Chapter 18 #2
Not the kind of broken people see in movies, some romanticized scar-tissue version of pain. No. Mine’s real. Bone-deep. Ugly.
But I don't say it. Because I don’t want her to look at me differently. Or worse—leave.
Her phone buzzes with a message from the community center and she groans, “Crap, I’ve gotta go in. Something’s gone sideways again.”
“I’ll drive,” I said before she even finished.
She tried to protest. “Bear, no, you don’t have to—”
I pressed a firm, hard kiss on her mouth. “You’re my woman now. I’ll drive.” It wasn’t a question. She was with me now and I wasn’t letting her drive on a snowy mountain road.
The roads were rough, but not worse than I’ve seen. I had her there in forty minutes flat, and when she stepped out, looking like a flustered elf in boots and my damn hoodie, I just leaned against the door and watched her run inside.
I should’ve left.
But I didn’t.
Good thing, too.
Because ten minutes later, the fire alarm went off, three toddlers were locked in the janitor’s closet, and someone had managed to short out the entire lighting grid for the rec hall’s “Winter Wonderland” stage setup.
I was halfway through rewiring the fuse box when Becca came skidding into the back room with two teen volunteers dragging folding chairs.
“Where did you—how did you—”
I grunted, twisting the final wire. Lights flickered on like magic. “It was either fix the grid or watch you have a nervous breakdown trying to run this place on emergency lighting.”
She blinked at me. Then launched herself into my arms and kissed me in front of the art teacher, a confused nine-year-old ballerina, and a guy dressed as a snowman.
Worth it.
I was just starting to think maybe the night could still be ours. Maybe we’d make it back up to the cabin. Light a fire. Watch her dance around in fuzzy socks and my old Henley. Maybe I’d finally tell her something real.
Then my burner phone buzzed.
Three times.
I didn’t have to look to know it was MC business.
Urgent.
“Bear?” she asked, voice soft, already knowing.
I looked at her. Took a second. Burned the image of her face into my mind like it was the last peaceful thing I’d see for a while.
I pulled her close. Kissed her hard. Slow. Deep. Long enough for her to know that I didn’t want to leave. That if I had a choice, I wouldn’t.
“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 what I 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.
From Bear the man…
To Bear the President.
The guy who makes the calls.
And bleeds for them.
We rolled into the clearing off Timberline, where four bikes and two trucks were already idling, their taillights glowing red in the dark like coals. My men were waiting, cut-clad, armed, silent. Ready.
I stepped out.
The wind hit my face like a slap, but I didn’t flinch. Snow in my beard, mud under my boots. My kutte felt heavier tonight.
So did the weight of what was coming.
“Talk to me,” I said, nodding to Grease.
“Scouts saw three Scorpions setting up a drop half a click west. No guards, no firepower visible. But we know better.”
“Bait,” I said.
Grease nodded. “Or a message.”
“Fine,” I said. “We send one back.”
I pointed to Pico and two others. “Shadow the drop. Do not engage. I want eyes only.”
Then I turned to Jinx.
“You and me,” I said. “We’re going to say hello to their backup crew. If they’re sniffing around our borders, they’re gonna know who they’re dealing with.”
He cracked his neck. “Love it when you get poetic.”
“Poetic’s for funerals,” I said, climbing back into the truck. “Let’s make sure we’re not planning one for any of ours.”
As we drove deeper into the woods, I reached for my sidearm and racked it once, the sound loud in the silence.
One life with Becca.
One life with the patch.
Both real.
Both mine.
But only one I was born into.
And tonight?
The outlaw in me had work to do.
I don’t raise my voice.
Don’t need to.
Not when every man around me knows I mean what I say, and I’ll bleed beside them if it comes to that.
We pulled up on the Scorpions' convoy just past Hollow Creek — four SUVs, blacked out, plates covered, parked in a V like they were waiting for a damn parade. But they weren’t waiting for a parade.
They were waiting for us.
Diesel unholstered before we even killed the lights. Jinx and Pico rolled up behind in the second truck, fans whispering as the engine cooled.
I stepped out slow, kutte heavy on my back. No weapon in my hand — not yet.
Didn’t need it.
My voice was enough.
“Which one of you pissants forgot how boundaries work?”
A tall bastard in a snakeskin jacket stepped forward. Big boy. Leaned on swagger like it made up for the patch he wore. His cut said “Vice President,” but I already clocked him as second-rate.
“Just saying hi,” he said with a grin that made me want to break his jaw.
“You say hi in my town without calling first, you’re not making friends,” I said. “You’re starting a war.”
“We ain’t looking for trouble—”
I cut him off. “Then get the hell off my mountain.”
He opened his mouth again, but I was already moving.
Three steps forward.
No warning.
I grabbed his jacket, spun him around, and slammed him face-first into the side of his own damn SUV.
Hard.
Metal dented.
He grunted like a stuck hog.
I leaned in close, voice low and venom-slick.
“See, I’ve got two lives. One with a woman who thinks I’m worth something. And one with men who know I’ll die for them. I will not—will not—let either get burned because some jumped-up city crew wants to swing their dicks in my woods.”
I let him go.
He slumped like a bag of wet cement.
The others started moving, reaching for pieces.
I drew first.
Didn’t fire.
Yet.
But the message was clear.
“Back in your cars,” I barked. “And next time you come near our border without notice, you don’t get a warning. You get a burial.”
One by one, they backed off. No more smartass grins. No sudden moves.
I stood there and watched them turn around and drive back the way they came, snow spitting from their tires.
