Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

“Paul rented the car under his own name and did the same with the Air BNB. That indicates one of two things. Either he’s arrogant as fuck and can’t fathom anyone will figure this shit out. Or he didn’t think this shit through. He acted on impulse without a well-conceived plan.”

“Second option gets my vote,” Gumby said from the back.

As Screw nodded, Rocket said, “Me too. So we’re going in hot. Busting in the doors from the front and the back. Hopefully a loud, startling show of force will knock him off his game and we can easily get Jazz. Those kinda guys tend to break when a bigger, stronger presence is shown.”

“And if he’s armed to the teeth?” Gumby asked.

The same question Screw had been wondering but he’d been terrified to ask.

“It’s a risk.” Rocket sailed around another bend in the road and Screw swore two of the Land Rovers wheels lifted off the ground. “But a calculated one. If he’s not thinking rationally, taking it slow and trying to talk him down probably won’t work.”

Fuck. Rocket had a point.

“All right. You taking point, Rocket?”

“You good with that?”

Screw glanced at his brother. Rocket was focused, calm, cold. Functioning without the riot of emotions Screw was struggling to disguise. Though it pained him to admit, he couldn’t lead this charge. He couldn’t be trusted to make an objective smart decision if shit went bad. Jazz and Gumby were his priorities and he’d make sure they got out alive.

Whatever it took.

Admittedly he’d put their lives above everyone else, his own included. So no, he couldn’t take the lead here.

“Yeah. You need to.”

Rocket nodded once, game-face on. “Three of us are taking front door. LJ and Jig have the back. Mav will position others around the house in case the fucker goes out a window. We care about taking him alive?”

“No,” both he and Gumby answered at the same time without any hesitation.

“Will Jazz feel the same?”

Screw ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. He is her stepbrother. And he’s sick. But, Rocket, he’s fixated on her for years. Violently. He’s hurt her fucking bad and we can’t risk it happening again.”

A grunt from Rocket. He’d have no problem taking Paul out.

A hand squeezed his shoulder and he turned to see Gumby’s fear-filled eyes. “Don’t go in planning to kill, but don’t hesitate if it becomes remotely necessary.”

Okay, Screw could get behind that plan. He’d be down with beating the fuck outta the guy before sending him back to a prison psych ward. This time one he couldn’t break out of.

And then they could move on to Jeremy, who he had every intention of killing.

Christ, how could Viper be dead? How would the club move on from that?

Killing Jeremy would be the first step.

“We’re close,” Rocket announced. “Thirty seconds out.”

Screw checked his weapon. Clicks from the back indicated Gumby had done the same. His heart rate doubled as the house came into view. As Rocket had informed them, the place was isolated, partway up the mountain without neighbors.

Maybe Paul had put some thought into this. Didn’t fucking matter. Going in full force was the only option. No way could he stand by while Rocket tried to convince Paul to let Jazz go.

The rental car sat in the driveway. The passenger side door hung open. One of Jazz’s Converse sneakers lie on the ground midway to the front door.

She was inside.

Thank fuck.

Part of Screw, a part he forced himself to ignore had feared Paul would take her elsewhere.

Rocket coasted to a stop about a hundred feet from the house. Without a sound, the three men slipped from the SUV, leaving the doors open to avoid noise.

Jig’s truck was right behind, and Mav’s behind him. Men jumped out the doors quiet as fucking death, and ready to kill. Some had shotguns, a few carried pistols, but most wore an AK47 strapped slung over their shoulder.

They were fucking ready.

Screw’s heart kicked into overdrive as Rocket and LJ exchanged hand signals. With a nod, LJ gestured to Jig and the two of them took off for the back of the house.

“Too fucking quiet,” Gumby whispered against his ear. “Fucking creepy.”

“Yeah. You good?”

“As I can be,” Gumby said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You?”

“Same.” Which pretty much meant, “Hell no, I’m not good but I’m ready.”

“Let’s move,” Rocket whispered.

They took off after him, jogging with light, near silent steps across the wide front lawn of the Air BNB. Mav waved his arms, alerting men to their positions while Screw and Gumby shadowed Rocket up the three concrete steps to the rust brown door.

A trail of splattered blood marked the steps. Screw clenched his teeth as he peered over his shoulder. Sure enough, the stains seemed to originate from the car.

“Christ,” Gumby said, voice pure tortured anguish.