Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Not goodbye.
Never goodbye. She was as much a part of him now as the blood in his veins.
That got her smiling. “See you soon.” She blew him a kiss.
Once his helmet was secure, he coasted out of the driveway then hit the throttle, gunning his baby down the street. After a quick stop at the clubhouse, he’d be on his way to Florida. Unfortunately, the night before, Holly and LJ had thrown him a goodbye party, and he’d accidentally left the clubhouse with the wrong phone, so he needed to return it and retrieve his cell.
As he pulled into the clubhouse parking lot, he found Scott leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette. He was Chloe’s brother and not exactly a huge fan of the MC, but he came around frequently and made nice because he loved his sister. At least that’s what Rocket, Chloe’s ol’ man, had told Curly.
“Hey, man,” Scott said when Curly cut the engine. The Green Beret pushed off the wall and strode over with that classic special forces swagger. Aviators hid his eyes, and the trim, muscular body and buzz haircut gave away his all-American good boy status. “Sorry you had to make an extra stop.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Curly pulled Scott’s phone from his pocket, and they made the swap. “How long are you hanging around?”
Scott rubbed the stubble on his face. He probably only got to let it get so scruffy when on leave. “Just through the weekend. Gotta be back on base for PT Monday morning. So, I hear you’re bringing the Handlers to Florida.”
With a nod, Curly stowed his phone in the pocket of his brand-new Hell’s Handlers leather jacket. “That’s the plan. Club voted it in last weekend. They patched me in, and I’m heading down to get started on the legwork.”
“Hmm.” Gaze cast downward, Scott toed a rock with his boot.
Tilting his head, Curly asked, “Something on your mind?”
After blowing out a breath, Scott pushed his sunglasses up on his head. “Yeah, actually. Haven’t told Chloe yet, so I appreciate it if you keep this to yourself, but I’ll be getting out of the Army soon.” As he spoke, his shoulders seemed to stiffen more with each word. “Anyway, I’m looking for a place to land. Thinking maybe Florida’s it.”
Interesting.
“You don’t want to base yourself outta Tennessee? Be close to your sister?”
“Nah.” He cleared his throat. “Not now, at least. Maybe at some point.”
Curly studied him for a moment. There was a story there. A reason he didn’t want to live so close to Chloe. He’d bet his newfound freedom on it. But it wasn’t his business. He had enough of his own shit to wade through, so he didn’t bother asking Scott to tell his tale. But he was curious about one thing.
“You saying you’re interested in club life?”
“Think so, yeah.” He said with a sheepish half-grin.
This conversation got crazier by the second. From what he’d heard, Scott flipped his shit when he found out his sister was involved with a biker. “For real?” Curly arched an eyebrow. That would be quite the one-eighty if it were true. “Word around here is you think as highly of MCs as you do a wart on your ass.” If it came out a little gruff, Scott would have to ignore it. Being a biker was all Curly had ever known or wanted.
And it’d been ripped away from him.
Now he’d lived as a biker and a wrongfully convicted felon. Both labels held stigmas he’d never shake.
Scott grimaced as he went back to rolling his boot over a jagged hunk of gravel. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I may have been a little harsh on my judgment when I first met Rocket. A lot was going on with Choe back then, and I mistakenly believed Rocket was responsible for it.”
Took a big man to be able to admit when wrong. It was a quality Curly admired.
“I’ve hung around here a lot over the past few years, and it’s changed my opinion. Maybe not of all MCs, but I have no issue with the Handlers. In fact, I’ve come to have a lot of respect for these guys and think it’s a pretty sweet setup here. I just need a little separation from prying family eyes.”
As he gazed at the sprawling clubhouse, a huge cabin-style building, Curly experienced the same bizarre warmth he’d been feeling in his chest for months. “Yeah, this club is pretty damn special.”
Scott ran a hand across the back of his neck. “You hoping for something similar in Florida? I just, uh, I heard your old club was a little different back in the day. I’m not interested in a lot of the shit I’ve been hearing about it.”
With a grunt, Curly planted his hands on his hips. “My club wasn’t anything like this. We spouted bullshit about being brothers, but we weren’t. Not like these guys,” he said, lifting his chin toward the clubhouse. “To answer your questions, yes. Copper wouldn’t let me use the Handler’s name if I planned to take the club in the opposite direction of what he’s built here.”