Rocket (Hell's Handlers MC Book 5)

by Lilly Atlas

  Hours? Felt like days ago.

  “Logan, this is seriously one of the most gorgeous places I’ve ever seen. I’m blown away by your talent and skill.”

  It took him a few tense seconds, but finally he spoke. “Thank you.”

  Okay, looked like this getting-behind-his-walls plan might not be as easy as she’d anticipated.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “HOW LONG DID it take you?” she asked, an open smile on her pale face. That complexion of hers was something he’d have to remember if she was on the back of his bike frequently. Riding for hours could fry anyone, especially a fair-skinned redhead like Chloe.

  Rocket closed his eyes and rubbed at an ache throbbing against his temples. Felt like someone was taking a hammer to the sides of his head. Fuck, he was losing his mind. Planning to buy a woman sunscreen so she wouldn’t burn on the back of his bike? Chloe was the first woman who rode behind him ever. Full stop. Not a single ass had touched the second seat. Who even knew why the hell he had it? But he wasn’t gifting her permanent real-estate back there. “Few years working on and off. Was never able to give it full time hours.”

  “Let me do that.” Soft but surprisingly strong fingers batted his hands away, then landed on either side of his head. Gently, much more so than he’d been, she pressed in and rubbed soothing circles on his scalp. The pain evaporated almost instantly, replaced by a comforting pressure that nearly made his eyes roll back in his head. The feel of those fingers, and the awareness of her close proximity had him losing sight of the big picture. His body tightened, muscles contracting, dick hardening, stomach tensing as he fought the need to tackle her to the ground and pillage.

  Chloe was making progress, but an overtly aggressive come-on could send her back into her shell.

  “Talk to me,” she said, voice low and calming as though she fretted over making his headache worse. Rocket was a mean motherfucker. His kill count was higher than most people’s bank balance. Yet he was fucking putty in her hands, ready to spill whatever she wanted to know. The CIA could use her, hell DarkOps could employ her to uncover any host of national secrets from the country’s enemies.

  “Talk about what?”

  “Why you were upset today. Your life before the club. Anything. Give me a piece of you no one has.” Her hands smoothed down his scruffy face, over his shoulders and down until she circled his wrists. The woman had no idea. Something no one else had? She was fucking standing in it. Copper was the only one of his brothers to ever enter his home, and that was one time, three years ago.

  The club had Rocket’s loyalty above all. There wasn’t a thing he’d do to betray his brother’s trust or turn against them. Despite it all, he kept so much of himself private. Copper once suggested he was punishing himself for his violent past and Elena’s suicide by cutting himself off from any kind of deep relationship. Rocket had no idea about all that psychotherapy shit, but he did know he’d given Chloe more of himself than any other person.

  And by doing so, he’d made a mistake. Gave in to a dumb idea in a weak moment of stress. Sharing their secrets, surviving trauma, and battling enemies was binding them together in a way he couldn’t allow. DarkOps would always feel he owed them. Could come for him, guns blazing, at any time. Not to mention the number of enemies he’d racked up over the years. Yes, he’d been careful with identities and aliases, but none of it meant shit if someone or some government figured out who he was. Bringing a woman into that kind of risk wasn’t just stupid, it was cruel.

  Had nothing to do with punishing himself or whatever bullshit Copper wanted to spew. It was just logic.

  Easiest way to break the hold Chloe had on him was to shatter her illusions of what kind of man he was. What kind of man she’d allowed inside her. He wouldn’t even have to pretend to be an asshole to push her away. Sharing the story of his life would be enough to make her leave. But she’d be safe from whatever ghost may come for him, including the ones in his head.

  “You want to know what my life was like before I met Copper and prospected with the club?” Even he recognized his hostile tone was over-the-top, but he couldn’t stem it. Powerful emotions he’d never dealt with were fucking with his head day and night. Something had to give and telling it to her straight would be the swiftest rip of the band aid.

  “Yes,” she said, gorgeous green eyes shining with sincerity. “I want to know.”

