Screw Page 5

  Her eyebrows drew down as her lips stuck out in a glossy pout. The action he’d usually use to his advantage only annoyed him for some reason. “You forget I was here or something?”

  With a chuckle, he signaled for Thunder and pointed to the Tequlia. “Of course not, darlin’. Who could forget you?” Yes, he had, he’d completely spaced out about the woman he’d been talking to three seconds before simply because he thought he’d caught a glimpse of the woman who’d run from him for an entire year.

  Now that Jazz was on his mind, one thought bounced around his brain. What would she think of his news? Would she be proud? Would this finally be it? The thing that tipped the scales and drew her to his bed?

  Only one way to find out.

  “Sorry, Darla, I gotta run. Thunder, you’ll take care of her?”

  “Sure, Screw,” Thunder called from the end of the bar.

  “You on a tight schedule or something?” she asked, voice all sex. She wasn’t gonna let him go until she made sure he knew what he’d be missing out on.

  “No.”

  Darla stepped close, pressing her ample tits to his chest. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate her assets. “So how about before you run, we hit one of those rooms and I send you off with an even bigger smile on your face.”

  “Take a rain check?”

  “Promise?” There was that pout again.

  “Sure thing, sweetheart.” He kissed her cheek, then made for the exit.

  When he was halfway to his bike, Screw stopped cold. Did he just turn down a sure thing in favor of a woman who’d probably give him a handshake at most?

  Never once since he started fucking at the tender young age of fourteen had he walked away from a guaranteed orgasm. Now he’d done it twice in one day. Oh, hell, who was he kidding, he’d been doing it for the past two weeks.

  What the fuck was wrong with him?

  Had to be the stress of the holidays and the shock of all Copper and Viper had thrown at him that afternoon.

  Couldn’t be the gorgeous pixie who’d become a near obsession.

  Nope.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JAZZ TUGGED ON the sleeves of her tight gold sweater as she made her way to the bar. They ended about five inches above her wrist which was a little higher than she was comfortable with, but Toni had threatened her life if she didn’t purchase and wear the sparkly thing to tonight’s party.

  When she’d left Arizona, fled really, she’d been in such a dark place, she’d anticipated spending the rest of her life hiding from the world. Her body and mind had been so messed up, she’d needed to leave her life behind and start fresh—alone. But the women of the Hell’s Handlers MC had a way of sucking you in with their warmth, fun, and sisterhood.

  The party was for Screw—at least in part—because he was now the club’s enforcer. An honor for sure, and a huge show of faith from Copper and the other members of the exec board. They’d held church right before the party where they’d all obviously voted in agreement with Copper’s choice.

  The clubhouse was nuts tonight. Wall to wall people packed the place, drinking, dancing and causing the usual mayhem. Jazz loved the energy of it all. The happiness of her friends and even the guests she didn’t know letting lose, forgetting their stress, and partying the night away. Even the depressing news of Viper stepping down from his position as VP hadn’t killed the mood. Could be because he threatened to slash the tires of anyone who moped or bitched, or so she’d heard from Cassie earlier that day.

  Just as she’d finally wormed her way close enough she could actually see the bar, some giant man’s knuckles collided with her cheek. “Ahh, shit,” Jazz cried as she doubled over, cradling her cheek, or what was left of it. God, it felt like he’d crushed all the bones on the right side of her face.

  “Fuck, lady, you need to watch where the hell you’re walking.” The words were spoken slowly, as though the speaker had to think extra hard about what he wanted to say. Their pace didn’t matter though, the message came through loud and clear, firing Jazz’s blood.

  “Excuse me?” she said as she straightened and looked up…and up…and up.

  Shit, this guy was huge. Dressed like a lumber jack just off the job, in fitted jeans, a red flannel, and tan work boots, he scowled down at her with brown eyes and a very bushy beard.

  “Ever think you shouldn’t wave those big ape arms around in a room this crowded?” For crying out loud, how was she supposed to know the lug was gonna be flinging those things all over like they were tentacles instead of arms? Man, her cheek stung. Probably gonna leave a mark too.

