Sleighing the Motorcycle Man (25 Days of Christmas: Bikers & Mobsters)

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.