Rocket (Hell's Handlers MC Book 5) Read online

  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

  Epilogue

  Author Note Amazon

  Acknowledgements

  FB Group

  About the Author

  Rocket

  Hell’s Handlers Book 5

  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 © 2019 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

  Audiobooks

  Audio

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  Logan “Rocket” Carrera has a history he prefers to leave buried under prickly layers of standoffish personality. He’s seen and done things that would make most people lie awake at night. A master of compartmentalization, he’s never had trouble moving on until the night he rescues the redheaded Chloe from a sadistic gang.

  Kidnapped, beaten, and abused by criminals, Chloe has a difficult time assimilating back into the world after the most traumatic experience of her life. With each passing day, her anxiety builds until she’s forced to find an outlet. Finally, Chloe discovers her own way to make sense of the world and steal a few moments of peace. There’s just one problem: she can’t tell a soul what she’s doing. Who could ever understand the risk she’s taking?

  Unable to stay away from the fascinating woman who’s screwing with his head just by breathing, Rocket tails Chloe as often as he can. His curiosity over her actions borders on obsession. Before long, and despite the MC president’s orders to keep his distance, Rocket succumbs to the urge to approach her.

  Logan, the handsome man Chloe meets in a bar, gives her exactly what she needs. He’s accepting of her unusual requests in a way she hadn’t thought possible. The fantasy unravels, however, when she discovers who he really is, the outlaw biker who saw her at her very lowest moment. Will Chloe be able to accept Logan as the biker, Rocket, and allow him into her life enough to help her heal? The answer won’t matter if his violent past sucks him away before she has a chance to try.

  PROLOGUE

  WAS IT FINALLY over?

  Could she dare to take a breath? To release some of the tension in her coiled, ready-for-battle yet exhausted muscles?

  Not that any of her vigorous struggling, foul-mouthed screams, or hostile threats had made any impact. From the second the two flea-ridden thugs nabbed her in the parking lot of a Subway restaurant of all places, Chloe had been as helpless as a baby lamb. One needle full of God knew what and some duct tape ensured she hadn’t been able to do more than wiggle in vain.

  The moment she’d woken, bound and stuck in the trunk of a car, she’d known she was in deep trouble. Before she even had time to assess just how screwed she was, an itch had sprouted up on the tip of her nose. With her arms secured behind her back, and unable to alleviate the problem, the annoyance had turned into a full-fledged drive-me-crazy itching. What she’d have given to have had that insignificant irritant be her biggest problem. She’d trade full-body intense itching over what she currently felt any day of the week.

  A strangled laugh left her, causing her chest to lurch up and down in a painful spasm. “Uggh,” she groaned as the movement brought her back to the present and reminded her of the agony she’d endured in the hours since they dragged her from that car.

  Fifteen minutes ago, the four men who’d made her last two days a living hell had exited the dingy motel room they’d delivered her to, and all had been quiet ever since. Well, if she discounted the incessant noise in her own head. One of the men, a vile piece of shit in a filthy wife beater with a red bandana tied around his head, seemed to be the ring leader. Wasn’t too hard of a deduction to make. Each time the action-movie wannabe opened his mouth, the other three, his minions, jumped to do his bidding.

  They’d called him Lefty. The way they used his name freely should have been a clue that she was in seriously hot water. The first time she’d watched them scramble to complete his orders, she’d snickered. Bunch of no-balled weaklings unable to do anything more than follow a Rambo-look-a-like’s demands. Then the sadistic bastard gave her some insight into why they all rushed to do his bidding. That snicker had won her a first taste of true, all-consuming fear.

  Sure, she’d been afraid when they stuffed her in the back of her trunk—damn her for being too lazy to cook dinner that night. But after she let that tiny laugh escape, the very second it had tumbled from her lips, she’d received her first nightmare come to life.

  Lefty’s grimy hand had closed around her throat in a move so quick her brain didn’t catch up until her air supply disappeared. With her arms flailing about, her eyes bugged, and her mouth uselessly flapped open and closed. In what felt like only a second, blackness had encroached in her peripheral vision. The darkness had closed in until Lefty’s face was a pinpoint, and the room loop-de-looped. Just as her body began to fall limp, he’d slackened his hold. She’d sucked in air like it was water for a parched man in the desert.

  For about forty-five seconds there, she’d been certain death was coming for her. But the torment hadn’t stopped there. The next forty-eight give-or-take hours had been full of enough trauma and terror to alter the entire course of her life.

