Page 23 of Tinsel & Chrome

Bonus

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Grizzly

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Twenty-five years later...

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I never expected to make it this far. Hell, there were days I didn’t think I’d live to see thirty, much less sixty-something and retired. But here I am, sitting in the same rocking chair I built with my own hands twenty years ago, a worn coffee mug in one hand, and my granddaughter’s giggles in the air.

Jingle Blaze is in full swing again. The neighborhood’s louder than ever—kids tearing down the street on decorated mini bikes, the smell of grilled meat in the air, and speakers blasting outlaw Christmas songs someone put together on a custom playlist.

Bishop walks past with a beer in one hand and a string of lights in the other. Still VP after all these years, stubborn bastard. Said he didn’t want to be Prez when Forge stepped down, and damn if he didn’t mean it.

Forge is stretched out in a lawn chair by the firepit, looking smug as hell, watching Bayou boss around half the club like she owns it. And she might as well. Titan’s got a grandbaby on his hip, telling some story that probably ends in something blowing up.

And our boys? They’re the club now. Walker—my boy—rides at the head of the pack. Solid. Steady. Respected. He goes by “Knox” now. Short for Fort Knox. Because nothing gets throughhim. Loyal to the bone. Wade’s our Enforcer, fierce like I used to be. Eli, Logan, Jesse—they all wear the patch now. Officers, leaders, brothers.

The girls? Club princesses. Treated like royalty. No one messes with Wynn unless they want to answer to six pissed-off bikers and a hundred-pound woman with a bat. Daisy Boone just punched a prospect for talking too loud near the babies. Emma Johnson has every old lady and sweetbutt wrapped around her finger.

And Bayou? She doesn’t just run Jingle Blaze—she commands it. She’s got a clipboard, a whistle, and more bite than any grown man in this club. I watch her yell at a patch to move the bounce house three inches to the left and smile into my mug. That’s Forge’s daughter, alright.

Out back, the newest generation is digging up the Secret Santa Box. I already know what’s in it—Wynn left a note in there ten years ago just for today. Said,“If you’re reading this, you’re one of us. Welcome to the madness. Love, the Little Few.”

That box has more meaning in it than any treasure chest. It’s got the soul of this place. Of this family. Because that’s what we are. We fight. We bleed. We lose people. But we keep going. We ride for each other. And every July, we come home to light up the bayou with reindeer gators, fireworks, whiskey, and love.

Jingle Blaze forever.

Holiday’s Deal

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By Carson Mackenzie

Prologue

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Deal

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Arriving at the hole-in-the-wall bar, I park, turn off my bike, dismount, and head inside. I grab a beer at the bar, then choose a table in the back corner, take a seat facing forward with a view of the entire establishment in front of me and settle in to wait.

The years spent in the military taught me to keep my eyes on the entrances and exits no matter where I went. The service was where I also learned how to cage my temper. A temper that had a judge recommending the military as an olive branch, instead of the two to five I would’ve likely been sentenced to for a fight I hadn’t even started. It wasn’t my fault the guy who started the fight had a big mouth, an entitled attitude, and a glass jaw. The couple of cracked ribs and shattered nose might have been excessive, but in my defense, the damage was inflicted before the hit to his jaw. How was I to know he was the mayor’s son? Lucky for me, the judge had cared little for the troublemaking asshole either.

Never known for being stupid, I chose the judge’s olive branch and enlisted, figuring I could do three years with my eyes closed. Serving in the Navy versus the possibility of five in prison as an eighteen-year-old, I signed up the next day. The judge kept his word, and the charges were set aside. Bonus—it got me out of town and out of the reach of a mayor who thought his son did no wrong.

A month after signing on the dotted line, I was seen off by the guys from my neighborhood, including my brother—who ironically followed me into the military three months later. Itseemed the mayor figured one Reyes was just as good as the other. My buddies hadn’t even let the bus door shut before bets were made on how long I would last before they booted me out. Little did they know, or even me for that matter, I’d enjoy the military and end up serving twelve years.

The door opens and three Merciless Few MC members from the Alabama Chapter enter, look around and head in my direction.

“Been here long, Deal?” Nightmare, the Sgt at Arms for the chapter, asks as he pulls out the chair next to me and sits. Bruiser and Jester follow suit, taking the chairs across from us.

“A couple of minutes. Not sure why you wanted to meet at this out of the way place when I could have easily swung by the clubhouse.” I lift the beer bottle to my lips and take a drink.

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