  “What did you say to me, bitch?” The big guy moved in front of her, blocking her path. His beer sloshed out of its long neck as he used the bottle to point at her.

  She jumped back with a yelp. It was one thing to slap her across the face, and quite a another to spill beer on the two-hundred-dollar suede boots she’d treated herself to for her birthday last year. Some crimes were unforgiveable.

  A few of the partiers had taken notice of the drama and backed up, making a small circle around her and moron over there. So much for anyone jumping in to help. Drunk people certainly had their priorities straight. “Look,” she said, forcing her stance to relax. It wasn’t as though she could convince this guy to do anything with her physical stature. Not when he towered over her by a good foot. She lifted her hand from her face, holding it and the other up in surrender. “Let me pass and we’ll forget all about it. I’m just trying to get myself a drink.”

  Or ten.

  “Don’t think so,” he said crossing his arms over that massive chest. The beer bottle dangled from his fingers, swinging like a pendulum.

  Jazz sighed.

  “Maybe you don’t know how shit works around here, but bitches show respect to the men in the club.”

  Was he for real? Jazz laughed. “You’re not in the club, asshole.”

  His eyes narrowed, practically shooting darts her way. “The fuck you say to me?”

  She rolled her eyes. Was he this dense? “You’re not wearing a cut,” she said with exaggerated slowness as though speaking to someone of lesser intelligence. “That means, you. Aren’t. In. The. Club.” As she spoke, she used her forefinger to punctuate each word.

  Just as the guy reached out, a growled, “What the fuck,” came from her right side. The asshole dropped his arm at once, and Jazz’s eyes fell closed in a combination of relief and resignation. Couldn’t someone, anyone else have come to her rescue?

  “I asked what the fuck is going on here?” Screw asked, getting up in the guy’s face despite the fact he had a good five inches on Screw.

  “Screw, it’s nothing,” Jazz said, reaching for his arm. “Just a misunderstanding. Let’s forget it and enjoy the party.” Her hands closed around his bicep, or at least tried to. It was too big to circle. She tugged him back toward her. As Screw resisted being dragged away from the conflict, his muscles flexed, nearly popping her hands right off him.

  Dayum, when had he bulked up so much?

  “This bitch don’t know how to respect members of the club,” the guy said as though he had the right to comment on anything Handlers related.

  Jazz groaned. Here it came.

  “You ain’t in my fucking club,” Screw said, his voice more lethal than she knew he was capable of.

  “Not yet, working on it. Supposed to meet with Copper tomorrow about prospecting.”

  With a snort, Screw turned, and finally looked her over. Apparently, the accidental slap did leave a mark because his face went from pissed to murderous in a fraction of a second. Nostrils flaring and fists clenched, he started to turn back toward the asshole.

  “No! Screw, wait!” Jazz grabbed the open flaps of his cut and yanked with all her strength. He didn’t budge forward, but he stopped turning which was enough of a win. “It was an accident, okay,” she said, speaking quickly. “He was flailing those big arms around when I walked by and he clocked me. Just a little red mark”—she
hoped—“No permanent damage, and nothing to get worked up about.”

  Time stood still as Screw’s hand lifted and settled against her sore cheek. “Don’t give a shit,” he whispered. “No one fucking touches you without bringing you pleasure.”

  “Ahh,” her eyes widened as her jaw fell to her knees. Being momentarily stunned allowed Screw to break her hold and turn back to the now snickering asshole.

  Despite being smaller, Screw charged the guy, shoving him back with both hands against his massive chest. The hang-around’s back hit the bar, bending in what had to be an painful angle. “I’ll tell Copper your meeting is canceled,” Screw growled.

  All around them gasps and curious questions flew as more and more people clued into the drama unfolding.

  Jazz’s face heated, but not because of the slap. God, how she hated being the center of attention. As she moved toward Screw, she tugged the too short sleeves of her sweater down in vain.

  “Screw!”

