice cracked. She squeezed his hand until her knuckles whitened. Horror was scrawled all across her pale face. “It’s not worth it.”

Not worth it? She had no clue exactly how worth it getting his hands on Lefty was. “I have to,” he said.

She stared at him, eyes watery and lips pressed into a thin line. After what felt like five minutes of watching her heart bleed, she sagged against Scott, and nodded. “I know you do.”

“One of you better tell me what the fuck is going on,” Scott said from behind Chloe.

“The old man’s got Lefty.” Those five words were all it took for understanding to cross Scott’s face.

Rocket should have known Esposito would pull a trick so dirty he couldn’t refuse. Lefty was literally the one prize he’d never walk away from under any circumstance.

Scott released Chloe and charged forward. He hovered over Esposito, snarling and snapping like a junkyard dog. “You fuck him up?”

“A little.” Esposito shrugged. “Not enough. Figure Rocket wouldn’t agree to my terms if I took away his fun.”

“Scott, calm down.” When her brother turned and began pacing the room like a caged animal, Chloe faced Rocket. “Logan,” she said, yanking on his arm to get his attention. “Please don’t do this. It’s not worth it. It’s not worth whatever he’s going to make you do.”

Esposito was going to make him kill an innocent man and woman.

The soft plea was a knife, carving into his heart. Chloe would rather sacrifice her chance at getting justice for the atrocious crimes committed against her than have him live with one more DarkOps mission tainting his soul. He’d been wrong, there was one scenario where he’d walk away from Lefty. If Chloe truly asked him. If the night passed and she woke, unable to live with him taking on this task, he’d leave Lefty to Esposito. But, fuck, he hoped it didn’t come down to that. Part of him would never feel fulfilled.

“When do you want me?” he asked Esposito. It took nearly everything in him not to crack under the weight of Chloe’s despair.

“I’ll send a driver for you in the morning. About five.”

Rocket nodded once. “You got what you wanted. Now get the fuck out of my woman’s house.”

After giving him a two fingered salute, Esposito turned to Chloe. “I really am sorry for what happened to you. DarkOps is glad to have a hand in doling out punishment to the man who orchestrated your kidnapping. And I’m sorry it had to go down this way, but I need him. And this time, I can’t take no for an answer.”

“You show up here again, I’ll shoot you myself,” she snapped.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Rocket smiled. Man, she was something else when she got all feisty.

After Esposito left, Rocket, Chloe, and her brother stood staring into space for a few moments. Eventually, Rocket sighed. Esposito would be back for him in less than twelve hours and he had a shit ton to get done before then. Starting with…

“You sticking around?” he asked Scott.

“Fuck.” Chloe’s brother ran a hand through his hair. “Just through the weekend. I’m shipping out Wednesday morning for a few months. Need to report back no later than Monday. Fuck!” He turned and slapped his palm against the wall, making Chloe’s floral oil painting crash to the ground.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Scott,” Chloe said, moving to rub her brother’s back.

“Maybe you should go stay with Mom and Dad for a while,” he said, hands resting on the wall above his head.

Fuck that. “My club will keep her safe. She’s not going anywhere.”

Chloe frowned. “I can’t go stay with our parents. They’ll ask too many questions. Besides, my home is here.”