Page 81 of Santa's Girl
“Trouble?” she whispered against my mouth.
“Always.”
Outside, the Tahoe was already rumbling, Jinx and Pico in the front seats, headlights aimed at the road.
I walked her to Margie’s, not saying much. Didn’t need to. She knew the drill by now.
I kissed her again on the porch. Forehead this time. Slower. Softer.
“Lock the door behind you,” I murmured.
Then I turned and got in the truck without looking back.
Because if I looked?
I wouldn’t leave.
And right now, leaving is what the patch demands.
But she’s whatI want.
The second I climbed into the Tahoe, the softness I’d had on my face for Becca snapped clean off.
Back to business.
Pico handed me a burner. Jinx was already driving like the devil was on his heels, tires spitting snow off the road as we climbed out of town toward the tree line. I scanned the screen.
Coordinates.
No name.
Just a pin dropped east of the old sawmill, where the service roads go dark and no one talks unless it’s worth dying for.
“Talk,” I snapped.
Jinx didn’t blink. “The Bloody Scorpions split off into two groups. One’s holed up near the old gas station past Weller’s Ridge. The other? Unknown. Could be a diversion. Word is they’re running product through the back hills again. We think they’re laying claim.”
“Here?” I growled.
He nodded. “They’re sniffing around. Testing us.”
“Have we responded?”
Pico spoke up from the back. “We held. Radio silent. No one’s moved except our scouts. Per your orders.”
“Good,” I muttered. “Keep it that way. Until I say otherwise.”
This wasn’t new.
Territories get tense when money’s tight. And the Scorpions? They weren’t just another club. Atlanta boys with ties to cartels, armed to the damn teeth, and no sense of loyalty beyond the next deal.
We’ve been peaceful—barely. But they’ve been watching our hills too long.
And now they’re encroaching.
I cracked my knuckles and rolled my shoulders. The familiar burn hit my chest. The cold settling into my bones had nothing to do with the snow.
It was the shift.
