Page 3 of The Biker's Red Christmas

"Yeah, I'm working on it." I smirk before pulling the bottle of Hennessy back up to my lips and taking another long swig.

I look over to the side and see Spike with three women making his way to his bedroom. At least I know for sure one of my brothers is going to have a good time.

I need to get in on this before all the good ones are taken.

I lean back against the table that Tella just pulled the woman down off of and wait for one of the girls to come over to me. None of them approach. I'm used to that.

According to the people who don't know me very well, I have "I'm a killer" tattooed across my forehead. It's true, I am a killer, but I can be a nice guy if I feel like it. Let's just say with the added liquid courage running through my veins and a semi-chub hanging heavy between my legs, I'm open to being very nice to one of these women.

I look to the right and see Zero and Saint in an animated conversation with a group of women. They are pros when it comes to this charisma shit. Creek and Feather are talking to one woman in particular, and I'm nearly worried that she's about to bite off more than she can chew. It's known to everyone in the club that those two like to tag team women. Most of the time, the girls end up nearly crawling out of their bedroom with a big smile on their faces. I don't want to have to arrange for anyone to get a ride home tonight if I don't have to.

It takes me a moment to realize that I'm still looking for something to go wrong instead of looking for the one I'm going to have some fun with.

I pull the bottle to my lips again and chug, only to realize that I've gone through whatever was left in the bottle. My head sways slightly from side to side, and I fight against my innate need to find the threat.

None of the women are calling to me, but just before I'm ready to call it a night, I see her. A red-haired vixen standing with her arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the wall. She's got the same look on her face I assume I have on mine. She's not here for fun. Too bad, because she's exactly who I want to play with.

2

SIENNA

I hate these damn parties, but I know it's a breeding ground for the lowest scum around. It'll be the perfect place for one of these girls to go missing. They might not think it's anything they need to be worried about, but I do.

I'm tired of having to hang missing posters on telephone poles. The police don't give a shit, and it's almost laughable the effort the community has put in to find these girls.

Yeah, most of them are prostitutes, junkies, and strippers, but that doesn't mean they are any less human beings.

"Red, you're missing out on all the fun." Uni twirls into my line of vision and tries to pull me off the wall.

"I'm having all the fun I need." I pull my hand back and give her a soft smile.

She's only eighteen years old and is using her job at the strip club to pay for college. At least that's what she told me.

"Aww, come on, Red. Nothing is going to happen." Uni pouts, but when I don’t move, she simply shrugs and goes off to enjoy the party. She thinks nothing bad is going to happen, but I like to be sure. I need a guarantee that nothing is going to happen, and when it comes to these Chrome Creed bikers, I can’t have that. I've heard stories about them in the streets. They are brutal and can be real assholes, but I've never heard about them willingly hurting women. Of course, there's always a chance to start for anyone. I'm not going to take that chance.

I sip on the Pepsi I got from the bar and continue to scan the crowd. My eyes sweep over all the women's faces, and anyone I see who isn't wearing a smile, I hone in on the men they are with. If I need to identify them later, I would like to be able to. It's the only reason I even agreed to come to this party. I want to be here if something goes wrong. Maybe stop it if I can.

As I'm scanning the crowd, my eyes slam onto one man who seems to be stumbling in my direction. "No, please God, no," I whisper to myself and do my best to make it seem like I'm not interested. I'm not at all. The stumbling man gets closer, and the stumbling increases until he's nearly bowling people over to get to me.

"Shit." I brace myself against the wall, sure that I'm about to have to carry this man's weight.

"Care for a dance?" A deep voice speaks in my ear, and a large hand closes around my wrist a second before I'm pulled off the wall in the opposite direction. Everything happens so fast I nearly catch whiplash. One second I'm waiting to be crushed by the drunken asshole coming in my direction, and the next I'm in the arms of a man nearly as large as a fucking house.

The scent of leather and liquor wafts up into my nose, and something about it makes me feel at home. "You good?" the man asks, and I shake my head to get out of my own thoughts. Slowly, I let my eyes trail upwards until I look at the person who is more than likely my savior.

He's so tall my line of sight starts at his chest. It's broad and covered in a dark wife-beater. I let my gaze sweep from side to side, trying to find the end of the expanse in front of me. His shoulders are bare, minus the tattoos and scars littered there. His muscles bunch and relax as he helps me get my footing.

Oh, lordy...

My eyes continue on their way up his body, and I stop for a second at his full lips framed by just enough scruff that I know it'll tickle if he ever were to kiss me. Not that I want him to, but I can imagine. His nose is slightly crooked, like he's had it broken a few times and just quit going to the doctor to get it reset. His eyes are dark, and it's impossible not to notice the storm brewing in those chocolate depths. Part of me wants to know why, but the other part, the smarter part, knows that whatever secrets he's got hidden in his gaze are there for a reason. He's dangerous.

Finally, I blink a few times and take a step back so I can see him properly. "You need to get your men under control. I'm not sure any woman in here would appreciate being smashed by a drunken fool." I spit venom at him and chuckle inwardly when I see him jerk back in surprise. I'm sure he thought I would be grateful for his help. I don't need anyone's help.

"He's not one of us. In case you haven't noticed, he's not wearing a vest." The man in front of me slaps a hand to the leather vest he's wearing. Right above his heart is a patch that says "Chrome Creed." Under it is a tag that says "Enforcer," and under that is another tag that says "Lash."

That's his name? Lash. "Well, Lash..." I spit, "Maybe the people you're hanging around with—whoever they are to you—need to be kept on a tighter leash."

Lash narrows his eyes at me. "He's a grown man. I'm not here to police him."

---