Page 18 of The Biker's Red Christmas

It's too late now. He's already here. I can't run away to change with him in my house.

Lash closes the door and then, for good measure, props one of my kitchen chairs at an angle to keep it semi-locked. I'm not worried about anyone coming in here while he's here anyway; they'd be a fool to go up against him.

My face pales as I contemplate exactly what I'm thinking. Since I've met Lash, besides him pissing me off at every turn, there's always been something about him that sets me at ease. I wasn't sure what it was; couldn't put a finger on it, and now I know. It's because I feel safe with him. He's already told me that he was a killer, but for some reason I know he'd never kill me. Hell, I've already threatened him with a weapon twice, and he's not once even raised a hand in my direction.

"Red?" he calls out to me, and I realize that I've been daydreaming.

"My name is Sienna, in case you forgot," I snap at him as I reach down to pick up the pot that I dropped on the floor.

"Nah, you're Red. My Red."

I try not to let his words affect me. I'm no one's, but it does feel nice to think he fancies me.

"Whatever," I mutter and drop to my knees to start cleaning up the floor. My heart nearly skips a beat when Lash grabs hold of another dishrag and drops down to the floor to help me as well.

"What the hell did the spaghetti do to you to get you to demolish it like this?" Lash jokes, and I give him a small chuckle. It feels nice not to be at each other's throats all the time.

"Don't take what you see here as normal. I've been very distracted all day. I put this on for my dinner and completely forgot all about it."

"So you haven't eaten?" Lash stops what he's doing and leans up to look at me.

"I had a yogurt this morning. I tend not to eat too much when I'm focused; usually, it's on work, but today I've been more focused on Max and Lia." I sigh, telling him the truth.

"That's unacceptable," he groans and stands to his feet. He walks out of the kitchen, and I hear him on the phone, but I'm not sure who he's talking to. I go about cleaning the mess on the floor, and by the time he gets back, I've already pulled out my Swiffer WetJet and have gotten up the last traces of the pasta meal.

I place the pot in the sink so I can soak off the burnt bits.

"So what's up? Why are you here?" I ask Lash, and he leans against the doorjamb of my kitchen. He crosses one leg at the ankle and stuffs his hands in his pockets. The motion itself is relaxed and natural, but I swear with every breath he takes, the man gets hotter and hotter. All the fire is off in the kitchen stove, but my body is on fire.

I clear my throat and look back to my fridge as if something is miraculously going to appear that I'm going to want to eat. I just need to do whatever I can to avoid him. He's not here for me to ogle; he's here to help me find Max and Lia.

"I spoke with my president and the rest of the club. This comes at a really bad time for us. We're supposed to do a deal with the Hands of Hell. We haven't been on the best terms with them, and going back on our word with them is likely going to lead to a big fight." Lash puffs out a breath from his nose.

I turn to look at him. "So what does that mean? You're just going to ignore this so you guys can make a quick buck?" I slam the fridge door shut and try to walk out of the kitchen. Lash grabs my elbow and stops me from leaving.

"Jesus Christ, Red, does a person have to be homeless or a prostitute before you give them the benefit of the doubt? Let me finish talking before you chew my goddamn head off." Lash shuts me up before he continues. "Like I said, it's going to pose problems for us, but if what you're saying is true and they have something to do with girls going missing, then my president agrees that we can't have anything to do with them. We have a meeting set up with the president of the Hands of Hell tonight. We're going to find out for sure if they had anything to do with the missing girls. If so, we'll find out where they put them or if the worst has happened. One way or another, you'll have some more answers tonight. That way maybe tomorrow you won't have to burn your food." He adds on the joke at the end for my benefit, I'm sure.

Just like that, all my anger is gone once again.

What is this man doing to me?

He lets his hand slide down from my elbow to my hand.

I flinch away and hiss in pain. It's the same hand I burned on the scalding hot pot before he came in. It was out of my mind while I was trying to figure out how he managed to make his way into my house, but now that he's touched it, the small burn feels like it's spreading through my entire hand.

"What the fuck is this now?" He grabs hold of my wrist and lifts my hand to his face.

"I burned my hand trying to get the pot off the stove. It was stupid."

"Stupid not to take care of it. I'm sure this shit is painful as fuck." He shakes his head. His words are harsh and jagged, but the way he turns my hand side to side so he can get a good look at the injury shows me just how gentle this man really can be.

"Where's your first aid kit?" he asks without looking back up at me.

"You don't have to worry about it. I'll take care of it in a minute."

He lets his eyes slide up from my hand to my face. "First aid kit. Where?" He growls, and I know that it's no use fighting him.

"It's in the bathroom, under the sink." I gesture with my free hand to the hallway behind him.

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