A Sweet & Merry Christmas (2 page)

Before she could lift out the first stack of
boxes, she heard movement from behind them and swung to see a group
of men walking their way. She stilled because she didn’t recognize
any of them, and the man in the lead barked out a humorless laugh.
“Do you know where you are, pretty lady? Lady as good-looking as
you should be more careful where you show up.” The men walking with
him laughed mockingly, spreading out to the sides, sweeping towards
her and Jess like the outstretched wings of a bird, herding them
back towards the open van.

One of the men had gotten close enough to
reach out a hand, tugging Jess’ toque off her head and tossing it
to the side. Brandy moved without thinking, putting herself between
the small woman and the large, intimidating man. “Don’t touch her,”
she hissed between tightly clenched teeth, leaning towards him as
she shoved Jess
backward, away from the
man
.

One of the other men made a crude
comment,
and she felt a tugging at her arm.
Reaching back her hand, she felt small fingers thread between hers
and she squeezed reassuringly. Speaking to the leader, she said,
“We’re here by invitation, asshole. And yes, I know where I
am.”

There was a shout from across
the parking lot and the men in front of her and Jess parted like
batter before a knife, revealing a set of faces she did know, and
was damned glad to see right now.
“Slate,” she called,
squeezing Jess’ hand again, not letting go.

“Brandy,” he responded with a scowl on his
handsome face, she could see his forehead wrinkling from a dozen
paces away and she relaxed a tiny bit.
He’ll take care of
us
,
she
thought. “Fucktards, what the hell do you think you are doing?”
That was directed to the men now edging further away from her
van.

“Slate,
man
. We didn’t
know they were Rebel pussy. Respect, man.” The leader spoke the
words, but his leer left no doubt that he’d have rather not been
interrupted.

“I believe the term you are looking for is a
friend of the Rebel club, dildo.” That was from one of the men with
Slate, a man named Roach that she knew Mica was fond
of
.

“No shit?” the man said, rocking back on his
heels. “Two pussies as Rebel ‘friends’?
Well
ain’t that just an interesting state of affairs.” He sneered at
Roach and looked up at another of the Rebels. “Tugboat, does Mason
know you got little ‘friends’ like this?”

“What the fuck is your problem, dickhead?”
The statement came from Tug, an older man with striking
features,
his white hair swept back from his head with a
bandanna, dark mustache framing a mouth now drawn down in
displeasure. “Dominos want a shitstorm? You’re fucking standing on
Rebel ground. I’m telling you one
time,
you
want a shitstorm then you keep going the way you’re going, man and
you will fucking
get
it.” He asked again,
“What is your fucking problem?”

“No problem, Tugboat. We were just making
sure the ladies were certain of their welcome. No disrespect, man.”
That was the man who’d thrown Jess’ hat on the
ground,
he bent over now and retrieved it, holding it out
towards her. Brandy intercepted, grabbing it from his hand, angered
to see him touching any part of Jess, even something as innocent as
her hat. She ground her
teeth
and her hand
tightened around it, crushing it in her fist.

“Then if there’s no problem, you won’t mind
moving on,” Slate said, folding his arms across his chest, stepping
between the women and the men. Without looking away from the
leader, he addressed Tug, “You got this, brother?”

“Fuck yeah, I got this,” was the
response
and Slate turned his back on the two groups,
moving to face Brandy and Jess. His voice softened when he spoke to
them, “Y’all bring dessert, Brandy?” He sniffed and made a show of
rolling his eyes. “
Goddamn
that van smells good. How the
hell both of you are so fucking tiny is beyond me. If I had to work
around this good smellin’ shit all day, I’d weigh a ton.”

Brandy laughed, “And you’d still be good
lookin’.”

He reached out and cupped a hand behind
Brandy’s neck, pulling her close for a hug. “Brown Sugar Brandy,
you okay, babe?” he whispered into her ear and she nodded, saying
softly, “Yeah.”

He stepped back and looked down at their
hands, smiling at their fingers still twined together. “Jess, you
okay, honey?”

