Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The Christmas Auction

HOLLY

"I'm fine, Mom. Really. It's been three days of nothing but being fawned over by you and Dad. You don't have enough vacation time saved up from the casino to stay home any longer. And it's time I get back to The Desert Shack and my own life."

"Now Holly, you can't rush these things. Healing takes time. And your dad and I have worked at the casino for over twenty years. When the other waitresses heard what happened to you, they all chipped in to cover my shifts. I've got it handled. Don't worry about me," she chattered on.

Mom was in her element. Taking care of me was her greatest joy. I know that because she repeated it regularly. If they could have afforded it, the entire house would have been filled with children, but they decided early on in their marriage that one was enough for them. Sometimes I wished they'd had other children, then I wouldn't be the center of their universe.

I gritted my teeth as Mom brought me another pillow I didn't need. For the past three days I'd been laid out on my parents' couch, with them hovering over me like I was five years old again.

"How does chicken soup, Saltines, and 7-Up sound for lunch?" She hummed merrily as she headed to the kitchen to make soup.

"Mom, I'm not sick. I was attacked by a couple of drunken criminals who are sitting in jail right now." I stood up, shucked off the blanket, and marched into the kitchen. "I'm going to take a shower and head back to my place. You and Dad have been amazing as usual, but I need to go home."

"Baby, this is your home." She opened her arms wide, gesturing to the tiny kitchen in the two-bedroom duplex they'd rented my entire life. Thankfully, they had a good landlord and were lucky that he used this property as a tax write-off without raising the rent too much over the years.

My parents lived a happy, simple, rather uncomplicated life here in Vegas. Dad was a card dealer and Mom was a cocktail waitress. They met in a casino, and they've spent their entire relationship working in one. I knew how to play poker before I knew my ABCs. I also knew and respected the golden rule in Las Vegas. The house always wins. Sure, you could get "lucky", if you want to call it that, and maybe pull a lever and win a jackpot or roll the right numbers in craps, but that wasn't the norm. Casinos were in business for one reason. To make money. And they did that very well. I just wished they provided better for their staff. Mom and Dad were happy, but for the most part, they lived paycheck to paycheck with just enough extra to go out of town once a year on vacation and no retirement.

One day, if I was ever able to start up my own flashy bar, I'd send them on a real vacation. For years, Mom dreamed of going to Paris, but on their income, that was a pipe dream. Sometimes I thought about burning my savings and taking all three of us on a trip of a lifetime, and if I didn't start making my dreams a reality soon, I might just cave and do it.

"I know this will always be my home because it's where you and Dad are. But Mom, home isn't a place, it's the people you love. And we all deserve more in life. You and Dad deserve more and one day, somehow, I'm going to make it happen."

She came over to me, cupped my cheeks and smiled. "I have faith in you, Holly. If opening your own establishment will fill this void in your soul, your father and I are happy to support you in it. Whatever that entails."

I put my hands over hers. "Then you have to let me go back to work. Neither one of us is making tips hanging out on the couch and watching old movies."

"It's just…" her breath hitched. "When we got that call you were in the hospital… Holly, I'd never been more scared in my entire life. Not ever."

Tears filled both of our eyes as that reminder struck a chord between us. "I know, but it all worked out. I know better how to protect myself and will make sure I stay completely alert and aware from now on."

"Okay," she sighed. "I'll pack your things while you shower. But, baby, you know you're always welcome back home. Anytime you need us, we're right here."

I pulled her into a big hug, snuggling against her neck, her perfume filling my senses with the familiar white amber, lavender, and apple scent that was Lovely by Sarah Jessica Parker. It was supposed to remind the wearer of that old hit show Sex and the City . Mom was obsessed with SJP the way people were with Taylor Swift. I thought it was cute, and I enabled her fascination by buying her a bottle of perfume every year on Mother's Day. And every year, she acted as if it was the first time I bought it for her.

My mom was the best. And as I let her go and made my way to the shower, I vowed to one day give her that trip of a lifetime. Maybe we could also go to New York City first and hit all the places SJP did in the show. My mother would lose her mind.

As I pulled back the shower curtain, removed my clothes, and turned on the water, I stepped inside with one thing on my mind.

How could I make a lot of money in a short amount of time?

Pinching my pennies and saving all my tips to put $6,000 in the bank every year wasn't nearly enough. It would never be enough.

I needed a miracle.

* * * *

When I got back to the bar, Mac was already there. He wore a black bandana tied around his bald head, a white T-shirt, his leather cut, and a pair of ratty jeans and black combat boots. Basically, his normal uniform. He had a salt and pepper mustache that I'd been told was called a Fu Manchu style because it was bushy around his upper lip and went down the sides of his mouth, stopping at his jawline. I thought it was badass and so did the myriad forty and fifty-something biker babes that often waited for him to end his shift each night he worked.

"Hey Mac," I waved as I dragged in my duffle bag.

