Torque & Tinsel: Summit Hill Vipers (25 Days of Christmas: Bikers & Mobsters)

Chapter 1 Noelle

Istare through the window where I’ve been watching the first fat flakes of snow beginning to fall, softly blanketing the yard and bushes in a white fluffy pillow. In the light, the crystals sparkle with a silvery sheen like they’re made of tiny diamonds. It’s a breathtaking sight.

December is my favorite month of the year, and since this is the first snowfall of the season, I can hardly contain my excitement.

Maybe that’s why my parents named me Noelle.

An omen of the holiday-loving, cocoa-drinking, candy-cane addict daughter they had unknowingly unleashed into the world.

I can be found singing carols and baking my favorite holiday treats nearly every day this month.

Just so you know, sugar doesn’t count from Black Friday through New Year’s Day.

The holiday season can’t be appreciated unless you’re willing to indulge in every sinfully sweet treat available.

To prove that point, I lift my hot cocoa to my lips and take a sip. It’s that perfect temperature that’s not too hot but still warm and tickles the back of my throat as I swallow. Or maybe that’s one of the fifty mini marshmallows I plopped inside, but who’s counting?

These calories really don’t count. I’m sticking to that mantra.

“Auntie Noah?”

I turn my gaze away from the snow that’s accumulating faster than my niece can reach for the remote and restart her favorite holiday movie.

How the Grinch Stole Christmas is a holiday must in our family.

It just doesn’t feel right until I’ve seen the Grinch grow his heart two sizes and restore everything he stole to every Who in Whoville.

My niece gives me an impatient look as I stare into her pretty brown eyes. They’re an exact match to my sister’s, along with the dimple in her left cheek when she smiles. Unless she’s about to throw a tantrum. Like now. I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing one before it happens.

I set my hot cocoa on a nearby coaster and take a seat beside Ainsley on the couch. “Do you want to watch the Grinch again?”

She shakes her head. Her little arms fold over her chest as she sticks out her bottom lip.

“Are you feeling sad or angry?” When Ainsley gets in one of her moods, my sister prompts her to talk about her feelings and put them into words. It doesn’t work as well with me, but I have a secret weapon: tickles.

Ainsley’s upper lip curls. “No. I want nuggies.”

Ah. Chicken nuggets from Chick-fil-A. They’re her favorite. Well, mine too. Who doesn’t love them? They’re delicious. You don’t even need sauce.

This is not a debate.

“You just had breakfast two hours ago,” I gently remind her.

Not that I’m not down for nuggets. I totally am.

Her cheeks turn red, and that’s when I know a meltdown is imminent. I stretch my fingers toward her, keeping my expression neutral. “Oh, no.”

She purses her lips because she knows what’s coming.

“I can’t control my hand.” My fingers spasm as I inch closer to her.

A tiny smile stretches her lips before she scowls.

I’m already breaking down her defenses. This is easy. I reach her waist and begin to tickle her, laughing as she giggles, and her attitude disappears.

“Stop!” A tiny screech erupts from her lips before she laughs louder. “Auntie Noah!”

I stop tickling her and flop back against the cushions on my couch. “Gotcha!”

“You’re sneaky.” She doesn’t appear upset. “Can we get nuggies? Puh-lease?”

I’m a sucker for my niece. I hardly ever say no to her.

“Well, babygirl, if you want some nuggies, I’ll take you to the mall.” It’s my Saturday with Ainsley. I take her twice a month so my sister can have a break. She works way too hard as a single mom. “If you want, we can see Santa.”

My niece jumps to her feet with a squeal. “Yay!”

“But it’s snowing and cold out, so you have to wear your boots, coat, mittens, and hat.” I’m specific on purpose. If I don’t list them all, she might try to ignore the ones I don’t mention.

Ainsley is a sly little thing. Like her mama. I smirk at the thought.

Maybe it runs in the family.

“Okay.”

She’s being nice because of Santa and nuggies. I’m not offended. Of course, the tickles helped.

“I love you, Auntie Noah.”

Ainsley has never been able to pronounce my name right. I’m not sure if she hears it differently, or if she just likes calling me Noah instead of Noelle. Honestly, I don’t mind. It’s adorable.

“I love you tons and tons. Bushels and bushels,” I reply, like I have a hundred times before.

“To the moon and back,” she replies without missing a beat.

“To infinity.” I tap her on the end of her nose. “All my love forever.”

It takes almost an hour for me to get her ready, warm up the car, drive to the mall, park, and finally enter the upper level.

Half the mall is outdoors, and we won’t be walking around in this weather.

