Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

“I need to save you. I’m getting you out. Saving your life.”

Oh, my God.

Her stomach heaved, bile rising to her mouth.

“No,” she whispered as she finally looked up at who she’d thought was her savior. “Please.”

This couldn’t be happening.

“I told you, Jazmine. I knew it would catch up to you one day. The devil is inside of you. This is proof. You should have let me finish.”

She lost it then, screaming and flailing as she fought with all her might to get away. But as in the past, she was no match for the strength born of paranoid delusions. She wrestled for long minutes, until her filthy, aching body sagged in complete and utter fatigue. Cold seeped into her bones. Her fingers burned and tingled as her wet clothing seemed to freeze around her skin, making every move painful and sluggish. Unable to exert any additional escape effort, she sobbed as Paul drew her farther and farther across the parking lot.

Maybe it was true. Maybe she did have some evil force working inside of her.

Gumby and Screw had rejected her.

The diner was destroyed.

Viper was…God, she couldn’t even think the word.

And she was back in the clutches of the one man who made her wish she’d died alongside Viper.

“That’s better,” Paul whispered in her ear as he pulled open a car door. “Don’t fight it. I’ll take care of you, Jazz. Don’t worry. I’ll get him out.” He shoved her into the rear seat. After he slammed the door and circled to the driver’s side. She tried to open the latch with fumbling, useless fingers. As they slipped off the handle, she realized her hands were covered in slippery red blood.

Hers? Viper’s?

Didn’t matter, it had to come off. She began to rub her hands on her wet jeans so hard, her skin was raw and freezing in seconds.

One last time, she tried the door.

Paul sat in the driver’s seat with a chuckle. “Child lock, Jazz. You’re not going anywhere. I’d turn the heat on, but we both know the devil thrives on heat, so I’m sorry, but you’ll have to be cold a little while longer. Trust me, this will just make it easier to save you.”

Trust him? If she’d been able, she’d have laughed.

“H-how did you find me?”

“God was on my side. I wrote you a letter ten days ago. Dad told me he forwarded it to you. It went to your neighbor’s house instead.”

“J-Jeremy?” she said, unable to keep the shock out of her voice. Jeremy told Paul how to find her? The man was pure evil. She’d lived next door to him for over a year. How had she missed it? How had she been charmed by his willingness to help her out and his supposed crush on her?

“He called me. Told me all about you. Where you work. The disgusting things you’ve been up to with two men. Did you know he watched you through your window one night? He made it possible for me to get to you before the devil destroys you. See? It’s meant to be. I’ve been chosen to save you.” He smiled as he spoke. The insane words made perfect sense in his mind.

“B-but how d-did y-you escape?” Her teeth chattered so loud she could barely hear her own words over the clacking.

“Oh, Jazzy. God works in mysterious ways.”

That was all she was going to get from him. Her eyes fell closed as hot tears poured down her cheeks. No one knew where she was. No one would find her. Would this be the time Paul drew enough blood to end her life?

If so, the two men she loved would never see her again.

They’d never know she forgave them.

They’d never know she loved them.

CHAPTER FORTY

GUMBY STRODE THROUGH the clubhouse, fully aware of all the curious gazes tracking him.

After his chat with Striker and Jester, the three of them grabbed Hook, got some pizza, and then he drank himself into a stupor. Part of him had wanted to go to Jazz and Screw that night, but his brothers convinced him to give them time to…breathe.

He just hoped Screw hadn’t breathed too much. As in breathed in someone else’s air while sucking their face…or other parts of their body.

“Hi,” he said to a tall blonde bombshell behind the bar. “I’m looking for Screw.”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you want with that fucker?”

“Hey!” Jigsaw said from a few stools over. “Pretty sure that ain’t your business, hon.” He turned to Gumby. “No one’s seen him since he grabbed a bottle and disappeared in his room yesterday.”

Shit, he’d be feeling even worse than Gumby today.

“Top of the stairs, make a right. Third door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

“Mmhm.” Jig lifted a hand as he returned to whatever paperwork had him captivated.

Gumby jogged up the stairs and made his way to the door Jig had directed him to. Just twenty minutes ago, he’d stood outside Screw’s house with the same pit of nervousness in his stomach. When that knock hadn’t been answered, he came to the clubhouse.