Curly hells handlers mc.., p.9
Curly (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter Book 1), page 9
Something dark twisted in Curly’s stomach. His cousin could have died, and he’d never have known. No one would have told him because once he’d gone away, thoughts of him had dropped from everyone’s heads. He was nothing more than the family embarrassment who shouldn’t be named.
“Hey.” Tyler nudged his shoulder. “I imagine it’s gonna take some time, but I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”
Slapping his cousin on the shoulder, he said, “Thanks, Ty. I mean it. Just got a lotta shit going on.” He tapped the side of his head. “Shit, I thought I’d moved past.”
“Yeah, I imagine being here’s gonna dredge up the past a lot.”
He had no idea. “One day at a time, right? Don’t they say some shit like that?”
With a snort, Tyler nodded. “They sure do.” His gaze clouded for a moment which had Curly frowning. “Easier said than done, though, ain’t it?”
Though not something he was proud of, it was easy for Curly to get lost in his own problems, given what he’d endured. He’d have to consciously remember that thirteen years of Tyler’s life had passed by as well, and from the look on his cousin’s face, they weren’t all sunshine and good times. Hopefully, they’d get to the point over the next few months where they could sit with a few beers and spill their guts on their pasts.
For now, they had plenty of shit to deal with in the present.
He clapped Tyler on the back. “All right, let’s do this.”
Together they moved to the table. The guys fell silent as he approached. He remained standing, mainly because all the seats were occupied.
Definitely needed to find a clubhouse.
“Gentlemen,” he said, garnering a few snickers and elbow jabs. “I’m assuming Tyler has already filled you in a bit on what I’m trying to build. My name’s Travis, but I go by Curly.” He pointed to his head. “If you can’t figure out why, please see yourself out.”
That one got a genuine laugh out of all the guys. Even Tyler, who stood with his back against the refrigerator, chuckled. Curly smiled. So far, so good. “I’m sure you all know who I am and where I’ve been. I’ll say a few things, then I won’t say shit about it, okay?”
The guys nodded. “Yes, I was the president of the True Outlaws who was wrongfully imprisoned for murdering a kid. Yes, the last thirteen years sucked. Imagine it, then multiply it by a hundred. That’s how bad it was. Yes, I sometimes get fucked in the head about it. The story you know from the news is not the correct story. I’ll tell you what really happened sometime soon. Until then, the most important thing to know is that I didn’t do it. No, I’m not hellbent on some violent revenge scheme, though there are a few people I don’t plan on sending Christmas cards to. While I’m not gonna go out of my way to get vengeance, I never have and never will shy from a fight. Got it?”
They all voiced their understanding.
“Great. Moving on. If you’re here, it’s because Ty told you I’m planning to charter an MC. An MC, not a church group, but not a gang either. I’m not interested in drugs, guns, or sex.”
Tracker snorted.
Curly’s lips quirked. “Selling sex. Is that better?”
“Fuck yeah,” Tracker said with a wink. His pierced eyebrow glinted in the light. “Worried there for a second that thirteen years without a woman broke you.”
The entire group of them cracked up. And that’s when Curly knew without a shadow of a doubt that he could make this dream a reality, and this was the group to get it done. “Anyway, you want in, you’ll need a bike. A Harley eventually, but anything will work at first. I’m tagging Tyler for VP, and I’ve got a guy named Scott who’s getting out of the military who I want for enforcer. That leaves me in need of a sergeant-at-arms, a treasurer, and a road captain. We can figure that shit out soon enough. Also, we need a clubhouse, so if you have any ideas, let me know. Today isn’t any kind of official club meeting, and I won’t discuss potential revenue sources until we all swear an oath and patch in. I’ll tell you now, though, club comes first, and we do shit our way. That way might not line up with what others think is right.”
“Meaning the cops,” Gabe broke in. He was the only one sitting stiff and wearing an expression of uncertainty.
Curly nodded as he folded his arms across his chest. “For one. That gonna be a problem for you, Gabe?”
