Page 21 of Razor
“This isn’t really something that I’m asking, Nick. I need you to do it, and as your club’s Prez, I’ll order you to do it if I have to.” Mace stood from the office chair and rounded the desk to stand in front of Nick. “Listen, I don’t want to be a dick, but my wifeis forcing my hand. We only have a handful of single, childless guys, and you are one of them. Most of them are heading out of town for the holiday to visit family and friends. It’s down to you or Cyclops, and wearing an eye patch with a Santa suit will give him away,” Mace joked. Cyclops had been with the Road Reapers for almost ten years now—since before Mace was even Prez. He had lost his eye in a biking accident in his early twenties and wore an eyepatch to cover up his missing eye. Nick wanted to feel bad for the guy, but that was impossible. Cyclops was in his early forties, and he still seemed to have more female attention than Nick had had in years.
“If you do this for me, I’ll owe you,” Mace almost whispered. A favor from Mace was like winning the golden ticket, and that was something that Nick couldn’t pass up on, no matter how much he hated Christmas.
“Fine, I’ll do it, but I’m asking for a huge favor in return,” he promised.
Mace smiled and nodded, holding his hand out to Nick to shake. “Deal,” he said. “Honestly, man, you saved my balls from Brooke. She told me not to come home without a Santa, and you were my last hope.”
“Yeah, well, if I don’t work out, you can always tell the kids that Cyclops is a Santa pirate. I’m betting they’ll eat that shit up.” Unfortunately, Mace didn’t find his joke as funny as Nick did.
“Just be at church on Wednesday, and I’ll give you all the details and the suit. The party is next Saturday, so mark it on your calendar.” Now it was Nick’s turn to chuckle at Mace.
“Shit, I don’t have a calendar for my social outings, man,” he said. “But I’ll be there on Wednesday, and Saturday—rest assured.” He wasn’t sure how he’d ever get any rest before he had to play the jolly fat man himself, but he’d find a way to get through it because that favor was a huge prize and one that he knew he’d someday need to cash in on.
Sandy
Sandy Cove missed the beach, and with a name like that, why wouldn’t she? Her mother thought it would be funny to name her Sandy when she was born, and with the last name, Cove, she was ready for the beach from day one. But when her mother passed, so did her desire to hang around the beach town where she had been born and raised, so she left.
She never knew her father. When she asked her mother about who her father was, she’d always tell her that she didn’t have one. Her mom liked to tell her a story about how she was brought down by an angel to be her daughter. For a long time, Sandy believed her, but once she got to middle school, she knew better. Why her mother kept her father a secret from her was a mystery, but she had to have had her reasons. Even on her deathbed, her mom refused to give her a name, and while that should have upset her, it didn’t. Her mother assured her that she was protecting her, but not knowing still ate her up. Missing a man that she never knew was crazy, but she did—almost as much as she missed her mom.
Sandy picked up her entire life, tossed it in the back of her SUV, and headed east, without any real plan or roadmap. She liked to think of her trip as an adventure, deciding that once she found the perfect little town, she’d settle down, buy a little house, and live her best life. She just never imagined that it wouldn’t be by a beach. She had only been in town for three months and decided that living off the generosity of her mom’s estate just wasn’t for her. Sandy found a job at a local newspaper, putting her college degree to work as an editor. She loved the work, but mostly because she could do it from home. Being a loner wasn’t how she’d describe herself, but since losing her mom, she had become just that. Hell, she was a borderline recluse, but that was something that she’d worry about later. Tonight, she was going to have to figure out how to get an interview with one very gruff-looking biker about the Christmas party they were throwing at the biker bar in town. Her boss had given her the story when three of his regular reporters came down with the flu. She was the last woman standing, and when he told her to get down to the local biker watering hole, she damn near quit her job. The thought of even walking into a place like that scared the hell out of her. Sure, maybe she had lived a sheltered life, but weren’t biker bars full of criminals and hoodlums? Sandy had no other choice than to find out for herself, because she liked her job, and if that meant that she’d have to interview every badass biker in the bar, she would.
She walked into the bar, pasting on her brave face, trying for stoic instead of scared out of her mind. Sandy just hoped that the bikers bought her act, but from the way that they all stopped what they were doing to look at her, she was sure that she was failing miserably.
“Can I help you?” One of the bikers stood from the bar and crossed the room to where she stood frozen by the door.
“Um, I’m not sure if you can or not,” she admitted. She sounded like a timid mouse instead of the confident woman her mother had raised, and she was pretty sure that if she didn’t get herself together, she was going to lose her interview.
Sandy cleared her throat and pasted on her best smile. “I’m here to interview Santa Claus,” she said. The biker laughed and shook his head at her.
“You’re the reporter from the Sun?” he asked.
She scrunched up her nose and nodded, “Well, kind of. I’m an editor from the Sun who’s writing the story because all the other available reporters have the flu.”
“I see, so you are here out of necessity. I’m Mace, by the way,” he said, holding out his hand to her. She shook it and quickly looked around the bar. It was decorated for Christmas with a tree in every corner and way too many Christmas lights strewn across the walls. Honestly, it looked kind of gaudy, but she loved it for some reason. Maybe it reminded her of the childhood Christmases where her mom overdid everything to make the holiday special for her.
“Hi, Mace,” she said, “I’m Sandy Cove.” He smiled and released her hand. She knew that he was going to give her shit about her name—everyone did.
“For real?” Mace asked.
“Yep—my mother had a sense of humor, and we lived on the coast. So, is Santa around or should I come back another time?” Her boss had told her that the Christmas party, being thrown by the club, was happening in just three days, and that she had better haul ass to get the story in before it happened.
“Yep, he’s back in my office, trying on his suit.” Mace pointed to the back corner of the bar and nodded. “Just go down that hallway, and it’s the first door on your left.”
“Thanks,” she said, not sure that any of this was a good idea. She had never been in a biker bar before, but this place didn’tseem that bad. Sandy decided to put on her big girl panties and go to find Santa before her good judgment won, and she ran out of that bar with her tail tucked between her legs.
She found the first door on the left, as Mace had instructed, and gently knocked. When no one answered, she knocked again, with a little more force. Still, no one answered, and she decided to pop her head in to see if Santa was still there, trying on his suit. Maybe the jolly old guy was taking a break or even left the building, but she hoped like hell that wasn’t the case. She needed to get this interview over, and talking to the big guy himself was the only way to do that.
She turned the knob and stumbled into the office when the door stuck, giving it an extra push. Sandy practically fell on the floor when a half-naked man grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her into his arms. “You okay?” he asked.
She looked him up and down, noticing the red pants, black boots, and hat on his head with the little white fluff ball on the end. “Santa,” she whispered. He didn’t look like any Santa that she’d ever seen before. In fact, this Santa was hot as hell. She ran her hands over his tattooed chest, not seeming able to stop herself from doing so.
“Um, no,” he said, “I’m Nick. I’m just playing Santa.”
Sandy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know that you’re not the real Santa,” she said. “He’s probably busy up in the North Pole getting ready for his big night. You’re one of Santa’s helpers.” She realized that she was still in his arms and started to squirm uncomfortably. “Would you mind putting me down?” she asked.
“If you’re sure that you’re done fondling my chest, I think that can be arranged,” he teased.
“I wasn’t fondling your chest,” she almost shouted. “Put me down,” she ordered.
