Chapter 9
Carol
The week after the robbery feels like a dream someone spliced with a hangover. Sno-Globes reopens with new locks on the door, and the same old regulars pretending nothing happened. I go through the motions, pour, smile, breathe.
Evervale hums with fake cheer again. Tourists crowd the square for cocoa and photos under the spruce. Inside the bar, candy-cane martinis sparkle under the lights. I keep humming Christmas songs because it’s muscle memory. The whole town runs on habit.
It’s my day shift when Jimmy, my boss, calls a meeting, telling us, “I’m finally selling.” We all know what he means.
The corporation who owns most of Evervale has had their eye on this piece of land since I was a kid. They want to expand, take over the businesses outside their boundary. Sno-Globes will be bulldozed in favor of something more wholesome.
The fact that he says this all the time didn’t make me any less devastated. Ginger calls a secret meeting. We organize a collection. Maybe if the town chips in Jimmy won’t give up. We’ve changed his mind before.
Blake stops by the next day, careful and polite. He brings me lunch, kisses my cheek, calls me brave. I tell him the bad news, but he doesn’t get how it’s bad.
“Maybe it’s time for a change,” he says like I don’t owe this town and Sno-Globes my life.
When I don’t answer, he asks, “When do you get off.” Blake's clingy since Christmas, like he senses my mind’s been on another man.
“I’m working a double,” I say. “Why?”
“We’ve not exchanged presents, yet.”
I shrug.
“It’s not like you to lose your Christmas spirit.”
Gasping like he smacked me, I sigh. He’s right. “I know. I’m still on edge. From the robbery.”
“Then maybe you need to take some time off from Sno-Globes.”
“No, I don’t need that.” Doing that would mean more time that I would have to fill lying to him.
“I’m taking you out tonight, and I’m staying over,” Blake announces like he deserves a medal.
I nod and smile like it’s fine, and he leaves, satisfied for now. But the truth is I’ve been avoiding him since Christmas.
By eight o’clock, the door swings open and leather and exhaust slides in with the reason why.
The Evervale Executioners MC.
Three of them crowd the doorway first. I try to read their cuts, Frost, Rednose, and a blond kid with a scar that looks permanent. Behind them, Humbug walks in last. His eyes find me like a bad habit.
My pulse stumbles.
Not seeing him or hearing from him since the night he saved me, the night we fucked, I tell myself to stay professional. I tell myself the floor needs mopping. But the truth is I haven’t drawn a full breath since I left him that morning.
“Evenin’, sweetheart.” Frost grins, dropping cash on the counter. “Round of bourbons. Executioners’ tab.”
“You don’t have one.”
“Guess we’ll keep payin’ cash then.”
They settle at the corner table. But Humbug doesn’t go sit right away. He leans against the bar instead, fingers drumming near the napkin holder. His knuckles have healed.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah,” he says, like it’s nothing. Like what we did was nothing. “I’m better than…” he starts. “I mean… Are you okay?”
“Sometimes.”
He nods. “Good. Keep a bat under the counter.”
“I’ve got pepper spray on my keyring.”
He smirks. “Cute.”
His words shouldn’t sound like affection, but they do. Humbug’s fighting a smile as he leaves to join his brothers.
I look to Ginger who shakes her head. She’s refusing my silent plea.
So, I strut over, pour their drinks. When I slide Humbug’s glass across, his fingers brush mine.
All accident, except neither of us moves away fast enough.
Then he grabs my hand and doesn’t let go. Heat jolts through me, quick and mean.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper.
“Neither should you.” His mouth curves. “Peppermint.”
Before I can answer, the door jingles again. Blake’s back. Walks in, crisp, wool coat, gloves, that practiced smile that never reaches his eyes.
“Carol.” He waves, bright for the crowd.
Perfect timing. I steal my hand away from the biker.
Humbug straightens. Blake notices him, of course he does. Evervale may be sweet, but it isn’t blind. Everyone knows what kind of men the Executioners are.
I head to the bar as Blake crosses to take a stool. He leans over and drops a kiss on my cheek that feels like performance art. “We’re grabbing dinner after you finish.”
“I’ve still got a half hour.”
“I’ll wait.” He sits, orders a coffee black.
And we have company. Humbug takes a seat beside him.
Turning his head, Blake gives the big biker a once-over. “Friend of yours?”
“Customer,” I say too fast.
Humbug laughs under his breath. “Sure. Customer.”
Blake reaches out his hand, polite as ever. “You’re the man from the robbery, right? Carol said you helped.”
My eyes narrow. Blake’s quicker than I thought. I’m surprised he cares.