Brandy turned around in time to see a bright
blush working its way up Jess’ face, coloring her cheeks and then
the tips of her ears. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m okay.” She pulled at
Brandy’s hand and without letting go, brought Brandy toward her.
“Can I have my hat back, Brand?”

She brought the
toque
up and pressed it into the hand she was still holding, then freed
Jess, smiling privately when the hold appeared reluctantly
released. “Here you go.” Turning to look behind Slate, she realized
the other group of men had
disappeared
and the
Rebels were already walking back towards them. “I have quite a few
boxes to take inside for the party. Do you think you guys could
help out?”

Slate nodded and whistled, drawing the
attention of the Rebels. “Tote and carry, boys. Let’s get these
ladies inside and out of the cold.” He nodded an apparent question
at
Tug
who was wiping his hand with a bandana,
and received a brusque nod in return. Smiling grimly, he moved to
reach into the van, pulling out the first stack of boxes. “We got
this, Brandy. Why don’t you and Jess go on inside? Merry is already
in there getting everything set up.” Merry was a long-time waitress
and bartender at Jackson’s, and a friend to both of the women.

Inside the bar, everyone pitched in, setting
up tables and
generally
getting ready for a
big, informal party. The irony of the set-up
wasn’t
lost
on
Brandy
and she snorted a laugh
that Jess heard, causing her to tilt her head and ask, “What?”

“If you’d told me two years ago that I’d be
excitedly waiting to exchange secret Santa gifts with a bunch of
bikers, I’d have checked you for a head injury.” She laughed,
shaking her head. “This is pretty remarkable,
though
. It’s cool that Mason organized all of
this,
that he’d put together a party for the Rebels and
us. I’ve never felt safer than when we’re hanging out with them,
and they are all sweet, amazing guys.”

“Glad to hear you think so, babe,” she heard
a deep voice say from behind her and watched as Jess ran around
her, squealing with happiness.

She turned to see Mason with his arms
wrapped around Jess’
shoulders,
his cheek laid
on top of her head while he smiled at Brandy. Holding out his other
hand, he reached and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her into an
embrace, slipping his arm around her shoulders, too. “Hey Mason,”
she said fondly. “I brought both the truffles and custard-filled
cupcakes for you. Just you, mind,” she scolded, looking over where
Slate was standing, a cupcake already in his hand. He shrugged,
shoving the cake into his mouth and holding out his hands in a ‘who
me’ motion, and they all laughed.

A couple hours later she was sitting on a
stool at the bar, resting her elbows on the edge. Merry had set a
perfectly dirty martini in front of her a few minutes
ago
and she sipped it gratefully. Looking down the bar,
she saw Jess in deep conversation with Tug and smiled. Those two
were the biggest jokers in the room, and seeing them having a
serious discussion was a mystery. She heard the stool on her other
side pulled back, and turned to see Slate seating himself. Nodding
at him, she picked up her glass and looked back at Jess, freezing
when both she and Tug were staring at her.

Quickly turning back to Slate, she caught a
look of amusement on his
face
and he shook his
head at her. Picking up his beer, he paused with the edge of the
bottle at his lips and asked, “Why don’t you just tell her how you
feel, sweetheart?”

Brandy looked down at the bar top and shook
her head. “She’s not the girl for me, unfortunately.” She looked
up, using
the mirror
to watch Jess, smiling
softly at the play of emotions across the woman’s face.

“You can’t know that if you haven’t made
your play, woman.” He caught her eyes in the mirror. “You could
talk to her
tonight,
I set the bedroom in the
back aside for you when you started drinking, so you
ain’t
going anywhere
any time
soon,
sweetheart. Tug’s got your
keys
and he’s under
orders to keep you safe, which means you don’t leave until he says
so. You could invite her to the back…just
sayin’
.”

“I don’t want to lose her friendship.” She
shook her head. “It’s not worth the risk.”

He held out his left arm, pushing his shirt
sleeve up to his elbow and smoothed his skin with his hand, drawing
her attention to the tattoo there. “Never let your fear decide your
fate,” he said, reading the words inked on his skin next to a
beautifully detailed compass. “What if you’re wrong, sweetheart?
What if you could have both?” he asked, looking past her, then back
at her face. Smiling, he stood from the stool and in a sing-song
voice said, “I know something you don’t know.”

