But she stops me with a hand on my chest.“Not tonight,” she says.
I nod, though every muscle argues.“Get some rest.”
She gives a small smile that could melt ice.“You too, Humbug.”
I step out before I forget how to walk away.
Carol
Humbug closes the door behind him, and the sound feels like a heartbeat too loud.I sink onto the bed, fingers still tingling from where they touched him.My body’s confusion, fear, attraction, exhaustion twists together.
Outside, I hear the rumble of laughter, the bark of engines.Somewhere down the hall, Humbug’s voice is recognizable, calm, giving orders.I picture those rough hands, the ones that broke a man’s arm for me, grimy nails, wrapping around a glass, flexing against the memory of me.
I tell myself it’s only gratitude.That’s the lie I’ll sleep on.But when I close my eyes, all I see is the biker stepping out of the shadows, and all I hear is my own pulse whispering his name.
Humbug
The door clicks shut behind me, and I can breathe again.I head back toward the main room, heat and noise already bleeding through the walls.
The Executioners are gathered around the pool table, half-empty bottles, cards scattered.Blizzard’s hunched against the jukebox, arm in a sling he didn’t have this morning.His eyes find mine, cold enough to make the whiskey in my veins freeze.
He's not callin’ me grandpa now.
“Hell you think you’re doing, bringing her here?”Frost asks.
“Keeping her alive,” I say.“Some asshole pointed a gun in her face.Made sure he’ll be limpin’ for a week.Ought to thank me, I left him breathing.”
A few of the others glance up.No one smiles.The Christmas lights strung over the bar blink lazy red and green, and every blink feels like an accusation.
Coal flicks his cigarette into a beer can.“You’re supposed to lie low, not play savior.Sheriff’s already sniffin’ around after what went down.”
“I handled it.”
“You handled it, all right,” Frost mutters.“Couldn’t pull your punches for once?”
I look at Blizzard’s sling and don’t apologize.“Maybe if these punks followed orders, I wouldn’t have to.No one’s supposed to get hurt.”
The room goes quiet.
Coal chuckles without humor.“Gun wasn’t loaded.You know that… You just got a thing for waitresses now, huh?”
“She saw my face,” I lie, easy and flat.“Better she stay close till it blows over.”
Coal snorts, but it sounds more like pain.I notice he’s sitting, rubbing his head.“Or maybe you just wanted to play hero.”
I step closer and chairs scrape back like a warning.“You got somethin’ else to say?”
He looks down, jaw constricted.“Not tonight.”
“Good.”
The music starts again, old Skynyrd warbling under the lights.I grab a bottle off the table and head for the side door, needing cold air more than company.
Behind me, Frost says quietly, “Christmas Eve, brother.Bunnies were still here when you brought her in.You really think this won’t get back to your Ol’ Lady?”
I don’t answer.The wind outside does it for me, slipping through the cracks, cold and sharp.
Once I’m good and cooled off, I make my way to a quiet corner.I drop onto the couch, elbows on knees.I should call Trina.Tell her I’m fine.Tell her nothing happened.
