Curly (Hell’s Handlers MC Florida Chapter #1) - Lilly Atlas Page 0,29

cheek, near the corner of her mouth, eliciting a full-body shiver. “W-what are you doing?” she asked, unable to keep the breathlessness out of the question.

“You had hair stuck to your lip. Just getting it for you.”

“Oh”. She touched the spot on her face, still tingling from his touch. “Thanks.” Time to get this back on track before she grabbed him by that sexy hair and begged him to teach her how sex should be. “So, uh, going to the cops is a waste of time?”

Curly pushed off the wall with a huff that sounded like pure frustration and gave her his back. After staring across the field, he faced her again. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

Shaking her head, she remained against the barn. “I can’t.” Her passion for rescuing animals ran deep. Once, her therapist had suggested she took in abandoned and abused animals as a projection of her traumatic feelings of rejection and neglect. No one had rescued her. No one had helped her escape her own hell. She’d done it on her own and now had a compulsive desire to help creatures less capable than her. That had been the last session with that therapist. Not because their accusation had been wildly out of line, but because they’d hit the nail a little too close to the head, and she hadn’t been mentally prepared to deal with the truth then.

“How long before you do something stupid like this again?”

Despite his serious question and the hard set of his face, Brooke couldn’t help but chuckle. “Honestly? Not long. I’ll need to figure out my next move, but I’m not walking away from this until I’m certain I’m wrong about the dog fighting or until I shut it down.”

She and Curly knew nothing about each other beyond a similar love of dogs, but for her, it was more than that. She’d rescue every dog in her power and make sure men like Prick paid for their crimes by whatever means necessary. No matter what it said about her psyche.

Curly studied her for so long she squirmed against the wall. That gaze of his was too intense. As though he could see beneath her skin to the heart and soul powering her actions.

“Look,” she said as she reached up to adjust what remained of her ponytail. “Thank you for the save today.” She’d never admit it, but for a few moments, she’d been closer to scared than concerned when Prick had her cornered. He’d happened upon her while she’d been peeking into the barn. Just dumb bad luck.

Years ago, she’d vowed no man would ever physically intimidate her again, and with the help of self-defense classes and the pepper spray she kept in her purse, she’d kept that promise. But today, she’d left her purse in the car, and it had been a while since she’d practiced her martial arts skills, so when confronted by a large, angry man, she’d suffered a flash of paralyzing panic.

“I will make sure I’m more careful in the future, but the cops not caring doesn’t mean I’m not going to care. There’s blood on the floor in there,” she said, pointing her thumb over her shoulder at the barn. “I don’t know where he keeps the dogs or if he even has any of his own. Maybe he just organizes it, but I’d bet my house that he’s using this barn for fighting. I’m going to find out for sure, and I’m going to put a stop to it no matter what I have to do.” Her blood heated with each impassioned word. Fuck Prick and fuck his connections to the police. That wouldn’t stop her.

Curly opened his mouth, and she raised a hand to keep him from butting in.

“I won’t be stupid,” she threw in for good measure. “I have no desire to go all psycho on him. Don’t worry. I’ll play it smart. Now, I’m sorry to have interrupted your day. I’m gonna get going.”

She stepped away from the barn, headed in the direction of her car, which she’d parked a good quarter mile down the road. As she walked past him, Curly snagged her arm. Why was it every time he touched her, no matter how platonic, every nerve ending in her skin erupted in tingly zings?

“Wait,” he said in that gravelly voice that made her stop and listen even when her instinct was to balk at being bossed around. “Twenty-four-sixty-three Breakview Drive. Seven p.m. tomorrow if

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