Page 88 of Jingle Belle's Biker

“Belle.” I close my eyes as the world turns stark. Cold. Lance is there, not smiling. “I see you know my employee.”

I let go of her, my hands forming fists. Exactly how much trouble would I be in if I fucking rearranged his dental work?”

But Belle’s face is a mess of confusion. “Employee?”

“Didn’t you know?” A smirk spreads over his face. “Nicholas Santiago works for me. He’s in the building to get rid of you all. Have a good evening.”

The fuckwit walks off.

Belle stares at me, all the hurt’s in her eyes. “S-saint? Is this true?”

“Yes.”

Fuck.

Chapter Nineteen

Belle

I don’t know where to start or what to do.

Nicholas. His name is Nicholas, and he—he told Lance and not me?

I shake my head to dislodge the thought. It’s the wrong one, the wrong thing to focus on. The things Lance said . . . I suck in a breath.

“Okay.”

It’s all I can think of, next to blowing up, next to screaming or crying, or whatever this pressure pot that’s getting harder and harder to keep locked down wants to do when it blows.

“Belle.”

I move, movements jerky, like my limbs don’t quite fit together. And the ground . . . it’s uneven, keeps moving.

Belle.

Belle.

That’s all he has. Right now, I’m betting he’s trying to string together some pretty words, just like Lance always did. Always does. Always will do.

I dig my nails into my palms, and I stare at him.

“I should have told you.”

That makes my breath rush from me.

It hits me hard, a dull thump to my guts, and I reel.

Nicholas. Saint. Whatever thefuckhis name is doesn’t reach out.

He just says that.

There’s a tiny part that appreciates it, perversely likes the fact he doesn’t sugar coat, or try and weave a different story out of the threads that are suddenly scattered around us.

A tiny part.

“Yes,” I say quietly, “you should have. I . . . I have to go.”

“Let me give you a ride home.”

---