Page 64 of Jingle Belle's Biker

She steps back and looks Belle up and down. “Came to see you, not fuck.”

Belle makes the tiniest sound, and it rips into me. But when I look at her, a guy might be forgiven for mistaking the sweet and friendly smile on her face for calm without a brewing storm or lacerated flesh within.

I can see it, she’s hurt. I’m not sure how to fucking handle this. I’m not with either woman.

Fucking one, yes. Enjoying getting to know her. Liable to rip the head off any man who thinks about putting his hands on her? Absolutely, but with? No.

Belle holds out her hand to Sin. “I’m Belle, Saint’s upstairs neighbor. Pleased to meet you.”

“Sin.”

That’s it, nothing else, and I . . . fuck.

Rocks and hard places have nothing on this moment.

Say what both of them know, and Sin might be out for blood. Not because she wants it but because she likes chaos. She loves revenge, even if there’s nothing for her to avenge over.

Of course, the little teacher takes matters into her own hands.

“Thanks for the lift. Have fun.” Then she disappears inside.

What I want is to go after her. What I want . . .

“Is that her?” Sin raises a fine brow. “Pretty, totally so not you, yet I can see it.”

“Why are you here?”

I don’t bother asking how she found me. That’s easy. The biker network is basically its own ecosystem, and I’m open for business.

“Is that any way to treat me?”

“It’s cold,” I say, feet itching to get up to Belle’s floor. “And I’m asking a fucking question.”

She half goes to grab my face but changes her mind. There are lines, and there are lines and touching me without my permission. It’s not a fucking biker thing. It’s a me thing. A woman knows when she can touch. Me and Sin? Her welcome mat’s been revoked.

Sin steps back with a small sigh and gestures to her bike. “Heard you hung out your shingle. Take a look?”

“Sure. Just one minute.”

I don’t offer an explanation, I just let myself in and bypass my apartment. I go up the stairs and knock on Belle’s door.

She doesn’t open it. But I know she’s there.

Nomad, the little turncoat, lets out a menacing meow from the other side of the door.

Just what I need. A fur-face warrior.

“It’s Saint.”

There’s a small sound, and I put my hand on the door.

“I know you’re there. I . . .” Fuck, she’s not going to open for me. “Thanks for a fun evening. I, uh, I need to help Sin with her bike. Can I come by later?”

There’s silence, and finally, she says, “Maybe.”

I take that as a win.

I gun her motor turn it off, and make another adjustment. “Will you quit it and sit still?”

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