He pressed his big hands to the bar top, bracing his giant frame. The guy was six foot four, at least two hundred and sixty pounds, and had a mean resting dick face.

"Don't you Hey Mac me, little girl!" he bit out angrily.

I stopped in my tracks. "Well hello to you too. Who pissed in your cheerios this morning?"

"Don't you dare give me that bullshit," he growled, his tone rising as his face reddened.

"Mac, what's wrong?"

His body jerked as though he'd been struck. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"Mac, I'm sensing some hostility—"

"You were fucking attacked!" he raged. "At our bar! And you didn't CALL ME!" he roared, clearly pissed right the fuck off.

My shoulders slumped as I realized what was happening. "Mac, seriously, I'm fine. You're overreacting."

"Overreacting," he sneered. "You haven't seen overreacting, but you will," he threatened. "No one messes with Hound property and lives to talk about it."

"I'm not Hound property."

"The fuck you aren't," he countered, spitball flying alongside his fury.

"Mac, really. It wasn't that bad…" I began, attempting to de-escalate the situation.

He spoke through his teeth. "My sources tell me it was the Baskin brothers. Two men that are twice your size, came onto Hound turf and roughed up one of ours? And you tell me I'm overreacting? Are you fucking kidding me!"

I walked over to the bar and set my duffle on one of the stools. "Mac, listen to me," I tried again.

"No! You listen, Holly. You may not realize the severity of the situation, because you're sweet. And me and my brothers protect sweet. But"—he pointed at my chest—"no one messes with you." Then he pointed at the bar top. "Or this bar as long as it's in Hound's territory."

"Don't worry, they've been taken to jail. My guess, they'll be in there for a while."

He reached out and took my hand and gave it a squeeze. I couldn't help the instant wince and hiss of pain that left my lips, because my palms were still healing.

His eyes flared with white-hot fire as he turned over my hand and saw the abrasions from when I skidded across the gravel multiple times.

Gently, he grabbed my other hand and turned it palm up. He dipped his head and placed a featherlight kiss on each one just like a father or a big brother would for his daughter or little sister.

"I'm going to fucking kill them with my bare hands," he rumbled so low I could feel that vow thunder through my chest like an incoming storm.

Shit. The last thing I needed were the Hounds involved. Even if they meant well, I suspected they got into a lot of illegal activity, and I wanted no part of that lifestyle.

"Mac, please, I'm okay. Really." I pulled my hands out of his grasp. "I just want to forget all of this ever happened and get back to work."

He nodded, his jaw firm, his eyes wild. I didn't know if he'd listen to me, but at that moment, I just wanted to move forward.

* * * *

Unsurprisingly, that night, the entire The Las Vegas Hounds motorcycle club was in attendance. Each one of them spoke kindly to me, overtipped, and eyed every last man that entered the bar. Until one of the sexiest women alive entered. Then all eyes were on her.

"God damn," Mac breathed as Alana Toussaint entered, wearing a fierce all-white business suit that hugged every inch of her lithe form. A pair of red four-inch stilettos made the outfit not only fashion-forward but edgy. Her black hair was parted down the center and fell in a flat glossy sheet down her back. Her eyes were lined with kohl in a vicious cat-eye shape I'd always wanted to learn but never got the hang of. Her hips swayed from side to side, mesmerizing every biker in the room. She smiled coyly as she approached the bar, her cherry-red lips looking positively edible. She was a force of nature, and I desperately wanted to know her secret.

" Bonjour, chérie ," she said as she waved at the stool in front of me.

Sam, a hot biker that had been hitting on me for years, promptly got up and out of his seat to help Alana get settled.

" Merci ." Alana smiled sweetly and then sat, placing a slim, red leather wristlet wallet onto the counter. "I believe you know what I like."

Mac leaned forward. "I'd be happy to make it my business to give you anything you'd like, beautiful," he said using that biker charm that wooed the biker chicks.

I shoved Mac aside. "Don't even start," I warned. "I happen to know for a fact she's married to a hot French guy. Christopher? No, Christophe." I tried to remember the man she introduced me to the second time I saw her. Now that I was out of the hospital and in my right mind, I remembered exactly when we'd first met. Her limo had blown a tire. She drank tequila and chatted about life while her driver took care of the problem. Then she'd come in a second time a month or so later, with her husband, to have a nightcap.

Mac covered his heart with both his hands. "Say it ain't so, beautiful?"

"I'm afraid it is. Married thirty years and counting."

"Happily?" he hedged, and she nodded.

"Dude, seriously?" I laughed.

"Hey, a man has to shoot his shot when the most beautiful woman alive walks into the bar." He confirmed my exact thoughts. She was something else.

"I thought I was the most beautiful woman alive." I crossed my arms and playfully glared at him.

"You're the most beautiful blonde I've ever known. But I don't want to fuck you. You're like my sister. You're hot, but again…" He grimaced. "Too sisterly, blech." He shivered as though grossed out.

"You suck!" I bumped his hip with my own and then remembered that was the bruised one. "Ouch! Damn it all to hell in a handbasket." I moaned in pain, rubbing my hip.

