Page 27 of Jingle Belle's Biker

When a shriek hits the air, I find myself storming through the building to the door, and pound on it.

“What the fuck do you want?”

The man’s fat, eyes bloodshot, and he’s wearing a grease-stained shirt.

It takes me one glance past him to the woman with the swollen lip to have him dangling by the neck against the door.

“Listen to me,” I say.

“Put—”

“Lots of fucking motorcycle clubs don’t hold with disrespect or talking back. Usually, it’s some misogynistic bullshit with an old lady. But you ain’t even in the fucking club, and you’re not what I’d call old lady material. So shut the fuck up, don’t interrupt, and listen.”

I wait.

“Nod if you understand.”

The man manages a nod.

“Good. Now, if you fucking ever lift your hand to your woman here, or your kid, I’ll come back and show you what a beating is. Got that?” The man’s eyes bug. “Neighbor?”

He whimpers, and I squeeze, making him turn an ugly shade of purple.

Then I let him go.

The asshole slides down the wall to the ground, and I look past him to the woman. She’s pretty. Dark haired. Tiny.

“I’m Saint,” I say to her. “Live just over there.” I nod in the direction. “Day or night, come and get me if you need it. I’m gonna go get your kid.”

Tears wet her face, and her shoulders shake.

I toe the ass on the ground. “You. Find somewhere else to be for the next few days, got me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

With that I walk off and almost run into Belle and the kid. She looks past me and takes in the situation. “Saint?—”

“It’s fine.” I put my hand on the kid’s shoulder. The girl’s got the same dark hair as her mom, and looks scared, but as she looks up, she’s all in one piece.

It’s the only reason I don’t kill the guy.

As the guy gets up, he goes to take a step toward me, but his eyes bug again as he looks past me. Gravel must be back from his test ride.

“Mellie?” Belle goes to the woman, even as the child is torn between going with her and staying with me.

Not out of any devotion to bikers but because her father scares her.

I’m only half joking about killing him.

“Is everything okay?”

“Andrew’s just . . . I lost my job, and . . .”

Gravel suddenly speaks up. “Got a number?”

The woman stares at him as Andrew, the asshole, pushes into the apartment, skirting her. His muttered “bitch” isn’t lost on me, but I let it slide.

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