Screw Read online

  She let that process for a moment, until the set of Gumby’s shoulders relaxed, and he nodded once. He could always be counted on to be reasonable, thank God.

  Though she wanted to run to her car, drive away, and bury her head for the rest of the night, she had to face this. Had to face Gumby and find out why he was there. All of a sudden, visions of death and destruction bombarded her mind. Oh, God, had he tracked her down to tell her some horrible news? Bile rose halfway up her esophagus.

  “Screw,” she said, shifting her attention to the man who had her head fucked up, down and back again. “I’ve known Gumby for years. Can you please give me a few minutes to speak with him alone?”

  “No fucking way. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

  Those words should not have sent a thrill through her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THIRTY MINUTES AFTER he walked into another MC’s clubhouse and found Jazz with some fucker’s hands all over her, and a bruise on her cheek, he was seated in a booth at a closed diner, pretending he wanted the piping hot coffee she’d made. What he really wanted was to smack the smirk off the douche bag with his arm resting on the back of the booth behind Jazz.

  Though it’d be immensely satisfying, Jazz probably wouldn’t appreciate him bloodying her man’s lips. Especially since they looked so soft and full. They’d stretch to make a fucking perfect O shape as he slid…

  Oh, fuck.

  No.

  Not no; hell-fucking-no-way-on-this-mother-fucking-earth.

  Gumby may give in to that side of himself on occasion. Usually in dark corners of some seedy club, but he refused to feel even an ounce of attraction toward this man.

  This smug fucker clearly enjoying his advantage.

  After a few minutes of an intense stare down with the meathead, Jazz broke Gumby’s eye battle with the other biker by looking up from her coffee with a sigh.

  Gumby relented first, shifting his attention to Jazz.

  Fucker.

  If he couldn’t use physical violence to take the guy down a few pegs, maybe there was another way. “You look good Jazz. Gorgeous.”

  And she did. A bit thinner than she had the last time he’d seen her, which could be concerning because she’d always been very trim. She still had the pixie haircut she preferred. The one that made her look chic and sassy at the same time. For some reason the hot pink highlights stirred his cock the same way they always had. Jazz was this incredible combination of sweet and edgy that just fucking revved his engine.

  “Thank you,” she said giving him a soft smile as her cheeks turned only a few shades lighter than her highlights.

  “Damn, I sure have missed you.” He made sure to add a little intimacy to his voice. Let the brute beside her wonder about that.

  Sure enough, the guy’s face twisted into a sneer.

  “Don’t you think it’s time to properly introduce me to this asshole, Jazzy?”

  The nickname grated on Gumby’s nerves like steel wool, but he fought to keep his expression neutral. They were playing the same passive aggressive game; injecting little digs and subtle jabs in their words and he’d be damned if he lost.

  Jazz sighed again then rested against the back of the booth. Almost instantly, Screw’s arm dropped, coming to lay across her shoulders. She shot him a death look and he removed the offending limb with a chuckle.

  Interesting.

  “Screw, this is Will. He goes by Gumby. Gumby, Screw.” As she spoke, she waved her hand between the two of them unnecessarily. It wasn’t exactly brain surgery to figure out who was who since they were the only two men in the place. She had no idea what Screw’s real name was, so she went with the handle.

  When neither made a move to greet the other or shake hands, Jazz rolled her eyes. “Jesus,” she said, disgust filling the space between them. Then she rolled her eyes again and mumbled, “Stubborn fucking bikers.” Straightening her shoulders, she made eye contact with Gumby and his stomach fucking flipped. She was just so damn pretty. Sharp angles, big dark eyes, long thick lashes as dark as her hair. So damn pretty. And he’d never had her. Never been granted so much as a taste.

  And God did he want one. Maybe now more than ever.

  “Screw is the enforcer for the Hell’s Handlers MC.”

  When Gumby nodded, she shifted her attention to Screw whose suspicious stare hadn’t left Gumby since they sat down.

  “Screw, Gumby lives in Arizona, where I came here from.”

  The guy didn’t even blink.

