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“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.
