Screw
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Author Note
Blurb
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Epilogue
Author Note Amazon
FB Group
About the Author
SCREW
Hell’s Handlers Book 8
Lilly Atlas
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Copyright © 2020 Lilly Atlas
All rights reserved.
Other books by Lilly Atlas
No Prisoners MC
Hook: A No Prisoners Novella
Striker
Jester
Acer
Lucky
Snake
Trident Ink
Escapades
Hell’s Handlers MC
Zach
Maverick
Jigsaw
Copper
Rocket
Little Jack
Joy
Screw
Audiobooks
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One biker in denial.
One woman with secrets.
One enforcer with something to prove.
Three parts of one uncertain future.
Jazmine lives with secrets she buries beneath conservative clothing and avoidance of relationships. Those secrets are just one reason she spends months resisting the advances of the Hell’s Handlers’ resident flirt, Screwball. Mostly, she can’t stand Screw’s constant parade of one-night stands and inability to be serious. But the man is charming, and her resolve is only so strong. When Gumby, a romantic interest from Jazz’s past, returns to her life, she suddenly finds herself stuck between two men who hate each other on sight yet seem inexplicably drawn together.
As the new enforcer for the Hell’s Handlers Motorcycle Club, Screwball faces a challenge he’s avoided his entire life: the heavy weight of leadership. Now he’s in charge of protecting his club as threats from an enemy MC mount. Even though he doubts himself, Screw wants the opportunity to prove his worth to his brothers. Meanwhile, he also finds himself attracted to Jazz in a way he’s never experienced. When Jazz’s eye-catching biker from Arizona shows up in town, Screw finds himself wondering if a future full of commitment might be worth leaving his comfort zone.
Having grown up with a brutal father who spoke with his fists, Gumby learned early to suppress certain sides of himself. When he crosses the country in search of a woman he can’t shake from his head, he not only finds her in danger but the object of one very appealing enforcer’s desire. He soon discovers denying his true identity can be impossible when faced with real temptation.
Can three wounded souls overcome their baggage in time to save the Hell’s Handlers MC and their relationship?
PROLOGUE
GUMBY – 1997, ARIZONA
“The fuck you doin’ boy?” Will’s dad demanded a second before his meaty palm smacked against the back of Will’s head. The soda that had been an inch from his lips sloshed over the sides of the cup, sending a spray of sugary liquid all over the paperback in his lap. “Thirteen-year-old boy at a goddammed football game and he’s fucking reading.” His father shook his head, clearly disgusted.
Nothing new there.
“It’s homework, Dad. I’ve got a test on the first three chapters Monday morning.” Why did he bother explaining?
“Pay some fucking attention. Maybe you’ll learn how to start acting like a fucking man.” His father belched as though backing up the statement with action. As though the putrid, beer-tinged burp somehow set him a level above the rest of the men in the stands.
Speaking of…
As Will turned the novel over on his lap, careful to keep the wet pages flat, he did a quick scan of the crowd. Sure enough, more than a few disapproving glances and whispers were directed his and his father’s way.
Nothing new there, either.
Will’s family was trash, plain and simple. Last year, when the school district re-zoned during the summer months, he went from living on the wrong side of the tracks and going to a crappy public school to still living on the wrong side of the tracks but now attending a public school across town.
Where the rich kids went.
The middle school he now attended was chock full of the snobbiest kids he’d ever met. Kids who were dropped off by Lamborghinis and Ferraris. Kids who wore jeans that cost more than his entire family’s monthly food budget.
His father fucking loved it. Felt the fact his rundown two-bedroom shack somehow ended up in a new school district meant his status in life had elevated.
What a joke.
His dad still got up at four every morning to make it to the chicken factory by five where he worked a line, inspecting the packaging of the birds. He earned himself a few pennies above minimum wage. By two in the afternoon, he was home with his flabby ass planted in his fraying recliner where he remained until the six to ten beers he downed each evening finally put him to sleep.
Oh, yeah, that was a man Will wanted to be like. Fuck if he’d allow himself to end up like that. If reading and getting good grades got him a better life than his old man, he’d read every fucking chance he could get.
“You paying attention, boy?” his dad asked, gaze on the field.
No. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. You should be out there playing instead of always fucking reading.” His dad lifted the glass Snapple bottle he’d set between his feet and spit into it, adding to the muddy liquid already half filling the bottle.
Will’s stomach turned as it always did and he gazed at the field. Look at that, all it took was a nasty bottle full of tobacco spit to make him interested in watching the game.
