Frost Hell’s Handlers MC Florida Chapter #3.5) Read Online Lilly Atlas

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, MC Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
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None of it mattered when her mind went blank, her chest seized, and she lost control of her limbs. She couldn’t get the word “no” past her lips, but she screamed it in her mind while her body focused on sucking in needed air.

“Well, there we go. That’s better. Knew you wanted this.”

She shook so badly her knees knocked. There’d be bruises there tomorrow if she survived that long. Her hand still clutched the door handle, white knuckles gleaming in the dark room. Sweat poured off her forehead and dripped down her spine while tears cascaded from her eyes.

The man’s free hand landed on the back of her thigh and began to trail upward.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Hey! What the fuck is going on?”

That voice…

The man’s weight disappeared.

Rachel didn’t waste a second scurrying to the side. She leaned against the wall and concentrated on her breathing.

No more than two feet away stood the man from the bar.

Frost.

He no longer had a semi-grumpy face but an expression of deadly fury. “I asked what the fuck was happening.”

The lethal tone would have had her spilling her guts if she had the air to do so.

“Chill, man. Just having some fun with the girl.”

“She was fucking shaking and terrified.”

The big guy shrugged. “Nah, all part of the game. Like I said… we was just having fun.”

Frost’s gaze shifted to her where she stood plastered against the wall, still too unsteady to stand without support.

His eyes narrowed. “Fuck that.” The next thing she knew, his fist was flying through the air. It collided with the big man’s nose in a sickening crunch of bone.

Rachel gasped as an arc of blood shot from the man’s face.

“What the fuck!” he screamed, covering his nose.

Frost moved in closer. “Chill, man. Just having some fun with you.”

“Whoa, what do we have here?” Another man appeared. This one wearing a Handlers’ cut with an enforcer patch.

Great.

If she could have, Rachel would have crawled through the wall to escape.

“Jack Frost, what the fuck?” the enforcer asked. “You’re a fucking prospect. What are you doing throwing down with our guests?”

Frost grunted and jerked his head in her direction. “She’s fucking terrified. I’m taking her outside for some air. Why don’t you show this fucker what you do to men who have the kind of fun with women he likes.”

The enforcer’s face turned murderous in the blink of an eye. “So, it’s like that.”

“What? No!” Her bleeding attacker yelled. He shook his head and held up his hands. Blood coated his chin and soaked his light gray T-shirt. “Fuck no. She was into it. This kid is crazy.”

Enforcer nodded at Frost. “Good work, prospect. Get her outta here.”

Frost nodded back, then he strode over to Rachel.

She sucked in a breath and flattened her palms against the wall as he drew near.

“Gonna pick you up and take you outside for some air. No funny shit. Promise.”

“O-okay,” she whispered. It wasn’t okay. She’d likely pass out in his arms like some Victorian damsel, and who knew what would happen to her then.

The next thing she knew, she was cradled against a firm chest with the scent of soap, leather, and marijuana surrounding her. It was strangely comforting, as were the strong arms holding her.

Instead of wanting to dive out of his arms and hide under the nearest table, she had the insane desire to burrow into him and never leave.

CHAPTER THREE

THIS WAS HIS fucking fault.

He’d been tasked with monitoring who came and went for the night. Basic prospect shit-duty. But Spec had texted and ordered him to grab them some drinks, so he’d abandoned his post at the entrance for five damn minutes. Long enough for this adorable yet out-of-her-element woman to arrive, grab a drink, and get accosted by Dawg—the giant brute who lived in town and would never amount to anything more than a grunting neanderthal. He’d been to a few Handlers’ parties and tended to cause trouble every time. Had Frosty been at his spot, he’d have kicked his sorry ass to the curb instead of letting him in. After tonight, he’d be banned.

Frost walked through the cool, crisp December night air. One of the few months of the year without extreme humidity. The curly-haired woman in his arms remained still except for her rapid breathing. Her head rested on his chest, and one of her hands fisted his shirt. She didn’t even seem aware of the tight grip she maintained.

He wasn’t one to butt his nose into other’s business, but he couldn’t fucking stand men who thought they had the right to take whatever the hell they wanted, consent or not. If Spec let Dawg leave walking upright, Frost would visit him later and make sure he spent the next two weeks flat on his back in bed.

In pain.

“Almost there,” he said to the woman as he neared a picnic table.



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