“She’s not the only sweet one here.”

  Brooke blushed but kept her gaze on the dog.

  “Thanks for today. Best day I’ve had in more than fourteen years.”

  “For me too,” she whispered without looking at him.

  He snagged her chin, kissed her quick, then left her staring after him as he tucked Harley across his lap so she could ride with him on the bike. They’d tried this a few times, and she’d loved it.

  Though he didn’t turn back, he felt the weight of Brooke’s gaze on his back as he rode down her street. If all went according to plan, he’d be getting his hands on the land that abutted her property.

  They’d be neighbors.

  What else would they be?

  Friends?

  Fuck buddies?

  It seemed all either could give.

  It was certainly more than he’d had in the past decade and probably more than he deserved.

  Even if a rogue part of him wasn’t convinced it would be enough.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  SOMETIME AROUND NOON on Sunday, while Curly was finishing up painting the exterior of his house, the rumble of motorcycle pipes alerted him to Scott’s arrival. After wiping the sweat from his forehead with his shirt, Curly climbed off the ladder just as Scott pulled into the wide driveway.

  “Damn, it’s hot as fuck here, brother,” Scott announced as he yanked his helmet off. His hair stuck to his forehead until he ran a hand through it. “Thought I’d melt off my bike before I got here.”

  With a large smile, Curly met him halfway between the driveway and the house. They embraced, slapping each other’s backs. His excitement at having Scott there was genuine. He was a link between the Tennessee and Florida Hell’s Handlers, and Curly needed that connection. Scott knew Rocket best, but also Copper and many of the other guys. Scott understood how the club worked and shared Curly’s vision for this charter.

  When his sister, Chloe, first hooked up with a biker, Scott had flipped his shit. She’d been horribly assaulted by a madman, which set her special forces brother off. Though Rocket had been the one to save her, Scott couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of her tying herself to someone who often walked on the wrong side of the law. The past few years had changed Scott’s opinion on the club, and leaving the military brotherhood left a void Curly hoped to fill.

  “Damn, it’s good to have you here, man. Come on in. House is cool. Beer is cold.”

  “Perfect. I’ll grab my shit later,” Scott said as he walked next to Curly into the house.

  Five minutes later, they were back outside, this time with a few beers and a bag of pretzels between them.

  “Were you telling me you stumbled on some trouble already?”

  With a grunt, Curly settled back in one of the new chairs he’d purchased for the porch. His home wasn’t nearly as impressive as Brooke’s, but it suited for now, and he planned to move soon anyway. He’d build himself a house on whatever property they ended up acquiring as a clubhouse—hopefully Prick’s farm.

  “Yeah. Got a motherfucker running a dogfighting ring and dumping the bodies near the house of a friend of mine.” Calling Brooke a friend left a strange and unpleasant taste in his mouth. “She’s tried going to the cops, but you can guess how that went.”

  “All talk, no action.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Why you so invested in this?”

  It took a few minutes, but Curly caught Scott up on the details of what had happened around his arrest and the role Prick played.

  Once he had all the details, Scott shook his head. “Fucking bastard,” he said with a surprising amount of venom. He shoved out of his chair and whipped his empty beer bottle over the fence. It crashed into a tree, splintering into a million piercing shards. Then he stood staring after it with his hands on his hips.

  Curly raised an eyebrow. Apparently, Scott had quite the quickfire temper. They were casual friends, soon-to-be brothers, but he and Scott hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time together. Scott’s immediate and furious outburst wasn’t exactly expected.

  “Sorry,” he said as he turned back. “I’ll clean it up. I just fucking hate assholes like that.”

  “You and me both, brother. Listen, I got the rest of the guys coming by around six tonight so we can put our skulls together and come up with a plan. Next dog fight is in six days, but we won’t know where until the day of.”

  “Have any of you guys gone to one yet?”

  Curly shook his head.

  “Hmm.” Still out in the middle of the yard, Scott stared off into space for a minute. Curly could practically hear the operational gears turning in Scott’s military-trained brain. “Much as it sucks, your best bet is to get some guys in there for recon this time. It’d be stupid to try something without knowing what you’re dealing with.”