  “Screw!” Jazz snapped. Finally, Screw turned to her.

  “Yeah, babe?”

  She rolled her eyes. “When I lived in Arizona, I ran the front desk for an auto body shop owned by the No Prisoners Motorcycle Club. Gumby worked there and is patched in the club.”

  “Huh.” With one eyebrow raised and a shitty fucking grin, Screw said, “Never heard of ’em.”

  At the rate Jazz was rolling her eyes, the things were gonna start spinning in her sockets. “And you know every MC in the country?”

  Laughing probably wasn’t the smartest move, but Gumby couldn’t help the bark that left him. At least until Jazz turned that disapproving frown his way. Damn, that thing was lethal. “You his ol’ lady?”

  Her shouted, “No!” came so fast and strong, Gumby had to bite back another burst of laughter.

  Jazz didn’t stifle hers though. Instead she nudged Screw with her elbow, but it did nothing to quell the expression of absolute horror on the man’s face. “You about to break out in hives over there? I know you’re allergic to the phrase ol’ lady. I think I have some Benadryl in my office.”

  Screw’s jaw ticked and his eyes glittered with the promise of retribution. But not directed at Jazz, no, that was all aimed Gumby’s way. He wanted to tell the guy to bring it. Sure, he didn’t have the muscular bulk of Screw, but he could damn well hold his own and cause some damage.

  “The fuck you want with her?”

  Gumby shrugged. “Just here for a visit. Want to catch up. Been a long time.”

  She bit her lower lip and wouldn’t meet his gaze. Guilt? Regrets? Or discomfort over his presence?

  Leaning forward, Screw rested his forearms on the table. “She’s lived here for over a year. Not once has she mentioned you or anyone else from Arizona.”

  He said the word as though she’d allegedly moved from there.

  “Pretty sure she’s not interested in catching up,” Screw practically snarled.

  Man, this dog was in full-on junkyard mode.

  Jazz put a hand on his arm. “Look, Screw, I can promise you Gumby is no threat to me. He’s not here to hurt me. No, I haven’t talked much about my life before I moved here, but it’s not because of him. I’m completely safe with him. Could you please give us some time alone to catch up?”

  ABSOLUTELY NOT.

  The words hovered at the tip of his tongue, but Screw bit them off. It fucking hurt though, and he swore he could taste the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth from restraining himself so hard.

  He had no logical reason to stick around and witness their sappy reunion. No right to be a part of their private conversation that would no doubt involve some emotional crap.

  Screw didn’t do emotional crap. He had no claim on Jazz and didn’t want one.

  He wanted to fuck the woman. Long, hard, and deep, but that was it.

  And yes, he wanted her safe, but she assured him she was and so far, nothing about this Gumby asshole—what the hell kinda name was Gumby, anyway—so far nothing about him screamed threatening.

  “Sure,” he said, sounding much more flippant than he felt. After scooting out of the booth, he stood and looked at Gumby. “She doesn’t leave your sight. Had some shit going on in the area lately and she’s protected by the club.”

  Though concern crossed his features, Gumby nodded. “Got it.”

  “And you,” he said staring down at Jazz. “You do not leave here without a tail. Either this fucker follows you hom
e, then you text me, or you text before you leave. Someone will come. Got it?”

  Jazz rolled her eyes but nodded. “Yes, sir,” she said with sass, but goddamn she had no idea what that did to his cock.

  Gumby did though. His nostrils flared, and pupils dilated. Was he imagining Jazz calling him sir? Maybe while he fucked her? Maybe while Screw fucked her.

  He nearly laughed out loud. That’d be something. Since he’d been shooting death glares at Gumby from the moment the guy walked into his clubhouse, he hadn’t taken the time to really look at the other man. Now that the dust had settled, he did just that.

  The guy was a looker, no doubt about it. Taller than Screw by a few inches, he didn’t have the mass or brawn that Screw had, but he had strength. Long, lean, runner’s muscles. Just the kind that Screw liked to run his hands or tongue all over. An image of Gumby naked and spread out in his bed flashed though his mind, only Gumby wasn’t the only star of this show. No, Jazz was there too, between his legs, sucking him off. She was on her knees, bent forward with one hand on either side of Gumby’s hips as she bobbed up and down on his cock. The position left her wet pussy open and perfectly lined with Screw’s cock.

