Page 46 of Jingle Belle's Biker

“What can I help you with?”

Really, I want to fucking tell the asshole I’m busy. I also want to tell him how I came close to pounding the living shit out of his ex.

Childish, I know, and I’m not a fuck and tell guy. I’m one who’s fucked his way through a lot of women and given most of them little thought beyond cataloging into been there and done that, right down to repeat until I’m done and dusted.

The thought, even as I have it, makes me put down the wrench and pace the floor. Something uneasy inside.

Not guilt for thinking like that over Belle, but just a general coat of fucking sleaze, because she isn’t a pound into the ground and forget her kind of woman.

There’s something . . .

“Or,” Lance says as if I’ve been paying him attention, “to put it plainly, I want them intimidated out of there. Those whomanage to scrounge the money. There’s a guy on the third floor who’s not going to be able to pay. Go have some words with him and help him out the door.”

“I’ll have a word,” I say, “and when it’s time, yeah.”

Help has a lot of different meanings. I get his. Fuck do I get this prick’s meaning. But as long as I do my job, I’ll help as I see fit. Whether that’s leaning on someone hard, or arranging a moving crew.

“It’s time. He’s late on last month’s rent. I’ve given him a lot of leeway, but enough’s enough.” He pauses. “And keep away from Belle. She’s my fiancée.”

I count slowly to ten and examine a bottle of nanotech finish. It’s new, and it’s mine. It’s one of my little weapons for keeping bikes pristine.

I set it down and take a breath. Nope. Need a few more fucking seconds. So, I leave the dickwad hanging as I take stock.

Mostly, what I need is the space and the roof over my head because the weather turns fast this time of year. Snow, sleet, rain, all those things can happen at the drop of a cat.

Okay, blood is somewhere in pre-nuclear explosion territory, which is better than a full core meltdown.

“I’m sure the woman can make her own decisions, Hastings.”

There’s no fucking ring on her finger.

She doesn’t want him.

My vision blurs a moment. Fuck me, of course, he thinks he’s going to win her back. Does he seriously think we’re in a league together where he can compete against me?

It’s laughable, it really is. Only, I’m not fucking laughing.

“Swing by my office, and my receptionist will give you the notices.”

That drags me to a standstill. “Notices?”

“For the increase in rent. Or fees, as I’m calling it. A loophole and a good one.”

“Why the fuck do you want everyone out, anyway? Do the place up, and you can make money.”

“Two words. Rent. Control.” Lance’s tone starts to turn pissy, and a cat meows.

“Understand the concept. But not every apartment’s full. So, you do it up and?—”

“I’ve got plans.”

“Yeah, whatever, not my business.”

“No, Santiago, it isn’t. Just get the job done. By the twenty-fourth at the latest. And there’ll be a bonus if you can get everyone out by the twentieth.”

I disconnect the call and turn.

Nomad stands there, something in his mouth. He comes up to me, his tail up, and he deposits a mouse.

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