Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

Jazz’s face fell, causing an odd twist in his gut. Maybe he needed to eat something. Or get some sleep. His stomach had been fucking ridiculous all day. Probably just the stress of using nothing more than his hand to get off for the past few weeks.

A situation he needed to remedy immediately if he was going to be forced to watch Gumby and Jazz slobber all over each other. Friends. Yeah, fucking right. This was clearly the I’m-interested-in-someone-else brush off.

She rose, sending him a look of pity that rankled like nothing else. “You just can’t do it, can you?”

He frowned, his boner deflating somewhat, until she put her hands on her slim hips, pulling the material of her fitted shirt, tight over her small breasts. Then he came back to life quick. “Can’t do what?”

“Can’t take anything thing seriously. Can’t give me five seconds of respect and actual consideration. If it doesn’t benefit your dick,” she said waving a hand wildly toward his cock, “then you just don’t give a shit about it. And that right there is why you never stood a chance with me.”

Screw’s skin seemed to shrink around his muscles, nearly suffocating him in his own body. She thought he didn’t give a shit about her? Christ, she had him losing his fucking mind. He hadn’t fucked anyone in weeks. He thought about her morning, noon, and night. “Jazz—”

“No!” She held up a hand, eyes shooting fire. “I don’t give a shit how many people you’ve fucked, Screw. I don’t care if they’re women, or men, or any combination of the two. I care that you forget the name of each and every one of them the second you come. I care that it’s nothing more to you than masturbating with a flesh and blood body. This is done! Today.” She slashed an arm through the air, then stormed out of the chapel.

Screw stared after her, his gut churning. The things she’d said…well she’d hit the nail way too close to its goddammed head.

A light knock had his head swiveling toward the open door. “You all right, brother?” LJ asked.

“Pssh, of course I’m all right.” He winked then waved a hand up and down his body. “She’ll be back. Who the fuck could resist all this? It’s a fucking masterpiece.”

As LJ backed out of the room, Screw’s head fell back against the seat.

Fuck.

She was motherfucking wrong. He took shit seriously. Just chose to enjoy his life and laugh his way through it. What was he supposed to do? Cry into his whiskey because Jazz didn’t want him? That the kind of man she was looking for?

No Jazz didn’t want weak. Apparently, she didn’t want him though, either.

Christ, it was all too much. Jazz, this Gumby fucker, the Chrome Disciples. How the fuck was he supposed to manage this shit coming at him from all angles? And she wanted serious? He’d fucking combust if he didn’t have humor as his outlet.

The looming issue with the Chrome Disciples pressed down heavy on his soul. Some things he couldn’t joke or tease his way through. Those things he tended to fuck up.

Like his shot with Jazz, apparently.

Would he fuck up his club the same way?

CHAPTER TWELVE

HIS SECOND PARTY at the Hell’s Handlers’ clubhouse. This time as an invited guest. And maybe he’d even get to stick around for more than fifteen minutes. Though with the way it’d been going so far, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Jazz walked up to him with a drink in each hand. “Here you go, sir.” She mock curtsied while smiling, but it all seemed…forced.

“Thanks,” he said as he took the beer from her. He planned to have a few, but not much more. Keeping his wits about him seemed wise tonight. Though the clubhouse was rockin’ in full party mode, he’d noticed he wasn’t the only one avoiding the hard stuff tonight. With their rival club back in town, many of the Handlers seemed on edge. A little tense. Security around the perimeter had been beefed up tenfold since last week’s party.

“So, you ready to meet my girls?”

Finally, a genuine glow of happiness from her. Whatever had gone down between her and Screw a few days ago had killed her a little inside. She’d been subdued ever since. A shell of the woman he’d traveled so far to see. That woman still existed. He’d seen her the day they went to breakfast, but Screw had messed with her head, sending her into a minor depression. For that alone he hated the Handlers’ enforcer.

“Of course. Bring on the ladies.”

She bounced on the balls of her feet, grinning as she towed him across the crowded room where a gaggle of females had gathered. They didn’t even try to hide their curiosity as he and Jazz approached.