Joy (Hell's Handlers MC 7)
“I hear ya. You drive.”
With a nod, Zach sprinted out of the room after his president.
Thank Christ for Copper, who barked orders and let everyone know what was happening as they ran through the main level of the clubhouse. Had Zach been the one in charge, everyone would have been left confused as fuck because he was useless at that moment, his mind consumed with worry for Toni.
Hadn’t been that long since he’d seen her in the hands of a club’s enemy. The stark memory of fear, rage, and fucking helplessness as he watched the woman he loved nearly lose her life hadn’t faded in the least over the past year. In fact, as his feelings for Toni strengthened, so did the recollection of how easily she’d been put in harm’s way.
“Your head in the game, Z?” Copper’s gruff voice snapped him out of the past.
Zach blinked. Fuck. Somehow, they’d ended outside in the snow next to Zach’s Ford F150.
Keep your head in the game.
“Yeah, prez, I got it. Let’s roll.”
They rode in silence for the first five minutes until Copper said, “Thank fuck this truck is a beast. Tomorrow I’m getting Shell a goddammed four-wheel-drive SUV. Can’t believe I didn’t do that shit before now.”
Those two hadn’t been a couple last winter, and Shell refused to accept shit from the club or Copper before that. He’d had to get pretty crafty to help her and Beth out. The moment Shell thought she was getting charity, she refused it. No way in hell would she have accepted the gift of a vehicle.
With a growl, Copper tossed his phone on the dashboard. “Neither is answering.”
“They’ll be okay, Prez,” Zach said though his gut rejected his own words. “They’re not stupid.”
Copper snorted. “Think this little stunt proves otherwise.” With a roar of frustration, he slammed his clenched fist on the dashboard. “She’s carrying my fucking baby, Z.” His voice dropped. “If anything happens to them…”
“It won’t. We’re fifteen minutes behind them max. Probably less because I’m driving like fucking Mario Andretti. We’ll get there, collect them, raise a little hell, then head home and spend the rest of the afternoon fucking them.”
Copper’s lack of response did nothing to quell Zach’s nerves.
He choked up on the wheel as the snowfall thickened. Dropping his speed wasn’t an option despite the treacherous road conditions. At least he’d only passed one other idiot out in the storm.
Another seven minutes of icy mountains and snow passed before they turned into the campground. Together, they searched through the wintery landscape for any sign of their women.
“God, fuck!” Copper yelled the longer they came up empty. His hands gripped the dash so hard, his knuckles turned whiter than the snow. By now, his fingers had to be aching, but he never let up, as though he needed to hold the dash to keep from coming out of his skin.
A sentiment Zach echoed. With each passing minute, fear clawed at his back like a beast bent on tearing him limb from limb.
“Wait! There,” Copper finally said, pointing straight. “Think that’s Shell’s car up ahead.”
Miracle of miracles, the snow finally appeared to be letting up as Zach pulled up behind what was, in fact, Shell’s little sedan, still running.
Zach kept the truck idling as well as both he and Copper stared out the passenger window. Seated on a picnic table were Toni, Shell, and between them, a girl who had to be Lindsey.
In front of that fucking table paced none other than Crank, gun in hand, phone at his ear.
“Send out an SOS,” Copper ordered as he opened the door and stepped down from the truck. His boots crunched, and frigid air immediately flooded the cab of the truck.
“Done.” Zach fired a message off to Rocket and Screw. They’d organize the cavalry. All he and Copper had to do was keep shit from going south for fifteen minutes or so. “How do you wanna play this?”
“Fuck if I know,” Copper said. “Weapons?”
“I got Louie and one pistol.”
“Bring ’em both,” Copper said as he slammed the truck door shut. Zach didn’t miss the gun he shoved in the back of his pants for easy access.
Zach scrambled out after his president, catching up to him when he was halfway to the picnic table. His thick leather jacket and motorcycle boots kept the worst of the chill at bay, but the biting cold stung his hands and face like a swarm of angry bees.
The desire to charge forward and rip Crank’s head from his body with his bare hands burned a fiery path through Zach’s body. His hands curled to fists as he imagined pounding the guy into the earth. Painting the snow red with his blood.
He’d die for this. For the fear written across Toni’s face. For the way she shuddered and shook in the cold with her damp shirt and no jacket. It would be sweet, Cranks death. Zach only hoped Copper would let him have a piece of the action.