A grain of rice falling would have boomed through the room at that point. If Gabe couldn’t get on board with this most basic tenet of MC life, he had no future there. Given his career as a trauma nurse, chances were Gabe came in contact with the cops frequently. Hell, he might even be friendly toward some, which was fine, but when it came down to it, he’d have to know where his loyalty laid.
And that would be with the club no matter what.
Curly would accept nothing less.
Not after the last time.
After what felt like an hour delay, Gabe finally shook his head. “No problem. And you can call me Pulse. Did a tour as Navy corpsman and went by Pulse.”
“Pulse. I like it.” Curly made a note to question the guy further. He’d be vetting each of them before swearing them in. Tonight was for making connections and getting to know each other, not a deep dive into anyone’s background.
“You gonna make us prospect?” Jinx asked. The guy was freaking huge. He probably hauled those tires around Ty’s shop like they weighed nothing more than a sack of feathers.
Curly unfolded his arms and rubbed his hands together as he met Tyler’s eye. It shouldn’t be his decision alone, but his cousin would be of a like mind. “I’m thinking no for the seven of us. It’s a good place to start. Anyone else will have to. You got someone in mind? We’ll let ’em hang around a bit, then take it to the table for a vote on letting them prospect. Maybe just two hang arounds at first. Until we’re sure it all jives.”
They chatted for a while about Curly’s vision for the club and the basics of how it would run. Dues, legit business opportunities, partnering with the club on business if necessary. Curly had money to spare and a deep interest in investing in the community, but he wasn’t going to toss his cash around without thought. Nor was he quite ready to admit his financial situation to these guys.
Lip service was great, but loyalty would only be proven with time. After all, he’d been through, trust wouldn’t be handed over in one meeting no matter how many promises they made or how well they all clicked.
After a while, the conversation shifted from business to random bullshit, and Curly found a few rickety folding chairs in his garage so he and Ty could sit with the guys. They drank and laughed, already comfortable with each other.
Jinx was the only man who didn’t already own a bike, but Tyler had a hookup for him, so he should have that settled by the end of the following week.
“Any of you guys try out that new strip club?” Jake asked after passing another round of beers out. “The one on State Street.” He’d told them all to call him Lock as his friends and family had called him by the nickname for years.
Tracker nodded. “Been there a few times. They got some quality dancers.”
Jinx frowned as he looked at Tyler. “That the one your mom works at, Ty?”
Curly snorted, almost shooting beer out his nose. Damn, that guy had some quick fucking wit.
“Cute,” Tyler said, flipping Jinx off. “You come up with that all on your own?”
“Sure did,” Jinx said with a laugh.
The only one who’d stayed relatively quiet was Gabe. His behavior didn’t qualify as standoffish, but he didn’t jump in as the others did. Maybe he was just reserved, or maybe he wouldn’t be a good fit. Only time would tell.
The doorbell chimed, killing the conversation.
Tyler frowned. “You expecting anyone else?”
With a glance at the clock, Curly frowned. “Shit.” Seven on the dot. With the unexpected presence of his new club members, he’d forgotten he’d invited Brooke. What would the sexy little dog trainer think of the crew of burly bikers overflowing his house?
As Curly rose to his feet, Tracker jumped up as well. “I got it, prez,” he said with a wink, then darted for the door as though they’d known each other for years rather than a few short hours.
“Don’t be an ass,” Curly called out, which was followed by Tracker’s laugh.
The rest of the guys at the table sat with raised eyebrows and curious gazes. When he invited Brooke, they’d only expected to be getting together with Ty, but here they all were, buzzed and acting a fool.
“Well, hello there, gorgeous,” came from the door, followed by a low growl.
“Quiet, Ray, it’s okay. Um, hi. I hope I don’t have the wrong house. I’m looking for Curly.”
Brooke was there.
She’d showed up, which meant she wanted his help. Surprising since he assumed her encounter with Prick would only ramp up her desire to go all Lara Croft and take the guy down herself.
She intrigued him with her feisty independence, her ballsy take no prisoners attitude, and those caramel-colored eyes he could have stared at all day. The second she’d snapped at him for helping with the dog kennels, she’d earned his respect and his genuine curiosity.
