Chapter 3
Carol
They take statements, photos, names. Blue lights replace the normal twinkle of Christmas lights in the small town.
Humbug barely talks, only gives his version when the sheriff presses.
I catch flashes of tattoos under his sleeves, black ink wrapping muscle, a cross of wrenches on one forearm, the Executioners’ skull emblem peeking from his collar.
He looks bored while everyone else shakes.
I keep thinking about the way he moved. No hesitation, no mercy. The robbers were kids, maybe twenty, nearly my age, but he handled them like they were wolves coming for lambs. I should be scared of him. Instead, I feel the kind of pulse you only get when you’ve been too close to danger and lived.
When it’s finally over, Sugar Plum squeezes my hand. “You need a ride?”
“I’m fine,” I lie again. The roads are slick with ice, and I don’t drive. My apartment’s a twenty-minute walk, but I can’t stand the idea of Blake picking me up.
“Come on,” Humbug says, already at the door, already deciding for me.
“I can walk.”
“You look like you’ll pass out before you hit Main.”
“I can call someone... ask the police.”
“Cops’ll take the long way.” He holds the door open, and cold rushes in around him. His truck idles at the curb, paint black and dull with salt.
“You’re a biker... where’s your motorcycle?”
“Tonight, the snow comin’ to Evervale ain’t fake. Do I look like I have a death wish?”
“Yeah, actually you do.”
“Get in,” he growls.
I nod, because it’s easier than arguing.
The cab smells like his hands, like motor oil and leather. A faded Santa air freshener hangs from the mirror, irony maybe, or just evidence of someone else’s prank. He doesn’t turn on the radio. The silence sits thick until I hear my own teeth chatter.
“You okay?” he asks again.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “We’ve been robbed before. Masked men come in acting like they have a weapon in their hoodie. Jimmy, our boss, tells us to give them the money, and we do. Usually that’s the end of it. I’ve never had a gun in my face like that.”
“You did good,” he says. “Kept your head. Most people freeze or scream.”
“You broke his arm.”
He shrugs. “He pointed a weapon at you.”
I stare out the window at Evervale’s holiday lights blinking cheerful lies. “You always that calm?”
“No,” he says after a beat. “Just trained.”
When he glances over, something hot slides under my skin. I can still sense his hand at my back, the rough pad of his thumb when he steadied me. He shouldn’t look that controlled after what happened. I shouldn’t want to lean closer.
He pulls up outside my building, kills the engine, but doesn’t unlock the doors.
“I didn’t tell you where I live,” I remark.
“Sugar,” he explains.
I realize I’ve not been present.
“Your hands are still shaking,” he says.
Looking down, I see he’s right. “I’ll live.”
The biker studies me like he’s deciding if he believes it. Then he raises his eyebrows. “Where’s your man?”
“At work in the city,” I answer honestly. “Was. Don’t know if he’s coming over. I didn’t answer his call.”
“On Christmas Eve?”
I shrug.
“He as young as you?”
“Twenty-two? No, he’s twenty-eight,” I say, wondering why I tell him anything.
“You’re not staying here.”
“Excuse me?”
He blows out a breath. Looks away as he says, “They saw your face. Maybe they follow. Maybe they talk. I don’t like chances.”
“And where exactly am I supposed to go?”
He turns the key again. “Clubhouse. Safer.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“You know I didn’t let you die tonight.”
That shuts me up. I should insist on calling a friend. Sugar would let me sleep over in a heartbeat. Even Ginger. I should tell the biker to leave. But I just sit there, breathing the warm dark scent of smoke on his jacket while he drives again.