Football, sports in general, just weren’t his thing. Never had been. He was a book worm, much more interested in learning the way things worked than running around outside. Lately, he’d been gobbling up books on car engines. Why couldn’t his father praise him for that? Didn’t men like cars?
“You’re tall enough to play this shit,” his dad went on as though Will was actually engaged in this conversation. “Or maybe basketball
. Gonna be really fucking tall, like me.”
God, he hated any kind of similarity between them, even height.
His dad lifted one of Will’s arms and shook it. “Too bad these fucking things are all gangly and limp.” He snorted—a sound full of revulsion. “Long fucking arms and legs without any muscle. Guess you could be the fucking kicker.”
“Stop it,” Will said, yanking his arm free. His gaze caught one of a woman sitting a row down and a few people over. She wasn’t even pretending to hide her frown as she observed and probably listened to the interaction between Will and his father.
As the game clock ticked down way too slowly, he let his mind wander. At thirteen, he still had years of living with his father before he could get out of the house. When he was younger, he’d had dreams of leaving their shitty dust trap of an Arizona town and heading to a prestigious university. Leaving this life behind and making something of himself.
Recently, he’d read this account of a man who bought a motorcycle and traveled across the country, settling wherever he felt a connection. Sounded amazing. Perfect really. To be that free. He hadn’t been able to get the idea out of his mind.
College probably wasn’t a realistic goal. So far, he made good grades, but probably not good enough to get a full ride anywhere. And his family didn’t have two pennies to rub together. Even if they did, it sure as hell wouldn’t be given to him to use on an education. Maybe it was time to change his goals. To be realistic about what his life would be.
“I gotta take a piss and I’m gonna get something to eat. I’m fucking hungry,” his father said.
Will blinked. The game clock no longer counted down. Halftime.
He gazed around the bleachers which had really cleared out now that everyone was running off to grab a snack or use the restroom. Of course, his dad didn’t think to ask if Will wanted anything.
Just as he was about to turn over his book and try to read despite the wet pages, his attention snagged on a football player nodding along to his coach, who spoke with his hands and seemed to be giving some kind of pep-talk.
His school was up, but only by three points. A lead easily lost.
Number twenty-seven shook his head then the coach slapped him on the back and sauntered off. Twenty-seven, Carson Hills, if Will remembered correctly, set his foot on the bench, then bent forward to fix the laces. The guy was a senior. Quarterback of the football team and dating the lead cheerleader. A total cliché, but he seemed to have it all. His father was some world-renowned plastic surgeon, living in this gigantic mansion on the lake.
Carson switched feet and as he did so, his ass flexed, and Will felt a twitch and thickening between his legs. He knew what it was. Same damn thing happened when Carson’s girlfriend Lacy wore those low-cut shirts that showed off her boobs. Same thing that happened when he looked at those Victoria Secret catalogues that still came for his long-gone mother.
Wasn’t like his dad had any kind of birds and bees talk with him but the kids at school talked about sex enough for him to know exactly what it was. And he’d started jerking off recently, so…
He knew what it was to be turned on.
And Carson’s ass was turning him on.
Wasn’t the first time it had happened when he looked at a guy, either. No, that was a few weeks ago when he’d been watching some movie on TV. The star had stripped down to dive in a pool and as soon as his stomach muscles had been revealed, Will popped a boner. He’d nearly thrown up on his potato chips when he figured out what was happening. Instead, he came up with a bunch of excuses and reasons it was just a one-time thing. The leading actress had just been running around in a bikini. He was tired and not fully paying attention to what he was watching.
Whatever.
But then it’d happened again. And again. And by that third time, Will had admitted to himself what he refused to acknowledge out loud.
Both men and women turned him on.
And wasn’t that just great.
Why him? He had no problem with people being gay or bisexual. Made no difference to him at all. But his dad? God, if he ever found out—
“The fuck you lookin’ at boy?” his dad turned and sidestepped his way down the aisle. His gut nearly took the head off some oblivious spectator a row below.
Shit.
“What? Nothing.” Will straightened, and immediately tore his gaze away from the round male ass fueling his current fantasy.
“You were fucking staring at that guy.” His father’s gaze shifted between the field and Will.
With a roll of his eyes Will said, “You’re crazy.”
This time, the smack to the back of his head nearly knocked him off the bench. “Watch your fucking mouth, kid. I know what I saw.”