  They’d planned to sell her. Her! A twenty-seven-year-old redhead who was too tall, and too vanilla to be desirable by any man who’d be in the market for a plaything. None of that seemed to matter to Lefty or his crew. She knew because she’d tried every tactic she could drum up to get them to release her.

  She’d told them she’d only slept with two men in her entire life.

  She’d told them she was boring.

  She’d told them she had six burly brothers, all SWAT cops who’d be hunting them within hours. A stretch, but what could it hurt to try? Besides her body, that is. Each time she’d tried to manipulate them, she�
�d been hit with fists, a belt, or sometimes a boot.

  Despite her efforts, nothing had worked. Hell, she’d been so desperate, she’d told them she was HIV positive. All that tall tale got her was the men’s laughter and a particularly brutal kick to her ribs. Once, when one of the men had leaned in to whisper how they’d break her, how when this was all said and done, she’d be so used up she’d be good for nothing but sucking and fucking, she’d bit him.

  His earlobe to be precise. It was the only thing she could reach being tied to a chair and all.

  He hadn’t liked that one bit.

  At one point, on the second day of being a prisoner, all but one of the men had disappeared. The lucky guy left behind had leered at her for about an hour before growing bored and disappearing from the room she was held in. For two blessed hours, she’d had peace. Until bad turned to worse.

  Lefty had returned with his thugs, ranting, raving, and smashing things around the…house? Shack? Apartment? She still never found out where they’d taken her. She hadn’t been alert enough to take note of her surroundings after the ride in the trunk. Plus, it’d been dark as hell. Most of what Lefty had uttered during his tantrum had been muffled by the closed door, but she’d caught phrases like, “Who the fuck are they to give me orders?” and “Fucking Handlers.”

  The Hell’s Handlers? It was the only thing she could associate with Handlers. The Hell’s Handlers were a motorcycle gang from Townsend, Tennessee, a town adjacent to the one she lived in. The most she knew about the Handlers was that they were criminals and not the type of men she’d ever associated with.

  The final thing Chloe had caught before the shit really hit the fan was a bellow of rage from Lefty followed by, “I’ll deliver her, but she’s gonna be a fucking mess when they get her.”

  A shiver charged up her spine. Not thirty seconds later, the door burst open revealing the furious Lefty. After screaming slurs she could never have dreamed up, he proceeded to beat her until she’d lost consciousness. Something had changed because he had no qualms about taking his rage out on her face this time around. The blackness had been a far better alternative to the crushing pain of his heavy blows.

  When she’d woken, the real horror began in the form of three men who deserved castration and worse. Naked, spread eagle, and tied to a bed in what now appeared to be a cheap as hell motel room, Chloe had been completely helpless to prevent what was coming. Despite her vulnerable position, she’d fought for all she was worth. Spitting, screaming, biting, bucking hips. She even managed to get a few deep scratches in.

  None of that prevented the vicious assault. To her everlasting shame, she resorted to begging and bargaining, offering them money, and anything else she could think of to just make them stop. In the end, she drifted somewhere in her mind. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. Somewhere she could pretend she was someone—anyone else.

  Which brought her to now. Battered, bruised, naked, and so freaking cold her entire body shook in an attempt to warm itself. While she was hurting, terrified, and shamed beyond belief, at least she was finally alone, and the attack seemed to have ended.

  Someone would find her at some point, right? Friends and family would wonder why she wasn’t taking their calls. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. How would she ever face them again knowing what had been done to her? What would they think of her? Would she be subject to nothing but pity for the rest of her life?

  A sob broke through, but it was so painful, she forced the rest of them down.

  The motel’s housekeeping staff would be in to clean the room in the morning. It was night. At least that’s what the darkness peeking through the slit in the curtains suggested. Time had ceased to make sense hours ago. She felt bad for the unsuspecting woman who’d open that door and discover the mess of her body tied to the bed. Chloe barked out a laugh.

  Shit. She was losing her mind. Shock, maybe? Pain induced delirium?

  Did it matter?

  The question now was why was she there? Didn’t seem to fit with their plan. Would a guy who wanted to purchase a live sex toy want one with a swollen, bleeding face who’d just been raped? Unless that’s what he got off on…

  God, she couldn’t even go there. No, this had to be something else. But what?

  Right before he’d…finished, Lefty had whispered in her ear. “You can thank the Handlers for this.” There it was again. Reference to the Handlers.

  Chloe carefully drew in a long, slow breath. As she started to exhale, the air caught on a sob.