  “Everything okay, brother?” LJ asked as he appeared inside the circle of doom.

  At six foot six, he was much closer in size to the asshole.

  “Just taking out the trash,” Screw said, yanking the asshole to a standing position.

  “The fuck?” the guy said. “You can’t throw me out. I’m meeting with Copper tomorrow. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  “Oh, shit,” LJ said. “I’ll get rid of him for you, brother.”

  “Thanks.” Screw leaned in closer and said. “I’m the club’s fucking enforcer and I sure as fuck can toss your ass outta here. As for respect? You don’t fucking deserve it, but the lady does. I want to hear a fucking apology.”

  “S—” Her mouth snapped closed at the deadly look Screw shot her.

  “Let’s go, fucker,” LJ said, shoving the guy forward.

  With fists curled and face so read it bordered purple, the guy stepped into Jazz’s space. Though she wanted to cower, she held her ground.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” lumber jack said. “Be more careful next time.”

  “T-thank you,” she said, feeling every single eye in the place on her. Goddamn Screw.

  LJ shoved and the lumberjack stumbled but regained his footing, hoofing it toward the door. With Screw’s attention on the retreating back of the asshole, Jazz escaped toward the bathroom. She hadn’t run into any of her girlfriends yet, though she’d spotted most of them clear across the clubhouse. Too far with the blaring music to notice what had just gone down.

  After checking that her face was still intact, if a little angry, and reapplying her lipstick in a pointless attempt to draw attention away from the cheery red mark on her cheek, she exited the bathroom. If she’d thought she needed a drink before, she’d been dead wrong. Now she needed a drink.

  “Fucking Christ, woman,” Screw said as he grabbed her arm and towed her down to the end of the hall, ensuring privacy. Before she had the chance to react, her back met the wall and Screw’s hand cupped her cheek once again

  “It’s really all right. Just red and sore. Probably won’t even notice it by tomorrow night.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said, gaze on her cheek. “Shouldn’t have happened. And he sure as fuck shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

  “While I agree on both counts, the first part truly was an accident.”

  “Hmm,” he said as he leaned forward.

  Her breath caught. Danger! Danger! Sexy man way too close. “W-what are you doing?”

  Suddenly his hand disappeared from her face, replaced by the soft brush of his lips. “Kiss to make it better.”

  Jazz trembled. Her breath froze in her lungs. Why did he have to feel so good? How could the simple stroke of his lips across her cheek have her more fired up than her last lover ever did? His mouth was soft, but firm at the same time. When he did it again, this time closer to her ear, a run of goose bumps erupted down the side of her neck.

  “Screw,” she whispered, more of a plea than anything else.

  But for what?

  To stop, of course. It had to be for him to stop. It was the only smart choice.

  “Screw,” she said with some force this time.

  He drew back. Their gazes locked, and for several seconds the rapid thump, thump, thump of her heart was the only sound in her head.

  “Congratulations,” she finally said. A safe topic though it came out hoarse and strained. “Looks like that meeting with Copper was a good thing.”

  Screw cocked his head, studying her. She held her breath. What did he see when he looked at her?

  “It was,” he said with a nod before taking hold of one of her wrists and lifting it to his mouth. “Showing forearm today, huh, Jazzy? Pretty flashy for you.”

  She yanked but couldn’t break his gentle but iron clad hold. “Let go,” she said through clenched teeth. She should be grateful he’d ruined the charged moment as usual, but all she felt was annoyance.

  “Not yet.” He nipped her flesh then, the bare skin of her forearm right where her sleeve ended.

  Jazz fought the urge for her eyes to roll back as her knees threatened to buckle.

  “Hey, what’s this?”

  Shit.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Screw rubbed his thumb over a two-inch-long raised scar peeking out from her sleeve. This time when she jerked her arm away, he released her.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, rubbing her wrist. “Cut myself on a nail sticking out of my parents’ fence. Happened years ago.”

  If he noticed she didn’t make eye contact as she spoke, he didn’t say it, just watched her as though peering through her head to all her secrets. Jazz shivered and she couldn’t say if it was arousal or unease. The two seemed to run side by side where Screw was concerned.