  He backed an extended step away from her, rubbing his knuckles. Something to pound would have been perfect right about then. That’s who he was. A violent bastard. Born to it. Trained for it. Excelled at it. Not the kind of man a woman stayed with long term.

  “I separated from the Marines at twenty-three when I was recruited by DarkOps. They scouted me out due to my skill with weapons. Pistol, shotgun, bombs, sniper rifle, you name it, I made it my bitch.”

  “Okay,” she said folding her arms across her chest as though she didn’t know what else to do with them. The move closed her off, and he immediately missed the open and warm connection from earlier.

  “Spent five years working directly under Esposito. All my operations were off-the-grid classified, no back up, solo missions.”

  She blinked, waiting for the punch line.

  Fuck it. Beating around the bush would take too damn long. Wasn’t his style anyway.

  “I’m a fucking killer, Chloe. Best assassin in the company. You know, I don’t even keep a kill count anymore. Number got too damn high.”

  Her naked lips pressed together so hard they turned white at the same time a deep furrow appeared between her eyebrows.

  He turned and paced the length of the room, rubbing at the back of his neck. First time he’d said those words out loud in over six years. Why did experts recommend getting shit out in the open? Was spilling his guts supposed to be cathartic? Because it fucking wasn’t. With each word, Chloe’s light had dimmed a little more. Granted, making her despise him was the point, but he felt like complete garbage in the process.

  Turning to face her, he let the frustration and self-loathing take control of his tongue. “Esposito wouldn’t hesitate to grab you, or Toni, or Shell and dangle you like a fucking carrot to get what he wants. And what he wants is me. His killing machine. Back under his thumb. That’s what I bring to the table, babe. That’s what I tossed on your doorstep and brought to my club. Fucking death and danger. Don’t you think you’ve been through enough in the last few months?”

  He’d expected the sharp crack of her palm to connect with his face. The least of what he deserved for who he was.

  “Why’d you walk away?” Chloe asked instead, voice calm though her body still portrayed a strong hands-off vibe with her crossed arms, hunched shoulders, and flat eyes. “I’m assuming the people Esposito sent you to…uh…eliminate were pretty bad people. Terrorists? Murderers? Evil dictators?”

  This conversation needed to end. He had to walk out of the room and away from Chloe before he lost his resolve. But he opened his mouth instead. “At first, I vetted the missions myself. Researched the targets. Yeah, they were the worst of the fucking worst. Did shit you couldn’t dream up in your nastiest nightmares. Over time, I trusted the information Esposito gave me and stopped doing my own investigations.” He turned away, staring at the cold, unlit fireplace. Having Chloe in his private space felt nice. Too nice. Imagining her dozing on the giant sofa with her head in his lap while a fire roared a few feet away was too easy a picture to paint. Ridiculous fantasies for a different type of man. One that worked nothing more than a nine-to-five job, whose worst habit was leaving day old grounds in the coffee pot, and who would never bring psychotic mercenaries to her world.

  “My last mission, something didn’t add up. When I looked into it, I found my mark was basically nothing more than a fucking mob hit. Some asshole wanted someone who’d pissed him off taken out. Esposito was the highest bidder, so we got the job. I was seconds away from wasting the guy when my gut started ranting at me. I bailed and dug into the situation. What I f
ound made me sick. Some family man with a gambling problem owed the mob a boatload. He couldn’t pay and the boss wanted to make an example of him. I walked on the spot and Esposito let me go. Think he knew he’d lose me if I ever found out what he’d been up to. But there was a catch, of course. I owe them because I had years left on my contract. So far, I’ve staved off all their attempts to collect. Doesn’t seem to be working this time.”

  “Hmm.” She said, cocking her head as she rested her hands on those curvy hips. Where her eyes had a dull, shocked glaze to them a few moments ago, they shot fire now. “So, the second you found out the company you worked for was less than honorable, you left. Pardon me, Logan, but I’m not seeing the problem here. Sure, you had an atypical job that required you to do something most couldn’t imagine doing, but, come on, I’m not naive. I recognize that type of work is necessary to prevent acts of terror, wars, and other horrible atrocities.”