  Would she gasp and pop off Gumby’s dick as he pushed into her, unable to continue with her task as the pleasure ramped? Or would she clamp down, sucking harder and stronger as she took his cock?

  Shit. Now he was hard as a fucking stone and turned the hell on by the two people at the table. Well, he might as well enjoy the fantasy, because that particular one would never come to fruition.

  “Screw?” Jazz asked with a frown.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Just thinking. You’ll text, right?”

  She nodded, forehead wrinkled.

  “Say it.”

  “I’ll text.”

  “Okay.” Thankfully, she seemed oblivious to the predicament in his pants.

  He turned to Gumby, who was clearly not oblivious because his gaze was directed straight at Screw’s crotch, which twitched under the visual attention.

  Interesting.

  “Not out of your sight.”

  Gumby jerked his gaze up to meet Screws, a flush coloring his cheeks. Embarrassment at being caught? Or something else? Dare he hope…arousal?

  Not that it fucking mattered.

  “Not out of my sight.” Gumby stood and extended his hand.

  His leather jacket fit him like a glove, and those dark jeans sat low on his trim hips. Jesus, he needed to get fucking laid.

  “Promise I’ll take good care of her.” This time there wasn’t any innuendo, just a genuine promise.

  “Yea, I just bet you will.” Screw slid his palm across Gumby’s, clasping the frowning man’s hand. The second their skin touched; electricity fired up Screw’s arm. Gumby’s hands were large with long, strong fingers and calluses. Fuck if that wasn’t one of the things Screw liked best about being with a man. Sure, a woman’s soft silky hands were amazing, but sometimes he just craved the rougher touch of a man who worked with his hands.

  “You going back to the party?” Jazz asked.

  Was he? He should. The party was partly in his honor after all, yet the urge to let loose had long fled him. Still… “Where else would I go?” he asked with a wink. “That’s where all the willing women are gonna be tonight. Think I’m in the mood for something short and red headed.” He wagged his eyebrows.

  If he hadn’t spent so much time over the past few months studying Jazz, he’d have missed the flicker of sadness that crossed her features. What did she expect? He was gonna pine after her while she walked down memory lane with this guy?

  Not his fucking style.

  “Right,” she said. “Well, have fun.”

  He winked. “Always do. ’Night, babe.” The insane urge to bend down and take her mouth in a searing goodbye kiss almost knocked him to his knees. Instead, he nodded and left. Walked straight out to his SUV without another word.

  But as he reached for the door handle, he turned and gazed through the window at the pair sitting in the booth. Gumby’s hand now reached across the table, covering Jazz’s. A soft smile tilted her lips as she reconnected with a man she hadn’t seen in more than a year. A man she clearly had history with.

  Something dark and ugly twisted low in Screw’s gut. He felt murderous and ill at the same time, wanting to smash through the glass and rip Gumby away from Jazz all while dropping to his knees to vomit the drinks he’d consumed earlier.

  The only problem was, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to beat the shit out of Gumby or shove him against a wall and fuck the shit out of him while Jazz watched.

  And waited for her turn.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JAZZ WOKE THE next morning to the same knot of guilt she’d fallen asleep with. It’d caused her to toss and turn for hours, eventually falling into a dream-filled sleep that felt completely inadequate. At least she didn’t have to work today. Though she did have a house guest to entertain.

  God, why had she offered him her guest room?

  Oh, right, the guilt.

  They’d talked for quite a while. After Gumby had reassured her everyone she cared about back in Arizona was safe, healthy, and happy, he’d jumped right in and asked why the hell she left without a word and cut off all contact.

  So she’d lied.

  At least partially. She’d told him she needed to break out on her own. Get away from the small, shitty town she’d grown up in and experience more of the world. If he thought it weird she’d settled in another small town with an MC, thankfully he didn’t voice it. Nor did he say whether he’d bought her bullshit answer.

