Joy (Hell's Handlers MC 7)
Holly laughed and finally felt a lightness in her soul. No one could have pulled her out of the deep end like LJ had. “I’m both intrigued and terrified.”
“You should be more of the second.”
With another laugh, Holly pressed a kiss to LJ’s chest. For the next hour, she regaled him with stories of her and Joy at Christmas time. Before long, the anguish completely fled, leaving only the joy of being with the man she loved.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ZACH
“Pleasure doing business with you, as always,” Zach said as he stood over the supine form of the loser who’d just made his final payment on a loan he’d taken from the Handlers.
Two weeks late.
“Fuck you,” the guy spat out. His name was Quincy, and he was around Zach’s age, mid to upper thirties, with a long blond goatee and a shiny bald spot on the top of his head.
Easy to spot since Zach had a good five inches on the guy.
“Don’t know why you hada knock me the fuck down,” Quincy grumbled. “I fucking paid you.”
With a grin, Zach stuck the thick envelope in the back pocket of his jeans. Call him deranged, but he couldn’t deny the zing of excitement that shot through him whenever he got to exert a little force to get the Handler’s money back. Once the money was tucked away safe, he swung his trusty baseball bat off his shoulder and pointed it at the guy. “Quincy, you’re fuckin’ lucky that’s all I did. If you hadn’t caught Louie looking so dapper tonight, I’da taken a whack at a kneecap or two. You’re two goddamn weeks late.”
“I’m aware. You made that point two weeks ago when I didn’t have the money, and you used that fucking bat to bust out the window of my car.” He pushed himself to a seated position and scooted out from between Zach’s legs.
Zach shrugged. “Don’t know you why you guys are always surprised by this shit.” He glanced over his shoulder at Quincy’s beige Nissan Sentra, which had a piece of cardboard and about six yards of duct tape covering the rear driver’s side window. “The rules are so fucking simple. When I come to collect, you pay. No matter what. If you can’t pay in cash, I choose how you pay. So. Fucking. Simple.”
As he spoke, Zach tapped Louie against the side of the guy’s knee. “Let you off easy since it was your first time being late. If it happens again, I take my payment in pain.”
Quincy’s eyes shifted to the bat, and his face paled.
Zach couldn’t help but chuckle. Louie had become his mascot of sorts. Zach never collected payments without his trusty Louisville Slugger in hand. Less clean up than a gun or knife, kept his knuckles from getting beat to shit every time he had to dish out a little motivation, and it was just plain fun to swing. But today, he’d given Louie the day off and used his leg to sweep this fucker on his ass. Last night, Shell’s daughter, Beth, had painstakingly wrapped battery-powered Christmas lights all around the bat then secured them with about a mile of tape. It now blinked alternatively between red, green, and white. Zach didn’t have the heart to undo it all, and he couldn’t risk bloodying or breaking the lights. Not after Beth worked so hard to get Louie in the Christmas spirit.
Of course, Beth just thought he loved to play baseball…
“All right,” Zach announced. “I’m tired of looking at you. Get the fuck outta my face. And, Quincy?”
The guy cast Zach a wary look. “Yeah?”
Zach crouched down until he was eye-level with the man. “Next time, and we both know there will be a next time because you can’t stay away from those fucking ponies. But, next time?” He raised an eyebrow and tapped Quincy’s cheek with Louie.
“Y-yeah?” Quincy said, finally seeming to realize the seriousness of his misstep
“Next time you fucking pay me when my money is due. Otherwise, it’ll be a while before you can show your face at those races you love so much.”
Quincy swallowed and nodded his head so fast the guy’s tiny brain must have rattled.
“Good. Glad we understand each other. Now, you seen any bikers around the track or in town who aren’t us?”
With a shake of his head, Quincy said, “No. You looking for someone in particular?”
For the past few days, yeah, he’d been looking for a motherfucker named Crank who gave his woman a fucking scare. But so far, none of the trees he’d shaken had dropped any fruit. Kinda seemed as though the Chrome Disciples had taken Copper’s advice and split town.
At least he fucking hoped so.
“Nah, just checking on something. Merry fucking Christmas, Quincy.”
Zach used the bat to push up from his crouched position. Without so much as a backward glance at Quincy, he strode to his truck, hopped in, and peeled out. He was ten minutes late picking up his ol’ lady thanks to Quincy and his whining. Actually, he wasn’t supposed to have been the one collecting the money in the first place. It’d been Screw’s job, but his brother was busy working on some master plan to worm his way into Jazz’s panties, so Zach had offered to stand in.