  Rocket snorted. What the hell was she playing at? She was way too understanding. Why wasn’t she walking away? Seeing him for the monster he was? Chloe was supposed to make this easy on him because fuck if he was strong enough to tear himself away from her.

  He stormed toward her. As he breached her personal space, towering over her, Chloe’s eyes widened. Fear flashed. Just for a fraction of a second before it gave way to concern once again, but it was there.

  Rocket deserved to be shot for this. Even if the ends justified the means. “That’s the thing, babe, I didn’t walk because they violated my moral code. I don’t have one. There’s not a goddamn thing I wouldn’t do under the right circumstances. I walked because I won’t be used.”

  Chloe’s mouth dropped open and her eyes flared so wide he almost laughed despite the sickness in his gut. Let her chew on that while she’s thinking about what kind of man she wanted in her life.

  “Master’s at the top of the stairs. It’s all yours,” he said as he brushed past her. He had to get the hell out of there before her shocked gaze turned to one of disgust.

  “Logan,” she called out as he was halfway up the open staircase. He didn’t answer. Just trudged on, ignoring both the plea in her voice and the sharp pain behind his ribs.

  WHAT THE HELL had happened?

  Chloe had asked herself that question at least a hundred times in the past—she rolled over and glanced at the bedside clock—eight hours. It wasn’t even that late, only ten p.m., but Rocket had disappeared shortly before four, leaving Chloe on her own and confused as hell. After the kiss at the clubhouse, and Rocket taking her to his gorgeous and apparently secret home, she’d been sure their relationship was taking a step forward. Where exactly that step would have led, she didn’t have a clue, but she’d been ready and excited for it. Turned out they took a step all right. Two of them. Two giant strides backward.

  “Argh!” She rolled over, planted her face in the pillow and let out what would have been an ear-piercing scream had the feathers not absorbed the sound. For good measure, she threw in a few fist pounds and kicks to the mattress.

  It didn’t help. She was still frustrated beyond words. Both emotionally and physically.

  With a huff, Chloe sat up. Trying to sleep was a giant waste of time. After puttering around the first level for a while, she’d scrounged up something to eat, watched a movie on Netflix, then had given up around eight-thirty. Ninety minutes of ceiling-staring and obsessing later, she’d had enough.

  What bothered her most, was the line of bullshit Logan fed her at the end. That nonsense about not having a moral code. Serious bull. The man had a very strict moral code. Sure, it might not be in line with everyone else’s or even with the law, but she didn’t believe for one second he only quit DarkOps because he felt used. No, that man walked away from a dangerous job with a deadly company because he discovered his employers were evil. And Logan vanquished evil, he didn’t condone it.

  He’d not only rescued her from hell, but he accepted her idiosyncrasies—if you could call tying random men up and screwing them nothing but an idiosyncrasy—and reminded her not all men were out to harm her.

  Yeah, she’d take him. Warts and all. Or at the very least she’d try. There was still the question of whether she’d freak out having any kind of normal sex life. Only one way to find out.

  Chloe slid her legs over the side of the bed, shivering when the air hit her bare skin. Only thing she had on was her skimpy panties and a T-shirt of Logan’s she’d pilfered from his dresser. Smelling him all around her was too tempting to resist.

  Quiet as can be, she tiptoed barefoot down the hall to the only closed door. Not that he’d ever admit it, but Logan was hurting. His past caused him shame, and the fact that his past was interfering with his present sent him spiraling.

  He needed to know she didn’t blame him. None of his brothers or their women blamed him. And not a single one of them, her included, would hold his history against him. Hell, no one would even think less of him for it. In fact, she’d bet he’d been able to use his skills to benefit the club on more than one occasion.

  Six months ago, those thoughts would have scared the hell out of her. Violence of any kind hadn’t been a direct part of the life she lived. Then it found her, transforming her world. And if she were honest with herself, the idea of having a trained killer sleeping under the same roof was more a comfort than a deterrent.