  No! This wasn’t the time to think about what they’d just done to her. This wasn’t the moment to let the reality of what she’d endured sink in. That could come later. In order to survive, she’d have to remain detached. Think of it as though she were watching an episode of Law and Order SVU. She could recognize the horror of it, but it wouldn’t actually touch her. Later…later she could shatter.

  She craned her neck, trying to get a peek at the binds securing her hand to the bed, wincing as the action stretched the abused skin of her face. A quick tug of her arm made her gasp then hiss. Her shoulder ached from being trapped overhead for hours. Oh, and the arm wasn’t going anywhere. There had to be an entire roll of duct tape wrapped around her wrist, which was then secured to the leg of the bed with another million yards of tape. Where were the scissors when a girl needed them?

  She couldn’t even think about how badly she had to pee.

  With an uncomfortable groan, she gently returned her head to a neutral position. Relief was instantaneous. At least for her face and neck, the rest of her still throbbed in an angry rhythm.

  The door knob rattled seconds before a loud thud had a man appearing in the doorway to the room. Instinct made Chloe freeze as though being immobile would somehow shield her from discovery. The guy was big. Big and dressed in black from head to toe. Black boots, black jeans, a black leather jacket, a black helmet with the face shield down. If it weren’t for the dim light shining outside her motel room, he’d have probably blended in with the dead of night.

  Boots, leather, and a helmet.

  A biker.

  Her breathing sped until she was practically hyperventilating.

  You have the Handlers to thank for this.

  Was he a Handler? Had he come to finish the job? There she was completely vulnerable once again to whatever this newcomer wanted.

  “Goddamned, motherfucking, pieces of shit,” the man behind the helmet said.

  Chloe trembled, unable to utter a sound beyond a squeak of fear at the vehemence in the man’s tone.

  Had she just hopped out of a scorching hot frying pan directly into the fire?

  LEFTY WAS GOING to die. Slowly. Painfully. In the most agonizing way Rocket could dream up, and he had quite an arsenal of horrific torture scenes to choose from.

  Unharmed.

  That was Copper’s decree. Lefty was to deliver the woman he’d kidnapped to this motel room unharmed, or else he’d have the Handlers after his ass. Looked like the guy was in the mood for a good ass fucking.

  Shit. Even through the dark face shield of his helmet, he could tell the once gorgeous woman had been brutalized. Bruises, cuts, and blood caked her naked body. Shivers wracked her, whether from fear or the cold, he had no idea. Probably a combination.

  This wasn’t the scenario he’d expected, and fuck did it complicate shit. Plan was to rescue the woman, maybe act a little gruff and spook her into keeping her mouth shut. Keep her away from the cops.

  Further frightening a woman who’d been kidnapped and assaulted wasn’t exactly Rocket’s idea of a stellar plan, but it was the best they had. If they wanted to deal with Lefty in their own way, and they fucking did—now more than ever—then she had to stay away from the police. Usually a few well-placed threats the MC never intended to carry out had people jumping on board with their plan, no questions asked.

  Now? Well, now the hospital was their destination which meant the cops would be involved no matter how much he wished it wasn’t so. A
woman didn’t pop up at the ER looking like this one and not have the damn pigs called. But it was unavoidable. She needed medical attention beyond what the club could provide. They really needed to get a doctor in house.

  Eyes that held a familiar terror stared back at him. Years of highly classified, black-ops missions had found Rocket in some of the worst hellholes on earth, witnessing atrocities far worse than he’d seen since he joined the Handlers—and he’d seen plenty there, too.

  Yeah, scared gazes were all too recognizable to him.

  He lifted both hands in as non-threatening a gesture as he could pull off considering he had one thing on his mind.

  Murdering Lefty.

  “Won’t hurt you,” he said, the words somewhat muddled by the face shield. He fell silent. Often, keeping his mouth shut proved to be the best way to get what he needed. He’d give her a minute to process, let her decide if she wanted to trust him. Not that she had much choice. He was her one ticket out of there.

  “Y-you, you’re a b-biker,” she said through chattering teeth.

  Even Rocket noticed the chill in the room. The bastards must have cranked the AC just to fuck with her. Both her nipples stood fully erect and Rocket would bet his nuts she was the furthest thing from turned on a woman could be. “I am.”

  “Hell’s Handlers?”

  His eyebrows drew down, not that she could see, but he remained silent. She’d continue talking. People always did. Silence needed to be filled.

  “Don’t t-touch m-me.”

  “Fuck.” Keeping his hands at shoulder height, he advanced five steps into the room. Even though the woman couldn’t go anywhere, she seemed to shrink away from him.

  “P-please d-don’t come c-closer.”

  He nodded again. “I’m here to get you out of this place.”