The stands were filling once again, so Will stared at his feet. Maybe his dad would lay off if he didn’t react.
“Better not be staring at some fucking guy, boy. Didn’t raise no fucking fag, did I?”
A few gasps came from the surrounding spectators. Will kept his gaze fixed on his worn sneakers as shame burned in his cheeks. “No, sir,” he whispered.
“What?” his dad said, seeming to only get louder. “Can’t hear you. Said I didn’t raise no fag, did I?” He didn’t care one bit that his offensive slur was not only overheard by dozens, but that it cut like a knife into his son’s soul.
“No, sir,” Will said, louder this time. Nothing would be better at that moment than if the bleachers would crumble, sending him crashing to the ground twenty feet below. Probably be the only thing to distract the horrified people wondering how trash like them ended up at this school.
“That’s right.” His father nodded before shoving a handful of nachos into his pie hole. “I find you looking at a dude’s ass again and I’ll show you how we deal with fags in our family. You hear?” he said with his mouth full, crumbs spraying with each word.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Look at her over there. That’s what you should be staring at.”
Will shifted his gaze to the woman his father ogled. She was a brand-new teacher in her early twenties, and she was gorgeous. With those short jean shorts and tight tank top, she did it for him just as much as the football player.
“A hot one, ain’t she, boy,” his dad said with a lecherous chuckle.
“Yeah.”
Thank God he didn’t have to lie.
CHAPTER ONE
“HEY, BROTHER, TALK to you a second?”
A heavy kick to the bottom of Gumby’s foot had him grunting and rolling the creeper out from under the vintage Mustang he’d been fighting with for the past few hours. He stared up into the laughing face of Acer, one of his brothers in the No Prisoners MC.
“What’s up, brother?”
“Jesus, you’re a fucking mess. What the hell happened?” Acer asked with a raised eyebrow. He folded his arms across his chest and took a step back as though the grease would magically jump off Gumby’s coveralls and onto Acer’s ninety-dollar Ralph Lauren shirt. The boujee fucker.
“Let’s just say squirters aren’t good in all instances.”
“Take your word for it,” Acer said with a wink.
“You do that.” Gumby dropped his feet to either side of the creeper and curled to a sit. Using a rag almost as dirty as his skin, he massaged his left hand. An old injury made the damn thing ache from time to time. “So what’s going on? You need me for something?”
Acer studied him for a moment before fishing a piece of paper out of his pocket. Slipping it between his index and middle fingers, he held the slip out. “I found her.”
Gumby’s stomach dropped straight to the floor. “Come again?”
“Found her, brother. She’s in Tennessee. That’s the address where she works.”
Unable to formulate a response, Gumby unfolded the paper and stared at the written address as though he’d somehow know how to get there.
Tennessee.
Tenne-fucking-see. A good chunk of the way across the god
dammed country.
Why?
“A diner?” he finally said, looking up at Acer.
His brother shrugged. “Looks like it.”
With a slow nod, as his brain tried to process the information, he said, “You sure it’s her?”
“Yeah, brother, I’m sure. She’s been using her father’s last name.”
That news had Gumby’s spine straightening. “Her father?”
Being a Sunday afternoon, the club-owned auto garage was deserted except for Gumby, who’d decided to get a jump on this impossible project he was working on for a buddy.
Another shrug from Acer. “Yeah. That’s why it took so long to find her. No hits trying her last name, or her stepfather’s. I figured she musta made something up. Then last weekend, I tracked down her stepbrother. Remember that fucker?”
Gumby nodded. Jazz’s mother remarried when Jazz was just a kid. The guy had a son who had to be a good ten plus years older than Jazz. He popped up from time to time, usually got in some trouble with the law, misdemeanors mainly, then jetted back out of town not to resurface again for a year, sometimes more. Usually he came around when he needed his daddy to fork over some money. “Has to be two years since I’ve heard he was around. Weird motherfucker.”
“Yeah, that hasn’t changed. He’s in lock up.” Acer pushed away from the cabinet.
“No shit?”
“Yep. Some kinda psych institute for criminals. Apparently, he attacked some girl in Chicago about six months ago. Fucked her up good. He’ll be locked up for a good few years. Anyway, I asked if he knew anything about where Jazz might be. The guy laughed and said, and I quote, ‘That fucking bitch wouldn’t call me if she was on fire. But she should. I’m the only one who can help her.’”
What the fuck? “Seriously?” Was that why she left? Was she in some kind of trouble the club hadn’t known about?