  Much as Brooke would hate it, Curly had pretty much come to that same conclusion. Without police backup, they needed a creative way to take down Prick’s operation that wouldn’t land them all behind bars. Charging into an unknown situation, guns blazing, would do just that. “Yeah. I’m of the same mind.” He rubbed his jaw. “Gonna suck walking in and out without doing a damn thing to help those the dogs, though. Some of them will end up injured or fucking killed that night.”

  “Well, pretty sure you’re not gonna be walking in or out of anything.”

  Curly raised an eyebrow.

  “This guy knows you. You can’t be there.” Scott reached into the bag and came out with a fistful of pretzels.

  Fuck. He was right. Prick would spot him and have him tossed out on his ass in a heartbeat.

  Curly stood. “Why don’t I show you the spare room and let you get settled. We’ll sort this shit out when the rest of the guys get here tonight.”

  “Sounds good. Let me grab my stuff.”

  After Scott retrieved his bags from his bike, Curly showed him to the spare room. They shot the shit for a few more minutes, then he left Scott alone to chill before the meeting. Ever since he’d brought him up to speed regarding Prick, Scott seemed agitated. He had trouble standing still, frequently rubbed at a tattoo on his right forearm, and cracked his neck every few minutes. Maybe he needed some downtime, or perhaps he was still getting on solid ground after such a significant change like leaving the military. Hopefully, he’d settle soon.

  The guys began arriving around six, as expected. He’d texted Brooke earlier, and she’d be joining as well. He tried not to look too deeply at why he’d wanted to do a backflip when she confirmed she’d be there. It’d been a few days since he’d seen her, and fuck if she hadn’t been on his mind at least once an hour since. Hell, part of him wanted to cancel with the rest of the guys and spend the night alone with Brooke.

  A big part of him.

  “Piping hot pizza!” Tracker announced as he strode into the house without knocking. Fuck, they needed a clubhouse. Curly had no problem lending his place, but was a knock too much to ask for? What if he and Brooke had been—

  Nope. He needed to stop going there. She wasn’t his woman, and who knew when and if she’d want a repeat of the other night?

  Though he sure as fuck wanted it.

  “You can take those out to the backyard, Tracker,” he said of the five pizza boxes the man carried. “I got a table on the patio out there. Getting too crowded in here.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  He followed Tracker outside to where Ty and Scott were already getting to know each other. Laughing, Scott slapped Ty’s shoulder as Ty told a story. Off to a good start.

  “Tracker, this is Scott. His sister is a Hell’s Handlers ol’ lady up in Tennessee, and he just got out of the military. Scott, this is Tracker. He’s a tattoo artist and does SAR.”

  Tracker set the pizzas down on the table then stuck his hand out to Scott. “Welcome to town, man. What branch?”

  Scott stood and shook Tracker’s hand. “Army. Green Beret.”

  With a low whistle, Tracker found his own seat. “Spec Ops, huh? Impressive. Mind if I call you Spec?”

  Scott’s eyebrows shot to his head, but Tyler nodded. “Shit, that’s a good handle. What do ya think?”

  With a grin and a nod, Scott said, “Spec, huh? I’m down with that.”

  “All right.” Tracker rubbed his hands together. “Dig in. There’s plenty. Lock’s bringing the booze.”

  The rest of the crew arrived, and introductions were made. Harley ran around, soaking up all the attention she could from each of the men. When they thought Curly wasn’t looking, they’d sneak bits of crust and pepperoni her way.

  “Knock it off,” he said as he whacked Tyler on the back of the head. “Brooke’ll have my ass if you keep feeding my dog that shit.”

  Jinx snorted. “What was that about Brooke and your ass?”

  Busting out in a laugh, Lock jumped in, “Sounds like she takes it out on his ass when he does something she doesn’t like. Who knew Brooke was into that shit?”

  The guys laughed until they all heard, “What am I into?”