Once they were gone, Diesel walked up beside me.
“You alright, Prez?”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, jaw still tight. “Just pissed I had to cut my night short.”
“You really like her, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
Didn’t have to.
He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Then you better keep clearing the path, brother. World like this? You don’t get women like that without a fight.”
I looked out over the treeline, snow starting to fall again.
And I knew he was right.
If I wanted a life with Becca — not just moments — I’d have to earn it. Over and over.
And that started with keeping her safe.
No matter how dirty I had to get. MC business handled for now…
Jinx grinned like a motherfucker. “Tomorrow. 1pm Santa… saddle up.” He slapped my back as he headed back to the truck.”
“My gun isn’t holstered yet,” I muttered.
“A bet’s a bet, brother.”
“Fuck off, Jinx.”
He just cackled as he starting humming “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”
I’d been dodging this all week, ever since Jinx’s smug grin lit up the bar after that damn football game.
He’d called in his bet, and now here I was, stuffed into a red velvet suit that smelled like mothballs and regret.
The community center’s holiday bazaar was in full swing—kids screaming, tinsel everywhere, and me, Bear, playing Santa Claus for a bunch of sticky-fingered brats.
My beard itched, the hat kept slipping, and every ho-ho-ho I forced out felt like a betrayal of everything I stood for. Jinx was gonna pay for this.
I told myself I’d keep it together. Do the job, get out, go home, crack a beer.
But then I saw her. Becca. Sitting at a folding table on her coffee break, sipping from a paper cup, her scarf loose around her neck, cheeks pink from the cold.
She hadn’t spotted me yet, thank fuck. I hadn’t told her about this humiliation—didn’t need her seeing me like this, all decked out like a Christmas cartoon.
Her laughter from the other night was still burned into my brain, and I didn’t trust myself around her.
Not after the cabin. Not after I’d spent every night since fighting the urge to knock on her door.
But now she was here, and my blood was already simmering. Part of me wanted to bolt. The other part—the one I didn’t want to listen to—wanted to drag her somewhere quiet and make her forget her own name.
I adjusted the stupid beard, muttered a curse, and made my way through the crowd.
Kids tugged at my coat, moms gave me syrupy smiles, and I kept my eyes on her.
She was talking to some woman about gingerbread or some crap, her hands moving like they always did when she got excited.
Damn it, why did she have to look like that?
All bright and soft and like she belonged in a better man’s life.
I was halfway to the table when she glanced up. Her eyes locked on mine, and for a split second, I thought she didn’t recognize me. Then her lips twitched, and I knew I was screwed. That little spark in her gaze said she was about to make this worse.
“Santa?” she called out, loud enough to turn heads. “Didn’t know you were on duty today.”
I growled under my breath, the sound muffled by the fake beard. “Don’t,” I said, stalking closer. Her grin widened, and I swear I felt it like a punch to the chest. She was enjoying this too much.
“Need a break, Mr. Claus?” she teased, setting her coffee down. “You look… festive.”
I didn’t think. Just moved. Grabbed her wrist, gentle but firm, and pulled her toward the hallway. “Come with me,” I muttered, ignoring the curious looks from the bazaar crowd. She didn’t resist, just laughed that damn laugh of hers, the one that made my skin feel too tight.
I found a door—an empty storage room, thank fuck—and yanked it open, pulling her inside.
The second the door clicked shut, I backed her against it, my hands on either side of her head, the stupid Santa hat brushing her hair.
The room was dim, cluttered with folding chairs and boxes of decorations, but all I could see was her.
Those eyes, wide and bright, half amused, half something else that made my pulse hammer.
“You think this is funny?” I growled, my voice low, rough. The beard was half off now, hanging crooked, and I didn’t care. “Jinx and his damn bets.”
She bit her lip, trying not to laugh, but her eyes were dancing. “You make a pretty good Santa,” she said, voice soft but teasing. “Very… authoritative.”
“Becca,” I warned, leaning closer. Too close. Her scent hit me—vanilla, spice, that same damn smell that’d been haunting me since the cabin. My hands flexed against the door, itching to touch her. “Keep talking, and you’re gonna regret it.”
“Promise?” she whispered, and that was it. The last thread of my control snapped.
I kissed her. Hard. My mouth crashed into hers, and she gasped, then melted against me, her hands fisting the front of this ridiculous red coat.
The fake beard got in the way, and I tore it off, tossing it somewhere in the dark.
Her lips were soft, warm, and she kissed me back like she’d been waiting for this as long as I had.
My hands found her waist, pulling her closer, and she made a sound that sent heat straight through me.
“Damn it,” I muttered against her mouth, half angry, half desperate. Angry at Jinx for this stupid bet, at her for looking like that, at myself for wanting her this bad. Horny as hell because—well, look at her. She was trouble, and I was drowning in it.
Her fingers slid under the coat, finding my shirt, tugging me closer. “Bear,” she murmured, and the way she said my name made my knees weak. I kissed her deeper, one hand sliding up to cup her face, the other gripping her hip like she might vanish if I let go.
Somewhere outside, kids were yelling, Christmas music was blaring, but in here, it was just us.
Her breath hitched as I pressed myself closer, the stupid Santa pants too tight for what she was doing to me.
I pulled back just enough to look at her, her lips swollen, eyes dark, and I wanted to burn this whole bazaar down just to keep her here.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” I said, voice hoarse.
She grinned, breathless, and tugged at the coat again. “Worth it, Santa.”
I groaned, kissed her again, and decided Jinx’s bet might not be the worst thing after all.