Krampus
I hate the fucking holidays.
Nothing sucks more than watching our quiet little town get all gussied up with big red bows, Christmas lights, and holiday decor.
I once punched out a mall Santa because he had the audacity to ask me what I wanted for Christmas. I told him he could take his jolly ho-ho-hos and stuff them right up his chimney, then gave him an uppercut to his fake beard with my tiny little ten-year-old fist, not giving two shits that it made the kids behind me cry when I accidentally pulled it off in the process, exposing the Santa faker for all to see. So many believers were lost that day. My mother told me I was going to be on the naughty list, and I just shrugged and told her it was probably meant to be.
I’ve been on the naughty list my whole life, ever since I was five and burnt half of my face in a tragic oil fryer incident at my father’s diner. It’s not my fault that I was left unattended while he went and fucked a slutty waitress in his office. I just wanted some damn fries and thought I’d seen them handle the baskets well enough to do it myself. But I miscalculated my height andability to place the basket in the fryer, so when it was time to pull the fries out, I dumped hot oil all over my face, singeing off a good portion of it and disfiguring me for life.
It was an unfortunate event, but one that has shaped me into the grumpy asshole that I live and breathe today. It’s why my club nicknamed me Krampus. I’m grumpy, my face looks like rare hamburger meat, and I hate Christmas and every other holiday that involves cheer and hopefulness. It’s a moniker I rock with pride, and fuck anyone else that thinks of me differently.
I keep people at a distance for a reason. Most don’t even get to see the real me. Half the time, I wear a mask over the left side of my face, embracing my inner Phantom like I belong in the opera. It’s why I still get pussy. Girls aren’t allowed to touch my face, there are definitely no overnight stays, and they can go fuck themselves if they think I’m settling down with anybody. There’s no Ol’ Lady in this biker’s future. The universe made sure of that.
“What’s up, fucker?” Phantom questions, breezing into the room with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. The man has been buzzing ever since he punt-kicked Suzy Poltergeist out of his life, leaving the club ghost free for the first time in months. We were the only ones who believed him when he said he had a ghost following him around, but only because the paranormal bitch made our clubhouse a miserable haunt for the last few months after she died, and decided to make Phantom’s life a literal version of living Hell.
“Not much,” I said with a yawn. “Just doing my best to stay away from the festivities.” My jaw clenches. The club Annies are busy decorating the clubhouse. They have it all done up in fall decor, getting ready for the big Thanksgiving feast coming in a few weeks. The only thing good about Thanksgiving is the food; everything else is just exhausting. I don’t do holidays with my dad; I refuse. He’s the reason my mom decided to take herown life, and I’ve never forgiven him for it. That’s why I only celebrate holidays with Drac and his family. My family sucks, and there’s no way in hell I’m doing anything with my dad and his new “found” family that he keeps urging me to be a part of. Why would I want to join a family that was created through infidelity and lies? Just because my dad’s new wife is the same bitch my mom caught him with all those years ago, doesn’t mean I’m going to accept those two kids she popped out like they’re my real siblings. They’re the reason my mom took her own life, and I can’t look at their stupid faces without seeing hers on the floor… lifeless and cold.
So, yeah. I fucking hate the holidays, which is why I know the Annies will have this whole place puking up Christmas the day after we feast, making my body twitch with resentment.
Phantom laughs, his smile spreading. “You really live up to your name, don’t you, my friend?” WHACK! His hand pounds against my back, causing the air to whoosh out of my lungs.
“You know I’m breathing, right? There’s no need to slap my back like I'm choking on something, motherfucker.”
“Yeah, choking on dick!” Gremlin screams from another table nearby, the stupid prospect giggling like a loon. But he’s the only one. Even Creature and Bates, who are sitting there passing around a joint, and chugging down a few beers, aren’t amused.
“Come over here and say that to my face, Prospect. We’ll see how much you’ll be laughing then.”
Gremlin instantly straightens, his joking tone erasing into one that is more serious. “Sorry, VP, won’t happen again.”
“That motherfucker is going to get his ass lit up one of these days. If someone else doesn’t do it, I sure as fuck will.”
Phantom tries to mask his smile. He and my other brothers get some sick pleasure out of watching the prospects try to fit into the club. Gremlin is the only one with promise, but if hekeeps fucking with me, I’ll be sure to say nay when it comes time for him to get a rocker.
“How’s Autumn?” I question, wanting to change the subject to anything else.
“Still getting used to being with a biker, but she’s adjusting well. Last week, she got into a fistfight with one of the Annies, and the girls haven’t fucked with her since.”
“Why’d they go at it?”
“Apparently, Esther made the mistake of describing in detail our last rendezvous within earshot of Autumn. When Autumn asked her to shut the fuck up, Esther got up in her face, and Autumn knocked her the fuck out.” He smirks, stretching back in the chair until his shirt rides up and part of his belly is showing. There are fresh scratch marks on his skin. Must be nice to have full-time pussy. I wouldn’t know what that’s like. Nor do I want to.
“She got fucked real good that night.”
“I bet,” I say, stroking my chin. “Did you hear about that new bakery opening up next to Moseley? Who the fuck voluntarily opens a bakery in Fernley?”
He shrugs. “Somebody who doesn’t know how fucked up this town really is.” He shifts uneasily. “Any word on that shipment that got hijacked the other day?”
“It’s got the Misfits written all over it. But we don’t have proof. Those motherfuckers just need to die already. They and that Moseley prick.”
“I wish. But if we make a move, not only do we have the Italian Mafia breathing down our necks, but Arturo will be too.”
Arturo is the new stand-in prez of a rival club that set up a few towns over, called the Raging Misfits MC. Their original Prez, Warden, disappeared a few months back with Drac’s old girlfriend Sammie. We hate them, and they hate us, but our disdain for them has only heightened since they parted wayswith Moseley. Ever since Drac chose this town to move his business to, Moseley’s been breathing down our necks to either comply or get the fuck out of Fernley. But we aren’t about to leave just because the Italian Mafia decided to set up shop here. The Elm Street Riders don’t back down for anyone.
“Do you think Moseley has something to do with the sudden increase in suits around here?” Phantom questions.
“Yeah, I do. He’s buying up everything in Fernley and turning businesses into his own personal fencing operations.”
Hannibal plops down next to Phantom, joining the conversation. “It makes me wonder if the new bakery’s owner is an idiot, or if they’re part of Moseley’s payroll. I couldn’t find much information about the new store owner.”
