Page 8 of The Biker's Red Christmas

4

SIENNA

I stayed in my car for most of the night, but people were coming in and out so often that it became impossible for me to keep up with who was where. By four in the morning, I just gave up and went home. If something went down, I'll have to deal with it later.

My phone alarm goes off, and I force myself to get out of bed. When I look over to the side, I see it's only eight in the morning. I could sleep for a little while longer, but I won't. Even though I work from home, I never let myself sleep in, no matter how badly I might want to. The only times I do is if I'm sick and I call in to take an official sick day from work. My bosses don't understand why I'm so diligent with my duties when everyone else in the company never is. That's just the way I am. I like my routine, and I like to be known as reliable.

Slowly, I push myself out of bed and trudge over to the shower. A nice brisk shower is just what I need to wake up. Until the moment the spray hits my face, I'm pretty much on autopilot. It's only when I feel the water sluicing off my body that I perk up a bit.

I work from home as a hospital clerk billing auditor. Basically, I'm a glorified medical coder. I go through all the doctors' notes and make sure they are charging the insurances correctly. It's boring, and most of the time I've finished my daily tasks well before lunchtime, but it does allow me to do more in my personal time. Not that I have many friends or people I need to check up on. I'm a lifelong introvert. The one time I tried to become the life of the party ended up bad for me. There's no amount of therapy in the world that'll erase that trauma.

Quickly, I finish my morning routine, pull out a Greek yogurt from my fridge, and power up my workstation. There are fifty cases I need to get through today. This would normally take any other worker well until five p.m., but for me, I'm sure I'll be finished by no later than one. Not to toot my own horn, but I'm really good at my job.

The morning buzzes by in a blur. The only time I peer away from my computer screen is when I have to go to the bathroom or when my head hurts from lack of food. By midday, the small Greek yogurt I had earlier is long gone from my system.

Stretching my head from side to side, I get out of my chair and make my way to the kitchen. I reach out to open the fridge door, and a small twinge of pain pulses in my wrist. I look down but don't see a bruise or anything like that.

It's the same wrist Lash grabbed when he stopped me from going for my knife. I didn't want to say anything, mostly because I'm sure he's already got a huge ego, but I was impressed that he was able to figure out I was carrying a weapon and that he was secure enough in himself to give me pointers. I'll be sure to use that for next time.

Lash is bad news all the way around. I don't know much about the MC lifestyle, but I know that the Enforcer is basically the worst of the bunch. He's the one they call when they need to get their hands dirty. He's the one to run away from. So why is it that I'm standing here in front of my fridge like an idiot, thinking about him?

"Stop it," I snap at myself before blowing out a heavy breath and reaching into the fridge for something to eat. I pull out a bit of leftover Chinese and, without putting it into the microwave, I grab a fork and start digging in. It's not the most nutritious meal, but it still tastes good to me.

All last night while I sat in the car, I stewed about the fact that he basically told me I either had to leave or fuck him. I know the crowd of people I hang around, but that doesn't mean I'm some easy floozy. I bet I'm the only person to ever tell him no.

Just thinking about that fact is enough to put a smile on my face. I like the idea of being able to put that big man in his place.

My mind drifts back and forth between the women I was there to watch over last night and Lash. Unfortunately, I'm thinking more about Lash than the girls themselves. All I can do is hope that everyone got out okay. I wonder if any of them took him up on his offer for a good time.

Suddenly, my appetite is gone, and I have to push the day-old Chinese food away from me. It was obvious that he wanted someone to spend time with last night. If I told him no, who's to say someone else didn't tell him yes?

My cheeks flush, and now all I can think about is who Lash might have shown a good time last night.

"Dammit!" I curse myself and push away from the counter I'm leaning on to pace the small kitchen back and forth. I'm not upset that another woman might have taken him up on his offer. I'm upset that he might have offered another woman the same deal.

I'm jealous. Of some dude I don't know and, based on our interaction yesterday, someone I can't stand. It's the most ridiculous emotion I've ever felt.

Scoffing at my own ridiculousness, I walk back over to my desk and pull up my work. I don't need to be thinking about Lash. What he does in his free time has nothing to do with me. I'm a free woman. I don't want to have to worry about any man and what they might do when I'm not around.

Doing my best to push him out of my mind, I focus on the spreadsheets in front of me. Lash can fuck whoever he wants; I just don't want to know anything about it.

***

Sunset.

This is when I really come alive. It's when I can fully dive deep into my passion.

I'm not like every other woman. I don't paint, read poetry, or get excited about shopping. No, what I love is to walk the streets with the throwaway men and women who are on the street. Everyone else sees them as less than, but I know that the majority of these people are just down on their luck. I do whatever I can to make their time on the street as safe and comfortable as possible. I don't have any extra money, but I can at least give them some hot meals when I have them or supplies—whatever I come across. Getting donations from people is hard, so I use whatever extra money I can scrounge up to get what I need for the people on the street.

For the most part, everyone is really grateful. I've been walking and helping these people for a little over two years, and so far I’ve only had one bad experience.

I turn the corner to walk down the block that leads to the strip club. I don't see the usual girls, but I'm sure they are either in the club or with johns already for the night.

I go into the club. Prince, the club bouncer, doesn't even stop me anymore.

"Si-Si, how you doing tonight, girl?" he asks as he pulls the velvet rope to the side to let me inside.

"Oh, you know, same old, same old." I shrug and walk by him. The velvet rope at the front is nothing more than a facade. There's nothing in this strip club that would need protecting from the outside besides the girls on the poles. All the furniture inside is either torn or stained beyond recognition. More than half of the lights don't work, which leaves the performer on stage with only half a spotlight. There's hardly any bottles in the bar section, and there's no cover charge to get in. It's not surprising that the place is nearly always packed with the lowest of the low when it comes to clientele. I look up at the stage and see Sunshine with her long blond hair as she works the pole and focuses all of her attention on the few people who are flinging singles in her direction.

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