The rest are two levels with a high ceiling that’s made of steel beams and glass panes.

The snow has covered the roof, and none of the sky is visible as I glance up.

“There’s so many lights,” Ainsley points out as I notice the holiday décor.

The mall never skimps on the decorations.

Every year, it’s festive and twinkling, inviting visitors to shop for the holidays, stop at the food court, listen to the live piano music, or grab a hot beverage to ward off the chilly weather.

“Nuggies?” Ainsley asks as I stuff her mittens and hat into my backpack before I hold her hand.

I always bring a backpack with essentials like disinfecting wipes, a spare outfit for Ainsley, a bottle of water, and one of her stuffed animals.

In a crisis, I could end up needing all of it.

Learned my lesson the hard way a few years ago when I took her to the zoo, and she didn’t make it to the bathroom, had a meltdown, and smeared chocolate all over my favorite sweater.

Not that I blame her for any of it since she was only two at the time, but I know better than to tempt fate.

Preparation ensures we both enjoy our outings.

“Yes. We’ll eat first and then visit Santa.” The sign by the display says he’s set to return after 3 p.m., and it’s only 1. I’ve got plenty of time for lunch before we get in line to meet the big jolly elf.

Ainsley pulls me toward the Chick-fil-A, and I get in the long line, noting that it’s moving fast. This won’t take long. I feel a tug on my shirt and glance down at my niece. “What is it?”

She points to our left to a group of men huddled together around several tables. They’re all wearing leather vests and jeans. There’s a logo on the back of their black vests that I don’t recognize. It has a snake, with the words “Summit Hill” above and “Vipers” below.

A motorcycle gang? Are they called gangs? Or clubs? I don’t know the correct term.

“Are they bad guys?”

I’m not one to pass judgment before I’ve met someone, so I don’t know how to answer.

Are the men intimidating? Yes. Nearly all of them are heavily inked with dark tattoos, including skulls.

Most of them have a long beard or stubble.

Some have long hair. They’re a rowdy-looking bunch, and they’re loud, but not obnoxious.

Just having a good time from what I can tell, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

“I don’t think so, baby girl,” I assure her as I tear my gaze away and walk forward to place our order.

The food court is busy, and most of the tables are full. I end up walking around with Ainsley in tow for several minutes as I try to find a place for us to sit and eat.

“Auntie Noah,” Ainsley whines.

“I know, Ains,” I say, using her nickname, “I’ll find a table.”

I’m so focused on trying to keep the tray level and hold onto my niece’s hand as I scan the seating area that I don’t notice we’re not alone.

“Here. This table is open.”

I spin around, nearly colliding with a big biker.

He’s so tall that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.

And his eyes. . . they’re a deliciously smooth, chocolatey brown with just a bit of amber closer to the center.

I could get lost in eyes that deep and rich.

They seem to darken as he stares at me, and his lips curl into a grin. “Uh, thanks. Mr.?”

“No, mister, darlin’. Just Torque.”

Torque? “That’s your name?” I blurt like an idiot.

“Yeah, babe. Not the one my mama gave me, but it fits.”

Several chuckles erupt around us, and I can feel my cheeks grow pink as I blush.

“Oh.” I blink. “Thanks for the table.”

“Sure.” He surprises me when he reaches for the tray and gestures to the table with a tick of his chin. “Have a seat and get the little one settled.”

It’s not really an order, so I don’t get uptight about it. “Okay. I appreciate it.”

I help Ainsley slide off her coat and scoot her up to the table’s lip, but frown as I see she needs a booster seat to be able to eat without making a big mess. “Shoot,” I mumble as I straighten. “I need a booster.”

Torque sets the tray down on the table and winks at me. “I’ll grab one.”

Before I can answer, he’s walking away toward the stroller parking, which also has rows of highchairs and a stack of booster seats. They’re almost gone. I only see one left.

Torque strides toward it and glares at a guy as he reaches for it. I almost snicker as I see the guy back up several steps and grab a highchair instead, rushing back to his table and away from the biker.

I shrug off my coat and slide it over the back of my chair as Torque reaches us.

“Here ya go.”

“Thanks.” I take the booster from him and adjust it underneath Ainsley’s bottom as I push the chair in. She’s the perfect height now—no further issues.

“You hungry, baby girl?” I ask as I open her nuggets, fruit, and mac-n-cheese—all her favorites. Luckily for me, there’s no mess since she doesn’t like sauce with her nuggies.

A girl after my heart.

I slip into my seat and notice the biker is watching us. “You’re very kind. Thanks for helping my niece and me.”

