“Oh?” Her blue eyes lit up. “Does this mean you’re finally going to patch in with the club?” She practically squealed with glee.
Since the moment he’d arrived in town on a mission to find and thank Holly for her role in his recent freedom, she and her club’s president had been trying to get him to patch in with the Handlers.
He’d been hesitant, to say the least.
It’d been almost fourteen years since he’d last been part of a club. And that sure hadn’t ended well. After multiple betrayals, false imprisonment, then spending over a decade behind bars, trust wasn’t exactly his thing. So while Copper ran a close-knit club, whose members were more a family than anything else, Curly couldn’t stomach the idea of putting his complete confidence in another man to serve as his president. Even a man as solid as Copper. Nothing personal, just a product of his life experiences.
“Not sure,” he said, stretching the truth a bit. “Just got some shit to talk to him about.”
With a roll of her eyes, Holly snorted. “That’s pretty much biker speak for mind your own business.” She mimicked a deep, gravelly voice, making Curly snicker. The women here had their men’s numbers, that was for damn sure.
“That’s not what I meant. I—”
“Hey, sugar.” LJ appeared behind his woman. He wrapped a long, thick arm around her waist, squeezing her lush hip.
As happened every time she was in the presence of her ol’ man, Holly practically glowed.
“Copper’s ready for you, brother,” he said to Curly.
Holly pulled out of her man’s arms as Curly stood. She grabbed his forearms. “Is everything okay?” She’d curled her long hair and wore a hunter-green dress that emphasized her eyes.
She was such a pretty girl, and her sister would have been the same had her life not been uselessly stolen.
“I’m good, honey. Swear it.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before passing her off to her old man. “Take good care of her.”
“Always,” LJ responded with a nod.
Curly slapped the huge man on the shoulder as he walked by.
He’d been staying in their finished basement since he came to town half a year ago. As much as he loved Holly, there were times being around her spurned a pang of irrational guilt in him. Not that he’d ever tell her. Her tender heart would break. He’d had nothing to do with Joy’s death—the murder had been committed by a drifter passing through town who’d then committed suicide in his cell. Although those truths had been covered up by the police, he still felt the weight of responsibility.
Maybe because of his conviction and wearing the false title of murderer for so many years. Or perhaps it stemmed from her father’s hatred of his old MC, but on occasion, being around Holly dredged up feelings of shame and remorse.
Another reason for his desire to speak with Copper.
Curly had an inkling LJ sensed his inner turmoil, but thankfully, he’d kept his thoughts to himself. Last thing he wanted was to make Holly feel worse than she already did for the unfortunate turn his life had taken.
“Knock, knock,” he said as he reached the open door of Copper’s office. It had taken more than a few minutes to worm his way through the bustling clubhouse.
“Curly, hey, come on in, man.” The ginger-headed, bearded giant waved him into his office. “Grab a seat. Want me to have a prospect grab you a drink?”
“No, I’m good.”
Lowering himself into a chair opposite Copper’s desk, Curly scanned the office as he always did when in Copper’s space. Back in the day, his own office had a desk, a shelf with a bunch of liquor bottles, and a few chairs.
Copper, on the other hand, had a basket of kids toys in on corner, pictures of him and his club brothers on the walls, a framed wedding picture of him and his gorgeous bride on the desk, and no less than ten hand-drawn pictures taped to the walls right about the height a five-year-old could reach.
The stark contrast between the offices was the perfect representation of the differences between their clubs. The True Outlaws MC had been just that. True fucking outlaws. They’d participated in just about every illegal operation there was. Drug, guns, money laundering, theft, prostitution, you name it, they had their grimy hands in it. He and his brothers had been cocky, thought themselves above the law, and didn’t give a shit about anyone other than themselves. Sometimes they didn’t even give a shit about their supposed brothers.
Curly had been as guilty as of being a world-class jackoff as any of them. Maybe more so since he led the club.
Copper’s club didn’t run that way. They had several profitable legal businesses as well as some less than legal ventures, but they kept their noses cleaner than Curly ever had.