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Curly wrapped a hand around her arm and tugged her out of Prick’s reach. If the asshole was as unpredictable and volatile as he used to be, she needed to be out of swinging distance.
“Hey!” she grumbled.
“You can say your piece.” Curly murmured once she was at his side. “Just don’t trust that motherfucker for shit.” Her silky skin teased his fingertips, practically begging them to stroke and explore.
She studied him with uncertainty in her brown-eyed gaze as though deciding whether to argue her independence and capability. After a brief moment, she nodded.
He gave his attention back to Prick. The years hadn’t been kind to the once muscular biker. The six-pack he’d taken pride in had been replaced by a jiggling gut that hung over his jeans and stretched his T-shirt. If Curly wasn’t mistaken, Prick had a yellowish hue to his skin and not as many teeth as he’d once had. Petty as it was, Curly felt damn good about keeping his own body in tip-top shape over the past decade. Then again, if he hadn’t gone to prison where working out was one of the only enjoyable activities, he might have turned out as slovenly as Prick.
“I heard you bought this shit hole. Figured I’d swing by and let you know I’m back in town. For good.”
“Yeah, um, I heard…” Prick pulled his ball cap off and ran a hand through his thinning blond hair before replacing the hat. “I heard you were released. That the whole case was bullshit. That’s uh, great, brother. We should grab a beer. Catch up.”
So that’s how he was gonna play it. Pretend he hadn’t broken an oath by plunging a knife in his president’s back and destroying the entire MC. Curly tilted his head. “You’re brave.”
“What do you mean?” Prick fidgeted as though unable to stand still under the scrutiny of a man he’d fucked over.
“You’re brave to risk having a drink with me. To risk me smashing my bottle against the bar and slitting your throat with a shard of glass.”
Brooke sucked in a breath while Prick’s throat worked up and down in a hard swallow.
He’d probably shocked the hell outta her and killed any chance of adopting a dog off her, but Curly couldn’t help himself. He’d hungered for the opportunity to witness this exact fear in Prick. He might not want to return to the gritty club life he’d lived in during his time with the Outlaws, but he wasn’t soft. And he wasn’t stupid. Never would be. Life had made sure of that.
A betrayal like Prick’s wasn’t something he could overlook.
Prick knew it too. He’d be sleeping with one eye open for the foreseeable future. And that fact was almost as pleasurable as a good fuck.
For one hot second, he imagined a naked Brooke spread out on his bed with that mane of brown hair tousled and a sated look in her eyes.
All right, this was a distant second to a good fuck, but damn fun nonetheless.
Running a hand over the scar on his throat, Curly smirked at Prick. “Or maybe I’ll show up one night while you’re sleeping with a toothbrush I sharpened against my bed and use that to slice you up. Just to even the score a bit.”
From the corner of his eye, he caught Brooke’s mouth hinge open. No doubt she’d noticed his scar and wondered about it but would never have guessed its cause in a million years.
He could feel her stunned gaze on him, heating his skin as he watched Prick’s reaction.
“Shit,” the other man said. “That how you got, uh…” He motioned with his finger, drawing a line across his own throat.
“It is. About a month in. I was in a pretty shitty head space when they first locked me up, as you can imagine. Mouthed off to the wrong person.”
Prick cleared his throat and scratched his rounded stomach. “Yeah, uh, I can imagine. Being innocent and all.”
Tension filled the space between them as quiet ensured. Brooke seemed to sense it and react. She stiffened as though on high alert. The feel of her flesh against his palm kept him grounded. If she wasn’t standing beside him with her slightly citrus scent wafting his way, he was likely to wrap his hands around Prick’s neck and rejoice as the man turned various shades of purple.
Curly had reached his limit of making nice. “How about we cut the bullshit, huh?”
“Wha—”
He released Brooke and stepped toward Prick. “I’m chartering a new club here.”
Prick’s eyes lit as though he thought he had a chance in hell of patching in.
“This is now Hell’s Handler’s territory. You aren’t welcome in it, and neither is the shitty little group of boys you ride with. So fair warning, in case you plan on wearing colors of any kind.”