A woman like Brooke was so different than the women he’d spent his former life with. She reminded him of many of the Handlers’ ol’ ladies who were in complete contrast to the needy, manipulative, status-hungry club girls he’d been with as the Outlaws’ president.
Still, he needed to keep his eye on the prize: putting a stop to the illegal dog fighting ring. A woman didn’t factor into his life plan in any way beyond a bit of stress relief. Certainly not a relationship.
Been there, had the thick scars to prove it.
CHAPTER NINE
BROOKE COULDN’T DECIDE whether the man who’d answered the door terrified or intrigued her. Ray seemed to be just as ambivalent. His ears drew back, and he stood at attention with a slight forward tug on the leash. She patted his head to let him know everything was fine.
For now.
Covered in tattoos, the man who stood in the doorway wore a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and tattered jeans along with scuffed work boots. A strip of inky black hair ran down the center of his scalp—his tattooed scalp—while the rest of his head was smooth and hairless. Two silver rings glinted from one of his nostrils along with a ring in his eyebrow. Each ear had a gauge at least a half-inch wide, and finally, a silver hoop clung to his lower lip.
If it wasn’t for the amused grin and sparkling green eyes, she might have turned and fled back to her car. Guess the four bikes outside the house should have clued her in that Curly wasn’t alone.
If she’d gotten the right house. Part of her hoped she hadn’t.
“That’s a handsome bodyguard you’ve got there. I’d give him a scratch, but I’m afraid he’ll take my hand off.” The inked giant winked.
His easygoing smile and apparent charm disarmed her but not Ray. He wasn’t yet convinced there were friendlies in the house. And that’s why she’d taken him along. Sure, Curly hadn’t done anything to make her feel uncomfortable, but he had a sketchy past.
Compared to the passive and meek woman she’d been during her marriage, she was damn strong and able to handle whatever life threw at her. Still, walking alone into the home of a man she didn’t really know, a man with violence in his history, without caution, would be stupid. And she wasn’t a stupid woman. She still had the potential to freeze up or be overpowered. Making the trip to Prick’s farm alone had reminded her of that frustrating fact, but she’d been too worried Prick could have aggressive fighting dogs on premises to take Ray.
“You’ve come to the right place, sweetheart. Come on in. I’m Tracker, and your man’s in the kitchen. Straight down the hall.” He took a step back and held the door wide.
“Oh, no, he’s not my man,” she said, but Tracker had already turned his attention from her. “Okay,” she whispered. As she and Ray made the short trip to the kitchen, she couldn’t help but take in the place. The house was small but relatively neat and clean though sparsely decorated. It seemed the perfect size for one single man.
Curly was single, right?
Most of the furniture was outdated, as was the general style of the place. Paint peeled from a few walls while others appeared to have received a fresh coat. She couldn’t find any feminine touches, suggesting he didn’t live with a woman. Had the house sat abandoned the entire time he’d been in prison?
“Right through here,” Tracker said, sweeping his arm in a dramatic gesture as she passed by.
“Thanks.” She entered the dimly lit kitchen only to halt at the sight of a bunch of large, gruff men crammed around a tiny round table. Ray growled with intent this time, and she didn’t shush him.
Curly immediately stood and made his way to her despite the snarling shepherd at her side. By the time he’d taken two steps in her direction, Ray recognized him and eased off the vicious dog routine. Tension on the leash disappeared, and his fluffy tail wagged as though she’d just offered him his favorite treat.
She tended to trust Ray’s instincts, but this instalove was a bit ridiculous. If she wasn’t careful, he’d be humping Curly’s leg and slobbering all over the man she’d thought about way too much in the past few days.
“Hey,” she peeped, then cringed at the weakness in her voice. Her husband’s abuse had been of the psychological and emotional variety, not physical. Well, except one time at the end, where he’d snapped and attacked her. He’d slapped her so hard her head spun like that kid in The Exorcist. She hated that all it took was a few bigger and slightly menacing men to have her squeaking like a mouse. She rarely spent time with groups of men and was sorely out of practice in terms of socializing. For all she claimed to be tough and independent, part of her couldn’t escape the instant discomfort.
