Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

“For fuck’s sake,” Monty said with a booming laugh. “We’re not going any-fucking-where. Stop trying to play in the big kid’s league.”

“Jeremy, I’m not going to walk away from people I care about.” She kept her tone level and unaggressive. Last thing she wanted was a fight between Jeremy and Monty on her front lawn.

He leaned in, whispering in her ear. “People like that fag Screw and the tall guy. What’s his name? Gumby? He a fag too? You watch while they fuck each other?”

I wish.

“Be careful, Jazz. I gave you a chance. If you turn it down, I won’t be able to protect you. They may end up watching you get fucked at some point.”

A shiver ran down her spine as his tone grew as ugly as his words. That’s it, Monty could have him. She stepped back, yelping as she collided with Monty.

“Get in my fucking truck,” he said.

As though on auto pilot, she did as he asked, watching out the window as Monty slammed Jeremy’s back against the hood of the truck. Monty leaned in, face contorted with rage as he barked a warning to her neighbor.

She didn’t recognize the man Jeremy had become. This cold, threatening biker who was clearly more dangerous than she ever gave him credit for. She placed her hand over her left shoulder where the scar from Paul’s very first cut tingled. Not realizing the depths of what a man was capable of could be one of the most dangerous mistakes in life.

She knew that from first-hand experience. So much had been taken from her due to her inability to see the truth about a person until it was too late. And it was happening again. How had she ever thought Jeremy harmless?

The encounter only served to rachet up her worry for Screw and Gumby. Unease had her stomach churning.

A storm was brewing. A cyclone she hoped wouldn’t scar her insides to match her outside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SCREW CLICKED THE television off, tossed the remote on the couch, and drained the last of his beer. Waste of his fucking time. Why the hell did the ol’ ladies watch this Housewives shit? Catty Barbie dolls who caused more drama in one episode than he’d be willing to put up with in a fucking lifetime. Yeah, that’s right, he’d been watching reality television. Only because he wanted to see what Jazz did with her girls.

Relationships. Who fucking needed them? Certainly not him. People just used each other until they got what they wanted and left or until they’d torn each other to bits. How many times had he seen it with his mother?

Countless.

And if he’d ever needed the swift kick-to-the-nuts reminder of that, he’d gotten it today. What the fuck kinda man couldn’t even admit who he wanted to bone?

Fucking was fucking. If it felt good, do it. Who gave a fuck if you wanted your mouth on pussy, dick or a little of both? And if someone wanted to take it up the ass? More power to ’em. That shit felt amazing.

A heavy knock on the door had him peeling himself off the couch. Better not be any kids selling shit he didn’t want. “Ain’t interested,” Screw called as he yanked the door open. “Huh,” he said, grabbing the top of the door frame.

He didn’t miss the way Gumby’s gaze fell to the strip of stomach now on display from his shirt riding up. Guy was the king of mixed signals. Turning his back on Screw one minute then staring at him with starving eyes the next. And did he have to look so fucking sexy with those glasses and his solemn expression?

Despite his anger, he wanted Gumby. Wanted him with an explosive force.

“Turns out I am interested.” Screw said, his gaze perusing the other man in a way that would leave no doubt to erotic intention. “Too bad you can’t say the same. Guess it’s a good thing I’ve got a phone full of men ready to fall on my dick at any time. Or who’d like me to fall on theirs.” He winked. “I’m easy.”

Gumby didn’t react in the least. He just stood on the stoop, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, charcoal beanie keeping his head warm. Those goddamned glasses made him look like blonde fucking Superman in disguise and made Screw’s dick hard every time he saw them.

Now being no exception.

“You just here to decorate my doorstep?”

“When I was fifteen years old,” Gumby began, “my old man caught me with my neighbor’s dick in my hand. He was a year older, openly gay, and more than willing to teach me my way around an ass. We had fun for a few weeks, sneaking off whenever my old man was at work. He blew me a few times. I didn’t do much beyond jerk him off or finger fuck him. I was too nervous. It was all too new. Since I was attracted to girls too, I was…confused.”