  He leaned in and as if by reflex, Jazz’s hands went to his chest.

  Push or pull?

  The theme of this game they’d been playing for months.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered as his mouth once again moved toward her face. Only this time, instead of kissing her or the red of her cheek, he turned his head, presenting the side of his face.

  “Waiting for my thank you kiss. Now that I know you like to give them out.”

  She should shove him away. Needed to make him leave. But his face was so close. The new beard he’d been working on the past few weeks had started to fill in. That rough texture would tickle her lips and be so warm against her mouth. Before her brain even had time to tell her to stop, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek in a long peck.

  “Mmm,” he hummed. “That’s nice.”

  Jazz let out a slow, shaky breath as she leaned away from Screw. He turned to face her, and their gazes met before his shifted to her mouth. He was close. Too close. Dangerously close. Movement over his shoulder caught her eye, drawing her attention for just one split second, but it was enough to have her heart skittering to a dead stop in her chest.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered on an exhale.

  “What?” Screw turned, immediately stepping in front of her when he saw the newcomer. “You know him, Jazz?”

  Battling the intense urge to run, she stared unblinking and unable to speak.

  “Jazz?” he asked as he stepped closer.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Screw asked, his voice growing hostile.

  She needed to do something before he went on the offensive.

  Placing a hand on the center of Screw’s back, right over the Hell’s Handler’s insignia on his cut, she said, “It’s okay, Screw. This is Gumby. I know him from when I lived in Arizona.” On legs that felt like weak twigs, she stepped around Screw and in full view of Gumby.

  He looked good. Handsome. Not wearing a cut, which wasn’t surprising since he was in another MC’s territory, he still looked like a cross between a badass and a bookworm. Black rimmed Clark Kent glasses sat on the bridge of his nose giving him the studious look she’d always loved. Such a contrast between the leather jacket, heavy biker boots
, torn jeans, and mop of sandy hair. At some point over the last year, he’d filled out or maybe bulked up, as he didn’t look quite as rubbery as his name would suggest. Gumby would never be brawny like Screw, but he looked damn good with those long, lean muscles.

  Neither said anything, both taking in the changes to each other’s appearance. No doubt Gumby was wondering why she wore long sleeves and pants when he’d been so used to her in edgy little tops and short skirts.

  Finally, after what felt like hours of silent staring, Screw’d had enough. “Someone gonna tell me what the fuck is going on here?”

  Gumby’s gaze shifted to Screw, then back to her. This time, his focus stayed on her face.

  And his eyes narrowed. “You fucking hit her?” he asked in a voice so deadly Jazz gasped.

  “What? Gumby, n—”

  Gumby charged.

  Screw nudged her aside and shot forward toward a raging Gumby.

  “Guys! Stop! No!” Jazz yelled.

  Gumby’s back hit the wall with a bone-crushing thud, but it didn’t seem to faze him. He wasn’t as brawny as Screw, but he’d been boxing for years. He brought a sharp elbow up, knocking Screw’s chin. Screw’s head flew back with a grunt, giving Gumby the second he needed to free himself. Just as he was about to reverse their positions and attack Screw, Jazz dove between them.

  “Stop it!” she screamed. Thank God the music was louder than a stadium concert and this time her drama didn’t draw a crowd. Twice in one night? What the hell were they putting in the booze around here?

  Standing between the two huffing and snarling bulls, Jazz said, “That’s enough.” One hand rested on each man’s chest and she couldn’t help but notice the difference in thickness of the muscles beneath her palms. Screw’s were large, bulky, the kind that could hold a girl still while he pounded her into oblivion while Gumby’s were leaner, ropy, the kind that spoke to stamina and extended bouts of bone-melting passion.

  Jesus, what the hell was wrong with her?

  “Gumby,” she said, turning her back on Screw. “He did not do this to me. Some drunk asshole out there was waving his arms around like an idiot and accidentally knocked me upside the head.”