Page 17 of Jingle Belle's Biker

Belle spends a few minutes coddling the stray, and finally, she rises. “I’ll see you around, Saint. Glad you’re here.”

With that, she’s out the door. I shut it and turn. The cat sits, one leg out as it calmly licks it.

“Fucker,” I mutter. “You can go too.”

It issues a small growl followed by a pitiful mew.

“Yeah, I know, it’s cold out. Fine.” I stomp into the kitchen and open the fridge. I was going to make some burgers or tacos, but instead I make a sandwich and grab two bowls from the cupboard.

This Hastings really pulled out the stops with outfitting the place, right down to the budget Serial Killers R Us—funny Belle—crockery and silverware.

The cat followed me in and is sitting, looking up at me, swishing his tail as I fill a bowl with water and set it down. Then I grab the ground beef from the fridge and put some in the other bowl, which makes the smug look fall away into one of worry, like I’m putting the meat in the fucking bowl for myself and not the overgrown rodent.

“This is a one-night deal, and only because it’s getting colder out. I don’t have litter or anything so you’ll have to go when youeat. Got it? Good.” I put the bowl down, and the cat dives in face first.

First, I can’t fucking believe I’m talking to a cat, and second, I’m pretty sure the cat’s a bit of a nomad like me. He’s somehow found me again, wormed his way into a place with food. While he’s not like those grizzled toms who spend their nights fighting, he’s got the skills of a survivor, and as much as he pisses me off, I have to admire him.

Even if he did pull one hell of a cockblock.

Not that mine was about to get anywhere near pretty Belle.

I take the sandwich and head out to the living room. “When you’re finished, you’re out, cat. And I mean it.”

The cat’s gone by morning, but there’s a cat-shaped dent in my duvet when I wake.

Who the fuck even knows how the thing managed to find me. I could pretend it wasn’t the same cat, but it was. Then again, don’t cats like to roam like I do?

“Who even cares,” I mutter.

I shower, dress, and go over the messages from Lance Hastings. He’s paying me, but not that much. I’ll take the free roof over my head, and a month’s stay in one place is about near my limit these days.

Better, if I know two of the bikers in town, I’ll know more, and word spreads. I’m a good mechanic, and that means good money.

There’s an unease that turns slightly queasy in my guts. Jobs like this, they never sit that well with me.

Being a big guy and a biker, even with my name on the back of my jacket isn’t about to instill the residents with comfort.

Residents other than Belle who apparently have no sense.

I get ready for the day, as I need to drop by a few places and get the word out that I’m open for business.

Mechanic business.

The rest here is just being around and making sure rent is collected at the end of the month. Be seen. I don’t break skulls or intimidate in the ways that Hastings hinted at, but the rest I can do. He wants me to run middleman for complaints, which is something I can do.

I shut the window, head out, and come to a stop as Belle’s blue hatchback catches my eye.

“Leave it,” I mutter.

And I’m going to, I really am, only the angle pisses me off and the color. And the stupid car itself.

She’s locked it, of course, but it takes me almost no time to break in and hotwire it.

Soon, I’m working on the car for absolutely no reason other than I like to fix things.

Near me, a cat meows.

Chapter Five

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