“What?” she asked and then balled up her
napkin, throwing it at him as he walked away without answering her
question. “Asshole,” she called after him and heard a snort of
laughter behind her.

Turning she saw Mason had walked up and was
standing between her and Tug. He didn’t look at her directly, like
Slate had, he caught her gaze in the mirror. “Thanks for this,
babe. It
’s been
a good night.”

“Yeah, it’s been fun to watch everyone open
their gifts, and have a good time.” She fingered her new earrings.
“Who knew Red had such good taste in jewelry.” She tilted her head,
looking at him. “Did you like your boots? I have the receipt, if
you want to return them.”

He shook his head, reaching out to pat the
back of her hand lying on the bar top. “They fit perfectly, babe.
Thank you. Boots are a pain in the ass to buy, mostly because I
just fucking hate shopping. I couldn’t have asked for a better
gift.” She smiled, and they both turned to look across the bar when
shouts of laughter erupted near the pool tables.

“Looks like Mica’s cleaning up again. Poor
Digger, he won’t have any money left after tonight.” She smiled,
peeking over his shoulder to see if she could catch a glimpse of
Jess, but Tug was standing alone now. Sighing, she leaned on the
bar and picked up her glass. Taking a drink, she met Mason’s gaze
in the mirror again. “It’s been a good party, Mason.”

He nodded, pushing away from the bar. “Yeah,
brothers and friends are important. It’s good to remember that,
keep ‘em close, and Christmas gives us a good excuse.”

She watched him stalk over towards where
Mica was schooling one of the Rebels in the fine art of eight-ball.
The tall biker was standing close to Mica, but with a glance to his
president, Digger stepped away, nervously twisting the stick in his
hands.

Mason stopped short of where they were
playing
and he leaned against the wall, his
eyes hungrily following every move Mica made, his body language
loud and clear. Brandy shook her
head,
the man
had it bad for her. None of the Rebels she’d talked to knew why he
didn’t just make a move, because they were all relatively sure
Mica’d
be open to an offer from the
authoritative biker.

He was influential and powerful, and Brandy
thought he’d probably be dominant in bed. But, she mused, maybe
that was what kept Mica separate from him, her history might not
lend itself to exploring that side of things again…not just now,
but maybe ever.

Holding her hand over the top of her glass
when Merry would have refilled it, she turned on the stool, leaning
both elbows on the wooden edge, surveying the room. There were
little groups of men scattered throughout the bar, without
exception they all wore leather or denim vests with a variety of
patches sewn to the material. Most had the name of the motorcycle
club at the top of their back, and the emblem that represented the
club just below that. Some of the men had town names across the
bottom of their vests, and some had other words like ‘Prospect’,
‘Gypsy’, or ‘National’ that designated their position in the
club.

She saw Tug was now seated in a booth by
himself and climbed off the stool, walking over and sitting beside
him. He scooted over to give her room, sliding his arm across the
back of the bench and curved it around her shoulders. He hugged her
tightly for a minute, loudly kissing the side of her head, then he
sat back and looked down at her. “Having a good time, pretty
lady?”

“I am,” she said with a smile. “What did you
get from your Santa?” She patted his thigh and leaned into his
side, relaxing in the safety of his embrace.

“Got a new wallet. It’s pretty cool,
lookit
.” He shifted, pulling the wallet from
his back pocket, twisting the chain that attached to his belt loop
out of the way, showing her the tooling on the leather.

Smiling she nodded, “Who was your
Santa?”

“Tats,” he laughed. “The man did good, but
he got shortchanged, his Santa got him fringed gloves. Can you see
that man wearing fringed riding gloves?”

“Oh no,” she said with a grin. “Who was his
Santa?”

Tug laughed harder, “Me.”

Throwing her
head
back
and
laughing
hard, she told him, “You are an
evil, evil man.” He nodded in agreement and picked up his beer,
taking a drink.