“Hey, Brooke, sorry about the kids,” he said as he crouched down to give Ray the attention he demanded. “Their mothers were supposed to pick them up by now, so I’m not sure what’s going on. Hi, Ray. Such a good boy, looking out for your mama.”
The other guys booed and heckled him as he winked at her while he still loved on Ray.
Brooke could have kissed Curly at that moment. Not only because he looked so yummy in a snug olive-green T-shirt with jeans riding low on his slim hips, but he seemed to sense she needed some levity to set her at ease.
“Hey, guys,” she said, lifting a hand in an awkward wave.
“Hi, Brooke!” They chorused in a dramatized greeting, all wearing big cheesy grins.
She laughed and blew out a breath. Okay, whoever these men were, they didn’t come off as a threat to her or Ray.
“Bunch of jackasses,” Curly grumbled, earning him a smile from her. “Want a beer?”
“Yes,” she said. “Please.” A few.
He straightened to his full height, then placed his hand on her lower back and gave her a gentle nudge toward the table. She wanted to wiggle around and get that hand to rub all over her and maybe slip under her tank top to find her bare skin. Instead, she forced herself to step away from his touch. Her body reacted to him in ways it had never responded to a man before, and she had no plans to encourage it or him, no matter how wild her thoughts ran. She wouldn’t be fooled into a man’s trap by hormones and muscles.
“Take my seat, and I’ll grab you a drink.”
“Oh, no, I don’t want to steal your seat.”
“Brooke?”
The way he said her name, in a commanding but also respectful tone, had her knees weakening. “Yes?”
“Take my seat.”
“Okay.” But only because she didn’t want to make a scene in front of the rest of the people.
As she approached the table, a blond guy kicked the chair out so she could sit. She bit off a laugh. Must be some form of tough-guy chivalry.
Another man grunted. “Classy, Jinx. No wonder you don’t have a woman.” He held out his hand. “I’m Tyler.” He thumbed over his shoulder to Curly, who was pulling a beer from the fridge. “His cousin. Beautiful dog you got there.”
“Thank you. I’m Brooke,” she answered. “And this is Ray. Lie down, buddy.” He plopped down next to her chair, resting his head on his front paws.
The other four guys introduced themselves as well. By then, Curly had deposited a chilled bottle of beer in front of her. “Thank you,” she said as he propped his ass against the cream-colored wall next to her. Heat wafted off his body, practically searing her with its intensity. “I’m sorry I’m crashing the party.”
“Nah, no party,” Tyler said. He seemed to be around Curly’s age, which she guessed was a few years older than she was. Maybe mid-forties. “Just working on getting the new MC up and running.”
“Oh, wow.” A new MC? She cut a glance Curly’s way to find him studying her with dark eyes. Bending some rules to get his help with the dog fighting ring was one thing but partnering up with a man who had a hand in everything she knew him to have been involved in changed her comfort level.
Sliding her chair back an inch, she glanced down at Ray, who still seemed chill as could be. Maybe it was time to go.
“We can bug out so you and your woman can have some time,” the one called Gabe interrupted her escape. He seemed the most serious of the men even though he told her to call him Pulse, which she wasn’t sure she could pull off.
“Oh, no, I’m not his—” she said at the same time Curly said, “Stick around a few more minutes.”
She waved at him to speak again as she reached for Ray’s leash. “Sorry, go ahead.”
He winked then said, “Don’t run away just yet. I want to run your situation by the guys if that’s okay?”
What was she gonna say? No? She was on his turf, surrounded by six large bikers all staring at her. “Sure, of course, it’s okay.” She dropped the leash and forced herself to relax in the chair.
“Brooke is a dog trainer, and she runs a small rescue operation from her property.”
Tracker snapped his fingers then straightened in his seat. “You know, I knew you looked familiar. I do SAR for Find Me, Inc. and I think you’ve worked with some of our pups.”