Humbug ignores his hand. Stares at it like it’s a snake in the grass. “Helped myself to trouble, mostly.”
“Well, thanks,” Blake says stiffly. “The town owes you.”
“Town’s not payin’ what I want.”
I drop the rag I’m holding. “Humbug…”
He raises a brow at me. “It’s the truth.”
“Stop.”
“What do you want?” Blake reaches for his wallet. “Money?”
Humbug shakes his head. “Nope.”
Blake frowns between us. “Something going on here?”
“No,” I whine, and it sounds like a lie even to me.
Looking over, I see the bikers snicker low.
Blake stands. “You should respect her.”
“I do,” Humbug says, lazy smile sharpening. “That’s the problem.”
I step between them, heart beating in my throat. “Both of you, stop. Please.”
Blake breathes through his nose, straightens his tie, and gives me a look, half pity, half disappointment. “I’ll be outside. We’ll talk when you’re done degrading yourself.” He leaves, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the lights.
For a moment all I hear is the low hum of the jukebox, playing Mariah Carey, and the wet crack of ice in glasses.
Humbug finishes his bourbon, sets the glass down gentle. “He talk to you like that often?”
“Don’t.” My throat tightens. “Blake’s a good man.”
“Good ain’t the same as right.”
“He loves me.”
Biker gives a short, bitter laugh. “You sure? Looked more like he was provin’ he owns you.”
My hands hit my hips. “That’s rich, coming from a man who’s married.”
His eyes flash. “Not for long.”
I turn to grab another bottle just so I don’t have to look at him. “You shouldn’t say that to me.”
“Then tell me to leave.”
“I can’t,” I say, and take a big breath. “Really, you’re a paying customer, and you’ve not done a thing wrong.”
Humbug tips a nearby glass, spilling sticky liquid all over. “How about now? Throw me out.”
I wipe down the counter, pretending my hands aren’t shaking. The club drains their drinks, tosses cash, starts filing out with the usual noise, boots, laughter, exhaust promises.
Humbug lingers.
“Carol,” he says when the others push through the door.
I don’t answer. I just grab the trash bag and head for the back alley.
Snow’s falling again, thick and slow. The dumpsters wear white caps. I drop the bag, breathe in the freezing cold, and let myself feel angry at everything, him, Blake, myself.
The door opens behind me. Boots crunch. Big biker boots.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Humbug’s voice rumbles.
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
Fuming, I spin around. “You have no right to show up, you know that? You can’t just barge into my life like this.”
“Last time I checked, this is a public place.” He steps closer, close enough that the heat coming off him cuts through the cold. “You want me gone?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me you don’t think about it.”
“What?” I say, thinking about “it”.
“About that night.”
The words hit like a match in dry tinder. I back into the brick wall, breath clouding between us. “You think I don’t feel sick about it? You think I’m proud of it?”
“No,” he says. “I think you’re still dreamin’ about it. Same as me.”
He’s too close now, leather and heat, his shadow swallowing mine.
“Stop,” I whisper, staring up at his beard and cold gray eyes. I remember them both from that night with a shiver.
He braces one hand beside my head. “Can’t stop, Peppermint.”
The world narrows to the space between us, to the way his breath ghosts over my mouth. I tell myself to move, to push him away, to do anything but want.
Then I kiss him. Or he kisses me. It’s both, and it’s wild, angry, hungry, wrong. Not to mention Blake could come looking for me any second.
The biker tastes like smoke and the bourbon I poured him. And like everything I’ve been pretending not to need. My hands fist in his jacket before I remember myself and break the kiss, gasping.
“This is insane,” I say. “Blake’s out front freezing, waiting for me. He’s going to take me out, spend the night.”
“Yeah,” he answers, biting his lip. “But he doesn’t have what you want.”
Without warning, his hand slips down my pants, into my panties. I melt against him as he strokes me just right. His rough fingers and this breath, hot at my ear almost undo me. “You want my cock inside you again. Don’t you, Peppermint?”
The outline of it presses against my thigh. My whole body trembles into his as he slips the tip of his finger inside me.
“You want me to fuck you again.”
“Don’t say that. No one can know what we did.”
“That you fucked me?”
“Please,” I whine. “Stop.”
And with that one word, just as quick as it appeared, his hand is gone. The biker steps back, touches my cheek once, that rough thumb, and his too soft look, breaking me.
“Then go home to your good boy,” he says. “Pretend you never f… sleighed me.”
That deserves a laugh, and I give a small one. “And you?”
He smiles without joy. “I told you I don’t forget the women who sleigh me… I’ll be the man you hum about.” Biker walks away, boots fading into the snow, leaving me against the wall, breathless and burning.