  She came to a stop outside his door. After a quick prayer that she could give Logan what he needed, she stepped into the quiet room only to stop dead when his piercing blue gaze drilled into hers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  SPENDING COUNTLESS NIGHTS in hostile territory had honed Rocket’s ability to maintain awareness of his surroundings while still catching some sleep. Wasn’t really something he could teach or explain. Just a skill his body developed as a result of exhaustion combined with fearing for his life. His body demanded sleep but had an innate sense of self preservation, so it found a way to rest while staying alive. As such, he woke the second Chloe padded within three feet of his door.

  Expecting her to knock, he sat straight up in the bed. The sheets only covered his lower half, which was buck naked and already reacting to the thought of her nearness. Nothing he could do about all the skin on display up top unless he wanted to dart across the room naked and risk her walking in. Not that she hadn’t seen it all before. Still, she was skittish and probably not expecting to walk in on him naked and hard.

  Seconds ticked by with no movement beyond the closed door. Had she changed her mind? Decided whatever she’d needed from him wasn’t worth the effort? He wouldn’t blame her after the bombs he’d dropped earlier. Or the way he’d abandoned her in his house without so much as a “here’s where the bathroom is.”

  He was torn, split down the middle by greed and selflessness. The altruistic half—okay, maybe one third—of him hoped she’d just turn around and scurry back to the safety of her room. Lock the door for good measure. The other side, the side that was a selfish, horny bastard wanted to call out to her, pull her into the room, and have her in all the ways he’d imagined since he started following her around.

  A soft snick sounded through the room immediately before a sliver of light appeared by the door. The crack grew until the door was open, illuminating Chloe standing frozen with wide eyes.

  Rocket stiffened—everywhere. Goddamn, there wasn’t a single piece of lingerie for any amount of money that was sexier than Chloe standing there in nothing but his worn T-shirt. He swallowed, adjusting the sheet in a lame attempt to hide his boner. All he could think of was whether she had anything under the shirt or if the soft fabric rested directly against her tits and ass.

  “You okay?” he asked, voice noticeably strained.

  She stared for a few seconds before starting forward. Step by step those long, sleek and very bare legs ate up the gap between her and the bed. Being held close by those silky thighs while her ankles crossed behind his back was a vision he had both awake and asleep.

  “Can’t sleep,” she
finally said as she reached the bed. “I have a few things to say to you.”

  Fuck.

  Here’s where she informed him what fucking scum he was.

  As if he didn’t already know. Most days he was good with it. Good enough to keep his past from the forefront of his mind. But ever since he’d met Chloe, he felt dirty.

  Without being invited, she slipped into the king-sized bed next to him. Rocket clenched his jaw so tight, his teeth squeaked.

  Don’t fucking look. Don’t fucking look.

  He looked.

  Of course.

  Curled on her side with one hand under her head, she peered at him. The goddamned T-shirt had ridden up, exposing her creamy thighs and the three fucking freckles that drove him nuts. Saliva pooled in his mouth at the thought of running his tongue over the trio. If this was his punishment for the sins of his past, it hit the fucking mark. One lick. That’s all he needed. Just a hit of her flavor to slate the hunger.

  Okay, that was a fucking lie.

  A sample would never be enough. If she gave him a taste, he’d devour the whole fucking meal.

  “Chloe, you need to cover the fuck up.” The words came out harsh.

  One half of her mouth curled up in a semi-smirk. He was around painted up women daily at the clubhouse, yet the sight of Chloe’s naked mouth was sexier than any shade of lipstick he’d ever seen.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said.

  He snorted. “No?” Grabbing her hand, he pulled it across his body until it rested right over his hard-on. “That make you a convert?”

  Her soft chuckle did nothing to ease his desire. Her hand curled, giving him the slightest squeeze.

  “Fuck me,” he said on a groan as he stared up at the ceiling. Yeah, there most definitely was a God and he was in full-on smiting mode.