Page 17 of The Biker's Red Christmas

There's a good chance she might not be able to handle it, but like Tella said, I'm never too tired for a fight. I'll fight for her with every breath I have.

8

SIENNA

Today has been the longest day of my life. At least that's what it feels like. Last night, Lash asked me to trust him. He asked me to give him some time to talk to his club to see if they could help us. Once he told me about the other club, the Hands of Hell, all the horrible thoughts I had about what might have happened to Max and Lia came rushing back. According to Lash, these people aren't as good as they seem. They don't care about what Max and Lia are trying to do with their lives. All that matters to them is that they are a hole to be filled. That means they are not against beating them and leaving them for dead somewhere. I'm praying that's not the case, but from what Lash was saying, I can't help but think that's exactly what might have happened.

The only problem with waiting for news is that it's all I have enough energy to do. I tried to get up this morning and go on with my routine, but this was the first day in a long time that I wasn't able to finish work from my day job. All I could think about was how I would get back in touch with Lash and speak with him. He told me not to just show back up at the clubhouse, but as far as I know, it’s the only way I can find him. I didn't even think about giving him my phone number before he left yesterday. Now I'm feeling rather foolish for that.

It's nearly six at night now, and I know I should be getting ready to do my walk-through and check on everyone else, but I don't want to miss out on any chance that Lash might try to get in contact with me. I hate having to depend on him for something like this, but he's right to think that he knows this world better than I do. I'm only on the outside looking in. Lash lives this life every day.

I inhale deeply, trying to practice some deep breathing exercises to get my nerves under control when the strong, pungent scent of burning tomatoes assaults my nose. The spaghetti!

"Shit!" I curse at myself and run to my kitchen, only to see the pasta sauce I'd put on for dinner turning to thick gloop and sticking to the bottom of the saucepan, moments away from turning black with char. Without thinking, I grab hold of the handle to try and move it from the fire. Of course, the handle is scalding hot, and I wind up dropping the entire pot on the floor, splattering red sauce everywhere.

"Fuck!" I curse out loud before I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my hand back and forth like it's on fire. The burn doesn't dissipate, and I rush over to the sink to turn on the cold water. There’s a sudden instant relief as I shove my hand under the cool water, and I finally am able to take a deep breath.

My mind is all over the place. Imagine if I’d gone outside to do my rounds and left the pot on the stove. I’d have come home to a burned-down kitchen and a whole new set of problems to deal with. I'm not going to be any help to the girls if I can't get myself under control.

"Seems like you need a hand."

A deep voice echoes in the space, followed immediately by my own ear-piercing scream. I spin around and scream at the top of my lungs at the sudden appearance of another person in my usually empty home.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Lash barks as he rushes over to me and slams his hand down over my mouth to get me to stop screaming. I could faint right now, not only from the pain in my hand but also from the intense fright that I just went through.

I narrow my eyes at him and bare my teeth. When he doesn't move right away, I open my mouth slightly and bite down hard on his palm. I hope I break through the skin. I want him to bleed.

He yanks his hand back. "Ow, what the fuck? You act like a fucking mangy dog!" he snaps at me as he looks at his palm before wiping it against his pants.

"What in the fuck! How the hell did you get in my house?" I screech at him.

"First of all, stop fucking yelling at me."

"Oh, I'm sorry. You want me to be nice?"

I bat my eyelashes comically and take a step in his direction, pressing my hands together in front of my chest like a prayer. "Oh dear sweet Lash, how happy I am to see you. I've missed you so much. I can't imagine what I would've done without you in my presence for even a moment more. And. What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing. In. My. House!" I yell the last part of my statement at him, which only brings forth a smile on his face.

"Easy, Red. I came with information, like I said I would."

"Fine, but that doesn't explain one, how you even knew where I lived, or two, how you got into my locked house." I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. He's got way too much information on me, and I'm not sure I'm a fan of how he keeps calling me Red. I've been called Red before because of my brick red hair, but it's usually only one and done once whoever is saying it gets a look at my face. I was teased enough in elementary school for being a ginger; I'm not going to be teased as an adult. Lash, on the other hand, doesn't seem bothered by the glares I'm sending his way.

"I found out where you live from the people you help. You honestly think you walk around among those folks all day and no one has ever tried to scope you out? I'm surprised you haven't been robbed before."

I bite the corner of my lip; there's no way I'm going to tell him that I have been robbed before. Three times, to be exact. I don't keep any cash or anything of great value in my house, so it didn't really bother me too much when I did get robbed. Buying new TVs is bothersome, but they are so cheap nowadays it doesn't really hurt my pockets too much.

"Fine, you pilfered the information from the streetwalkers. Now how about you tell me where you got a key to my place? I know for sure no one has an extra set." I tilt my head to the side and wait for him to come up with a lie. That's the only way he'd be able to explain being able to get into my house.

He actually has the nerve to look sheepish as he lifts his hand to massage the back of his neck. He looks away from me as he speaks. "Well, I don't have a key. I heard you scream, and I thought something bad was going on in here. I might have panicked a little." He steps to the side, and I see the door.

The knob is completely broken off.

How the hell did he manage to do that without me hearing it? This man is strong, and it should scare me, but I can't stop thinking about him putting his strong hands on my body and manhandling me in a way I'm sure he can.

"Well, fuck. I'm going to have to get that fixed," I reply, my anger drifting out of my sails quickly.

"Don't worry about it. I'll get it fixed before I leave. That's my fault. What the hell happened in here, anyway?" Lash asks, looking around the kitchen at the mess of spaghetti sauce.

It's only then that I look down and see what kind of disarray everything is in. Not only is the kitchen a mess from the mishap, but so is my clothing. I'm in an old Simpsons T-shirt that I have slept in since I was a teenager and a pair of plaid capri lounge pants. My hair is up in a messy bun, and I'm pretty sure there is sauce splattered all over my body. This is not how I want Lash to see me. Hell, I don't think I want anyone to see me like this.

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