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Nodding, Scott leaned forward and planted his forearms on the table. “Yeah, Prez, I’m good. I, uh, lost my shit. Saw Dante with his hands on Livy, and I—”
He blew out a breath. Fuck, remembering it threatened to destroy his post-fucking high.
Curly lifted a hand, making Scott bite off his next words. “Not looking for an apology. Don’t need it. Don’t want it. Pretty sure any of us would’ve reacted the same way if we’d gotten there first.”
“Damn straight,” Tracker murmured. The guy was fun and, on the surface, more chill than the rest of them, but he had a steel core.
“You might have gone overboard but fuck it. Dante was on our property, putting his hands on a woman who didn’t want it. One of our women at that. He’s damn lucky to be breathing. And he’s still breathing this morning. At least as of two hours ago when Pulse checked with his nurse.”
One of their women? They viewed Liv as one of them? Did they think she was his? Why the hell did that light him up inside? Scott lifted his chin toward his brother in thanks. Pulse must have called in a favor to get Dante’s nurse to reveal patient information and break the strict medical privacy laws. Much as he’d have loved to hear he’d sent Dante down to hell, Scott didn’t need a murder charge mucking up his life. Pulse nodded back.
“Y’all know I’ve been trying to keep this club under the radar. I want no part of the men I used to ride with, and I don’t trust the cops for shit,” Curly continued. “But that’s not possible, and I should’ve been prepared for something like this. I knew my return would stir up shit in the area, but I underestimated how much.” His troubled gaze met Scott’s head-on. “Last night is on me.”
When the guys started protesting, Scott the loudest, Curly lifted his hand. “No. It is. I should’ve done more after all that shit went down with Maverick and his ol’ lady a few months ago. Lobo’s gone dark, but the rest of them have been a pain on our collective asses. That ends today.”
Lobo was a young and hungry biker responsible for the kidnapping of Maverick and his ol’ lady around Christmas time. They’d been down in Florida visiting from the Handlers’ mother chapter in Tennessee. The club had rescued them before they suffered worse than bruising and cuts, but Lobo escaped. Since then, no one had seen hide nor hair of the fucker, but his errand boys made themselves a nuisance.
Until last night. Dante crossed the line from irritant to threat. And now shit was on.
“Here’s what we know about them. Lobo’s old man was in my club over a decade ago. He died of an overdose a few years before I went away. You all know that club fell to shit, but anyone who lingered in the area seems to be coming out of the woodwork now that I’m back.”
The state awarded Curly a multimillion-dollar settlement for his wrongful imprisonment. It was hush money. Something to keep him quiet about the crooked cops and horrendous management of his case. Little had they known, Curly wasn’t one to run his mouth to the media, but the money sure as hell didn’t suck. Especially since he’d been able to afford the Handlers’ property and renovations without batting an eye.
His old club caught wind of that cash, and the members who still lived in the area wanted a piece of the pie. They were butt hurt to be excluded from the Handlers MC and had banded together to form a disorganized club with Lobo at the helm.
“We have two women living on the property right now,” Curly continued. “And while they’re both pretty kick-ass, Lobo had made it clear he has no qualms about going after ol’ ladies.” His eyes shot to Scott. “Or any woman. So here’s what I’m thinking.”
Scott leaned back in his chair as he absorbed Curly’s plan to keep the property safe and rid themselves of Lobo and his crew. The guys might have thought he was in a fucking bouncy mood, but they’d find otherwise really quick if anyone else tried to put their hands on Olivia.
She might not be his for the long term, but she was for today, and he’d be damned if some piece-of-shit biker wannabe laid a hand on her again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HOW HAD HE gotten her phone number?
Olivia had been careful to cover all her tracks. Or so she’d thought. Before leaving town, she’d ditched her cell, left her computer behind, emptied her checking account, ditched her car, and paid for everything in cash. A quick how-to-disappear-yourself Google search gave her step-by-step instructions to hide from an abusive ex.
Money wasn’t an issue, at least not yet. The cash she’d withdrawn would hold her over for quite a while, especially since Curly refused to let her pay rent. None of her new possessions were the luxury designer brands she’d grown up owning. She rarely spent money, and once the cash ran low, she had the secret trust left by her grandmother.