  Lock choked on his mouthful of pizza. His eyes bugged so wide they almost fell out of his head and onto the table. “Nothing,” he mumbled as he tried to hide behind his beer bottle.

  Slapping him on the back, Jinx gave her an innocent grin. “Putting the hurt on Curly for letting Harley have table scraps. You should see all the pizza he keeps sneaking her.”

  “What the fuck, man?” Curly threw his hands in the air as the rest of them laughed. “That’s not true. It wasn’t me.” He gave Brooke a pleading look as she shook her head and rolled her eyes. Ugh, how was it possible a simple ribbed tank top and denim cutoffs could make a woman look so seductive?

  Jinx winked at Brooke.

  She stood in the open sliding glass doorway leading to his patio with a scrunched forehead. “Why do I feel like I’m the butt of some joke?”

  Crickets. All of a sudden, this chatty bunch of bastards had nothing to say. But they all stared at him as though any of this was his fault. “Assholes,” he said, pointing around the table. “All of you.”

  Scott, God love him, leaped to his feet. “I don’t know about the rest of these fuckers,” he said, flashing Brooke a charming smile. “But my momma taught me to stand when a beautiful woman walked in the room.” He came around the table, hand extended. “I’m Scott, though apparently these guys are gonna be calling me Spec. Nice to meet you.”

  The rest of the guys grumbled and jumped up, each accusing the others of being rude and boorish.

  Curly rolled his eyes. For Christ’s sake.

  Brooke burst out laughing as she took Scott’s hand. “Brooke,” she said. “Curly’s been looking forward to having you here.” She glanced at the rest of the guys now standing around the table in an awkward stare-off. “Can you idiots sit down?” she said with a roll of her eyes.

  “Oh, thank God.” Jinx plopped down in his chair. “Felt like we were greeting the queen or some shit.”

  With a snort, Brooke set a Tupperware container in the center of the table. “Had some time this afternoon so I made some peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. Dig in.”

  “Fuck yes!” Pulse ripped into the container as Brooke came around the table to the only empty seat, which of course, they’d left next to Curly.

  As she approached, he nudged the chair out with his foot so she could sit easily.

  Brooke ran her hand across the back of his shoulders as she passed behind him. That was all it took to have his dick filling with blood. One touch and a quick hit of the fresh citrusy scent he’d come to associate with her, and he was ready to kick the guys out and drag her to bed like a caveman.

  “Hey,” she said, slightly breathless as though she felt the same intense pull.

  “Hey.” He winked, trying to tamper his reaction. The guys would never let him live it down if they saw him slobbering over her worse than Harley with the pizza. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, inclining his head toward the table where the guys were chowing down on the cookies as though they hadn’t just eaten ninety pizzas. “You’ll spoil them.”

  Damn, it got him right in the feels to know she thought of his guys and took steps to do something sweet for them.

  She blushed as he’d come to expect while waving away his thanks. “It was no big deal. They’re fun.”

  With a grunt, he said. “That’s one word for ’em.”

  “Hey, Brooke, I’m grabbing another round of beers. Want one?” Tyler asked. He stood and snatched a cookie out of Tracker’s hands before the man could take a bite.

  “The fuck, man?”

  Grinning, Brooke nodded. “I’d love one, thanks.”

  She looked good sitting there around the table with his men. Comfortable, as though she fit with them. Hell, she did fit with them. Her strong personality had the guys respect the first time they met her, and her quick wit made them love bantering with her. He had a feeling they all appreciated the way she gave them shit right back when they were ribbing her. No one had to tiptoe around or worry about offending her with their crass language or vulgar jokes.

  Brooke could handle these guys with ease.

  She’d make a damn good ol’ lady.

  For someone looking, of course. And that disturbing thought had him studying the faces of all his men. They better keep their dirty fucking hands to themselves when it came to Brooke. He had no plans to claim her or any woman, but fuck if he’d let one of these jokers at her.

  “Hey,” she whispered in his ear. “You okay?”