Mac's hands instantly curled into fists. "So, your hip is fucked up too? Not just your hands or those elbows that are nasty looking and barely scabbing over. Not to mention, you keep touching the crown of your head as if just the weight of your hair hurts. That only happens when someone is pulled around by their hair forcefully. Is that what they did to you? Hmmm? I want every detail, Holly."

I turned around and placed my hands to Mac's broad shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. "I'm okay. I'm right here. Alive and well. Just a few bumps and scrapes. No worries. We're having fun. The entire freakin' club is here. Enjoy your brethren while I talk to Alana."

"Alana? Pretty name for a pretty lady." He waggled his eyebrows in her direction.

" Merci ," her lips pressed together, and she looked down and away while tapping red painted nails on the bar top rather seductively. Although, I didn't think being sexy or enthralling was her intent. The woman just oozed confidence, elegance, and unbelievable beauty.

"Mac, please," I begged, staring into his eyes.

"Fine," he grated through his teeth. "I'll drop it, for now. Tomorrow, all bets are off."

I groaned and then went over to the most expensive bottle of tequila we served and poured two shots a piece into two different glasses. Then I grabbed a couple wedges of lime and plonked them on the rims of each glass. I set one in front of Alana and then picked up the other for myself.

She smiled, showing all her white perfect teeth. "To new opportunities."

"Sure," I shrugged and clinked her glass then shot the entire double while she sipped hers primly. The alcoholic burn sliding down my throat was the liquid courage I needed to get through the evening with Mac and his brothers brooding about what happened to me. "Soooo, thanks again for what you and your friend Bruno did the other night. The drink is on me tonight. Actually, every time you come in your drinks are on me. If you hadn't shown up, things could have been very different. I'm really grateful you had my back. It looks like you are my fairy godmother after all."

Alana chuckled whimsically and set down her drink. "Technically, a fairy godmother would have more to offer than assistance fending off a couple bad men. And besides, that was all you and Bruno. I just happened to be in the car at the right time."

"Well, I'm still grateful. But that doesn't give me any hints as to what brings you here tonight."

"I have something I'd like to discuss with you. Is there somewhere private we could chat?"

"Sure. My place is just upstairs." I pointed above our head.

"You live here? Over the bar?" That time it was Alana who put her hand over her heart.

What was it about me that made everyone react as though I was shocking them left and right?

"Yep. Come on. You can bring your drink. I'm going to pour myself another." For some reason, I felt I was going to need even more courage than I previously anticipated. "Mac, I'm going upstairs for a bit. Cover for me."

He waved me off like batting away a gnat. Rude.

Alana followed me around the bar, through the back door, and up a set of stairs. I pulled out my key and unlocked my door. I always kept it locked up tight while I worked, just in case someone tried to slip up the stairs without my notice.

I gestured to the small round table with four chairs tucked underneath it. My studio apartment was laid out really well and the square footage matched the entire size of the bar. When you walked in, my bedroom space was on the left. I had a queen- sized bed placed against the wall along with a nightstand and a pair of matching lamps on either side. Purposely, I had my dad rig up floor-to-ceiling bookcases to create a divide between my room and the living space. We removed the back panel of the bookcases so that you could see through them, making the space seem even bigger.

In the center of the room, I had a single couch that faced a faux fireplace and mantle. Within the insert I'd placed an electric fireplace that actually put out some heat, and I adored the flickering light. Above that was my TV. Pictures of my family and friends dotted the mantle along with some candlesticks. To the right of the entrance and the living room was my small kitchen. It was an L-shape leaving the rest of the space open, so that's where I put the tiny four-seater table. I never wanted to live in a place where I couldn't have my parents sit down and share a meal with me.

Alana took a seat at the table, sat up straight and crossed her legs.

I plopped into the seat opposite her. "So, what do you want to talk about?"

"I want to talk about you, chérie . When we first met, you said you wanted to own your own bar."

"That's right…"

"And that you'd been saving, but the banks wouldn't loan you the money you requested."

"Yep. That's my life in a nutshell."

"What if I offered you the opportunity to earn no less than three million dollars, over the course of a three-year period."

"I'd say you're either lying, clinically psychotic, or a criminal."

Alana grinned wide. "I assure you I am none of those things."

"Then what business are you in?"

"I run an elite auction, completely legal, and guaranteed to secure you the money you need."

"What do you auction? Art?" I asked.

"In a way, I do auction off one-of-a-kind beauties."

"If not art, then what?"

"Marriage, chérie ."

"Marriage. As in you set up arranged marriages?" I frowned, sat back in my chair and ran my hand through my hair. The roots still throbbed painfully.

"More like, a marriage auction. In this particular case, an auction that will be hosted on Christmas Eve. A Christmas Auction."

"Okay, I'm afraid I'm not really following. Who's getting married?"

That's when she smiled so big it was as though she glowed from the inside out.

"You, my dear."