  She hadn’t left to find herself. She’d left for one very serious and specific reason.

  Fear.

  At the time, she’d felt she had no other option and informing the MC would not only have exposed her shame and humiliation but would have set off a chain of events that could have ended in a death.

  At the time, and for months, she’d placed a huge portion of blame on Gumby. He’d canceled their date which ended up being the catalyst for events that had altered her life permanently. He’d become the focus of her hatred. Had he kept the date, she’d never have been home, never have suffered. But he’d had club business. And he’d bailed on her.

  It’d been so easy, giving him her anger. And perhaps for a time, it’d been necessary. The rage and hatred she’d harbored enabled her to leave despite the terror of venturing out into the world all on her own. She’d fed the anger, nurtured it until it grew into full-on hatred of a man she’d had very strong feelings for.

  A man who did not deserve any of her ire.

  At some point, maybe seven months ago, when she’d realized she’d found happiness in Townsend, Tennessee, her mind released some of its anger, replacing it with guilt and shame. Because Gumby was in no way to blame for what had happened to her. He’d just been an easy outlet for the jumbled mess of ugly feelings born from trauma.

  At that point, she’d convinced herself that Gumby, and everyone she’d left behind in Arizona, must hate her, which made it easy to continue to avoid contact. But now she knew the truth. They’d all suffered when she’d fled. All worried about her. All missed her.

  But none more than Gumby, or so he’d said.

  “I’ve had Acer looking for you since you left. I’ve never felt right about it. Always felt I’d done something to drive you away.” He’d stared at his hands, flat on the table as he’d said that. Something about the familiar grease stains under his blunt nails had tears forming in her eyes. Showed some things stayed the same even after the passage of so much time. Even after her life had completely changed.

  She owed him a lot. An apology. An explanation. The truth.

  The first two she’d given willingly, even if the explanation was a lie because the third was impossible.

  Jazz blew out a breath just as her phone buzzed from her night table. Probably one of her girls wondering what the hell happened to her last night. She’d shot Holly
a text as she was leaving so her friend wouldn’t worry, but didn’t exactly clue her in to what had gone down

  God, she needed some coffee and fast.

  Raking a hand through her short hair, she grabbed the phone.

  Nope. Not Holly.

  Screw. Of course.

  I’m outside. Didn’t want to startle you by knocking. Open up.

  Jazz stared at the screen. No one confused her more than Screw. The man embodied contradiction. So sweet and caring at times then completely apathetic and full of nothing but raunchy suggestions the next. Now, she didn’t mind the suggestions being raunchy, just that he flung them around to anyone and everyone in a ten-mile radius.

  Come on, Jazzy.

  With Gumby still asleep in the next room, this seemed like a terrible idea.

  I have coffee.

  Or maybe it was a wonderful idea.

  With a groan, Jazz forced her tired body off the bed and shuffled down the hallway to her front door. It was seven a.m. on her day off, and she’d yet to have a hit of caffeine. Those were the only two excuses she had for opening the door without even thinking of putting on a bra or running a brush through her wild hair.

  The minute Screw’s lips curled, Jazz wanted to sink into the ground. She may not have been blessed in the boob department, but she still had ’em and they were reacting to the sight of the sexy man in a leather jacket and skull cap standing on her doorstep holding out coffee. The new beard made him look even more roguish than usual.

  “Fuck me, you look goddammed adorable,” Screw said with a chuckle.

  Her face heated.

  “Come on in, you’re letting the heat out.” She stepped back, allowing him entry. Screw strutted in her house, because he couldn’t walk like a normal man, then set her coffee and a small brown sack on her gray wooden entry table.

  After shutting the door, Jazz took a breath and turned to face him, not at all ready for the questions he’d most likely have. Instead of grilling her straight away, he cocked his head, grinned and strutted once again, this time into her personal space. As though on instinct, she crossed her arms over her chest to hide her nipple’s response to the clean, cold, wintery scent of Screw.