  Curly blinked. Shit, he’d totally zoned out. “Yeah, I’m good. Just thinking.”

  Thankfully everyone else was still fighting over Brooke’s cookies. They laughed and stuffed their faces. Damn, he had a good group here. They meshed well already. Copper would like this crew, and they’d like the Tennessee Handlers as well. Finally, shit was coming together as he’d hoped. All they needed to do was get rid of one prickly thorn in their side.

  “So what’d I miss?” Brooke asked. She’d directed the question at him, but it quieted the rest of the group down.

  Another thing he appreciated about these guys. They were chill as fuck but knew when to get serious and quit bullshitting.

  Tyler returned, handing out beers. “We were about to discuss the plan for Saturday,” he said.

  Nodding, Brooke accepted a beer then focused her attention Curly’s way.

  “Hold up,” Tracker cut in. A smug grin curled his lips. “Guess the fuck what I found out.”

  “What?” Curly said.

  Tracker leaned back in his chair, still smirking. “Prick doesn’t own the farmland.” He dropped his pizza to his plate. “Tell me I’m amazing.”

  Curly’s heart seized. “What?”

  “You’re shitting me,” Ty added.

  Shaking his head, Tracker said. “Damn honest truth. Met this chick last night. Banged her at—” He flicked a quick glance at Brooke, then winced. “Uh, I made love to her at my house.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes. “Seriously? You made love to a woman?”

  “No, fine, you’re right. I was trying to be respectful. I banged her good. Damn, she had an ass.”

  Curly cleared his throat.

  “But I digress. Turns out she’s a realtor and knew all about the property because her company had it on the market for fucking years. Owner’s this old guy who lives in Georgia now. He finally agreed to rent it out to Prick about five months or so ago since no one wants the place.”

  Curly wanted it. And he just got about ten steps closer to owning it. Without the obstacle of Prick, he’d get his hands on the place so much easier. He was confident he could make the man an offer he’d never turn down. Who even cared if he paid too much for the property?

  “Shit, man, that’s damn good news. Thanks.” Curly extended a fist to Tracker, who bumped it. The guys were already looking out for the club.

  “No problem. Happy to fuck a wild chick in the name of the club any time you need.” He winked at Brooke, who snorted.

  “Okay,” Jinx said. “Let’s get back to Saturday.”

  Curly sighed. She wasn’t going to like this shit one bit, but it was the most intelligent way to play it. “We’ve gotta use this fight to gather intelligence. We can’t go in blind and expect to get anything done. Jinx met up with Prick at the bar again last night, and the guy won’t give up info about where this fight will be.”

  She gripped the arm of her chair so hard; her knuckles were white. “There’s gotta be a way—”

  Placing a hand over hers, he shook his head. “We have no idea what his security is like, if any. For all we know, half the guys who attend will be armed. We know the cops are in his pocket. Maybe some of them are there. If we bust in thinking we’re gonna shut shit down, one of us could end up with a bullet in our ass or behind bars.”

  Brooke paled.

  Everyone remained quiet, letting her process. After a few moments, her shoulders slumped. “It makes me sick to think we might find another injured or dead dog on the side of the road Sunday morning, but I do understand. I’m not blinded by my need to rescue the dogs. I’d kill me if something happened to any one of you. I’m the one who put this on your plate.”

  Like the dogs she rescued, time seemed to have Brooke slowly relaxing and letting others into her orbit.

  She turned her hand over and linked her fingers with his. Curly pretended not to notice the curious stares from his soon-to-be brothers. “We’ll nail his ass to the wall, Brooke. I promise you. We just have to be smart about it.”

  After blowing out a breath, she said, “I’d love ten minutes in a room with him. Tie him up and give me ten minutes, and he’d never hurt another dog again.” Her tone was low, deadly, and serious as a heart attack.

  Fuck if it didn’t make him even harder to hear her threaten Prick with violence.

  From across the table, Tracker tried to suppress a laugh, which made him snort instead.

  Jinx whistled. “Damn, woman, you’re fierce. Do not let me get on your bad side.”

 

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