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And all this happened the morning after the sheriff found out his little princess was living next to and being touched by a biker? No fucking coincidence there.
“Shit,” LJ said, rising to his feet. He then wandered toward his kitchen where the coffee should be waiting in the pot, hot and fresh. “This is on me, brother. I’ll see if there’s a way I can fix it.”
“Nah,” Rocket responded. “This guy wants us, Jack. Starting to think he’s willing to stoop damn low to get us. This ain’t on you. Wasn’t this, it’d be something else with this asshole. Don’t you dare go down to the station to plead our case. Ain’t giving him the satisfaction of knowing he got to us. We ride this shit out and come up with our own plan. Asshole has no idea who he’s up against.”
LJ hummed his agreement as Holly’s face flashed before his eyes. He may be pissed at her, but she didn’t deserve to be caught in a war between the cops and an outlaw MC. And that’s what it would be. A war. Not the type they’d have if another club went after them, but a war just the same.
LJ hit the speaker button and placed the phone down next to him as he prepared his coffee and grabbed the last energy bar from the box. His heart rate had finally returned to normal. The distraction of club business helped. “Why do I have the feeling this is going to get ugly?”
“You and me both, brother,” Rocket said. “You and me both. All right, listen, I called you before Cop, so I better go fill him in. He’ll probably call church for later today even though it’s Saturday.”
Construction was frequently a six to seven day a week business that didn’t seem to care if the rest of the world was off each weekend. “Okay, brother. Thanks for filling me in. I’ll take care of calling the crews to cancel for today.”
“Thanks, LJ. Put them on standby for the next few days too. No idea how long this shit is going to take to play out.”
“You got it.” He took a sip of his coffee and sighed when the warm liquid seemed to wake up sleeping nerve endings after just one hit of caffeine.
Just as he was about to hang up, Rocket spoke again. “Hey, you okay? Sounded off when you answered the phone.”
“Eh, shitty night,” LJ said with a shrug as though dreaming about his best friend’s horrific death was no big deal.
Rocket knew otherwise. He was the only one who did. Copper was aware that LJ had PTSD on paper, but even their president didn’t know the extent of it. They were coming up on the three-year anniversary of Mick’s death. Wasn’t uncommon for the nightmares to increase in frequency and intensity at this time of year. The freak-outs during the day too. And weren’t those always a blast of fun wrapped up in panic and humiliation?
“Need to talk about it?” Rocket asked.
“Nope.” Same standard offer and refusal of an ear they’d used on and off over the years.
With a snort, Rocket said, “You need to get yourself a steady woman, J. Best way to stave off a shitty dream is to roll over and fuck your woman.”
Yeah, no chance in hell of that happening. All it took was one incident in which LJ lashed out and nearly strangled a girlfriend in his sleep to keep him from so much as dozing in a woman’s presence. Poor girl had to wear a scarf for weeks due to bruising on her neck. She’d refused every attempt at an apology and basically told LJ to rot in hell.
Nope, now he got in, got down to business, and got the hell out before the condom hit the trash can. He wasn’t willing to risk hurting someone or be treated as an abuser again.
“I’m good, thanks, Rocket. Don’t need a steady woman to get what I want.”
“I ain’t just talking about fucking, Jack. But I think you know that. And I know exactly where you’ve been.”
LJ slammed his coffee mug on the counter. Hot liquid sloshed over the sides, scalding his hand. “Shit!” he barked as he yanked his hand back and shook it out. “Then you know exactly why I ain’t willing to risk falling asleep next to a woman.”
“There are things that can help, brother.”
“Fucking tried it all.” He could practically see one of Rocket’s eyebrows lift as though to say, “Who you trying to fool?”
“Okay, I’ll quit with the psychobabble. Just know that I get it and I got two good ears should you need one.”
This right here was the part of the MC someone like Holly, and especially someone like her father, would never understand. They were blinded by fears of criminal activity, violence, and rumors of wild parties full of illicit sex. But they had no idea what resided at the core of a club like the Handlers. Family. A brotherhood with bonds stronger than blood. Blood didn’t mean shit in many cases. Just ask most of his brothers.
