chuckle. Wasn’t often someone got one over on the big guy. “Back to where…it all happened?”
With a last huff of laughter, Curly said, “Yeah. Surprised me too, but I can’t get it out of my head. I’ve got a place there. Not much else, though. Cops arrested most of my club brothers shortly after I was locked up, and the others scattered around the country. The majority of my family dropped contact after I went away.” Not that he’d ever been close to them. He’d been an only child of a deadbeat alcoholic and a mom who’d passed young. “Had a cousin who kept in touch somewhat. But, uh…” He swirled a lock of hair around his fingers. It’d taken eight months to grow it from the buzz cut to chin-length. Back in the day, it’d been well past his shoulders and a mess of curls, hence his handle. Of course, it’d also been jet black without all the grays, but he could blame the stress of prison on that one.
He shrugged. “It’s my home. Where I grew up. What I know.” And he had an increasing need to prove he wasn’t what every single person in his hometown thought of him.
A loser.
An animal.
A child killer.
“Hey,” Copper said, drawing Curly’s gaze. “I get it. You’ve got unfinished business. You feel you got something to prove. Even if it’s only to yourself.”
Huh, maybe Copper did get it.
“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.” Never one to beat around the bush, Curly stared Copper straight in the eye. “What would you think about opening up a charter in Florida? More specifically, me opening a Hell’s Handler’s charter in Florida?”
If he thought he’d surprised Copper with news of wanting to return to his hometown, he’d been mistaken. Now, the president’s eyes nearly fell out of his head.
Curly laughed. “You need to work on your poker face, man.”
Copper joined in the laughter, back to rubbing his beard. “Shit, man. Wasn’t expecting that at all. You caught me off guard. I fucking hate surprises.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I’m not real good at easing into shit. Find it better to put it out there.” Not to mention his basic social skills, at least for polite conversation, had suffered after spending thirteen years surrounded by nothing but angry felons and embittered prison guards.
“No, man, it’s all good. I’d rather you give it to me straight.” He ran a hand down his face while huffing out a rough chuckle. “Shocked the shit outta me.” He cocked his head. “Just so you know, you don’t have to prove shit to anyone—even yourself. What went down with your arrest and conviction wasn’t your fault. You’re a victim like any other.”
A victim. Since meeting Copper, Curly considered the burly president wise beyond his years. But in this, he was dead wrong. “I may not have had shit to do with Joy’s death, but you can’t exactly call me innocent.” He shrugged as though not bothered by the facts that kept his mind churning long into the night. “My club wasn’t like yours. You got good people here. Hard-working, moral—even if it’s your own code—you’ve got a fucking family. My club was a rowdy band of common criminals and thugs with a handful of nastier fuckers thrown in there. Way I see it, those thirteen years were the universe’s way of getting back at me for all the other fucked-up shit I did.”
The drugs he’d sold.
The deadly weapons he put into men’s hands without a thought of their use.
The shit he’d stolen.
The people he’d threatened, assaulted, hurt.
Hell, if the universe were just, he’d still be rotting in that cell. But for some reason, he wasn’t. Now it was time to take the gift he’d received and do…something with it.
Copper leaned his massive form across the desk. “Come on, man. Doesn’t work that way. If it did, I’da been right there in the cell next to you. So would most of my men. You know who spewed that same bullshit?”
Curly lifted an eyebrow instead of responding.
Copper wore a fierce expression of indignation. “Holly’s fucking father. No way I’m gonna let you get away with thinking of yourself the way he thought of you.”
Fuck.
Curly ran a hand through the hair which had given him his name. One day it’d be long again, and he’d feel more like himself. Or so he kept promising himself. In reality, he feared he’d never be entirely comfortable in his skin again. It was as though someone had