He smiles. “No problem, darlin’. What’s your name?”

Ainsley answers for me around a mouthful of chicken nugget. “An-hee, No-ha.”

Torque blinks. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

I barely did. “Ains, don’t talk with your mouth full. Chew and swallow first.”

She nods, picking up her juice to take a sip. “Okay, Auntie Noah.”

“Noah?” Torque asks to clarify.

“Well, it’s Noelle, but my little nugget here likes to call me Noah.”

She giggles. “That’s your name.”

My smile warms as I watch her take another bite. “You’re right.”

Torque’s head tilts as he stares, and it’s a little unnerving.

I clear my throat. “You’ve been a big help today. Thanks again.”

Why is he still sticking around? I can’t fathom a single reason why this biker wants to hang around Ainsley and me while we eat lunch. It’s not exciting.

“Just gettin’ a good look at you, babe. Storing it up here for later.” He taps his temple.

Okay. That’s a bit. . . odd. Creepy? A little.

“Why later?” Ainsley asks, beating me to it.

“Because you have a sweet, pretty aunt,” he explains.

My niece pops a piece of fruit in her mouth. “I know.”

He smirks, turning his attention back to me. “How about you let me take you for a cup of coffee later? Let us get to know one another.”

“She doesn’t like coffee,” Ainsley informs him. “Just cocoa and cookies.”

I try not to laugh. She isn’t wrong. “I’m more of a tea and hot cocoa girl,” I admit.

“Then we’ll get whatever you want.” He opens his mouth to say something else, but I hear the gruff voice of another biker call his name. “Gotta go, darlin’. I’ll be seein’ you soon.” Torque winks at Ainsley. “Don’t forget to tell Santa what you want for Christmas.”

She waves at him. “Mommy says he already knows.”

Torque chuckles. It’s a sinfully attractive sound that causes me to openly stare at the man before he walks away.

He holds my gaze for a few heartbeats and then turns around, giving me the perfect view of his ass in jeans that fit snug enough to hug his thighs and bottom.

I almost lift my hand to fan my cheeks because he’s got to be one of the hottest guys I’ve ever met.

Maybe it’s all the ink. He’s got so many tattoos that they cover his arms in stars, stripes, an eagle, and more ink disappears beneath the short sleeves of his black shirt. I wonder how he can ride a bike without a coat, and figure he must have a leather jacket or something else he wears to ride.

As I eat, I talk with Ainsley, but I also keep glancing at Torque.

He’s in a heated conversation with the other bikers.

It seems serious. He runs a hand over the shaved side of his head before dropping it.

He must feel that I’m watching because he turns partially my way, enough that I know he’s aware, but not enough to pull him away from the conversation he’s in.

I honestly don’t have a clue what this biker wants with me.

I’m not the thin Barbie type. I have full hips, and my chest is a solid C, but I’ve got a tummy and thick thighs.

I’m battling a double chin. I should watch my calories, but I enjoy eating, and I honestly don’t think my curves are a bad thing.

Internally, I sigh. This biker probably isn’t that serious about me. He never asked for my phone number.

Ainsley finishes eating, and I pile up our trash. “Be right back, Ains.”

“Okay.” She sips on the last of her juice as I toss our trash.

When I spin around to head back to the table, Ainsley isn’t there. I blink, trying to process that she disappeared in less than fifteen seconds. A moment of pure panic hits my chest so hard that I struggle to pull air into my lungs.

“Ainsley?” I shout as I rush by tables and nearly knock over a highchair as my foot catches on the edge. “Sorry!”

My heart begins to pound in my chest as I snatch up her coat and shove it into my backpack.

I shrug it on, searching through the thick crowd and the lines around the food court.

There’s no way she could have gone far. I sprint to the exit and glance outdoors, but I don’t see her in the softly falling snow that’s piling up outdoors.

I spin around and nearly collide with a wall of bikers.

“Noelle?”

“Torque.” I know I’m going to cry. The sting of tears pools in my eyes. “It’s Ainsley. She’s gone.”

“Shit,” one of the other bikers curses.

Torque turns to the big guy with a dark beard who wears a patch that says President and Storm. “Pres?”

“Go,” he orders the group. “Find the little girl. Torque, stay with Noelle.”

Torque nods and reaches for my hand. It might have felt odd under different circumstances, but since I’m panicking, afraid, and imagining the worst, it’s oddly comforting. “Come on, baby. I got you.”

As we begin to search through the nearby restrooms and shops, I send up a silent prayer.

Please. Let her be okay.