Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Saint

I tighten the screw, mind drifting back to that night she blew me—the first time.

It’s not even a week, but damn do I want more. More of her mouth, more of her cunt, more of her mouth and the laughter and banter.

We’ve had sex since, hung out, but that . . . that was something.

I don’t know, special.

After I had her on the sofa, I made her, as promised, sit on my fucking face in her bedroom, ate her out, including our combined fluids.

That was all for her.

There’s nothing like giving your girl head after you’ve come. So many fucking guys won’t go there. But ask me, they’re not real men.

A woman’s so appreciative, feels good, special, after she gets over the embarrassment. If, that is, she hasn’t had a real man. One who isn’t afraid of their own fucking cum.

Belle was Belle. Beyond embarrassed. Bewildered I’d do that, and that pisses me off. She shouldn’t be.

My instinct to not have her blow me first time we fucked was spot on. And it wasn’t like I did it to reap future rewards. There’s an air about her, has been since I first met her, since I started to get to know her, that while she’s open, she’s open to giving, not receiving.

That’s fucked in the head.

No woman of mine’s allowed to only be open to giving.

No woman of mine’s going to sleep in any fucking wet spot, only get eaten out on her birthday, or have to wash after we fuck before I eat her sweetness clean.

No woman of mine ever has. Not even when it’s been casual.

I fucking love pussy. I love being blown. I love sex. Everything fits together.

Belle?

She’s my woman. She tastes herself on me when she sucks me clean after I’ve fucked her, she swallows my cum for me when she gives me head. There’s nothing but rewards in returning the favor.

I stop.

Nomad pads up to me and headbutts my hand. I rub the damn rodent’s head as he purrs.

My girl?

What the fuck?

She’s not anything like that at all.

Not beyond the whole fact that we’re currently fucking.

Sure, I want to kill Lance for ever having touched Belle. I want to destroy any man for even thinking about eyeing her the wrong way. But mine?

Fuck that.

“What do you think?” I nod at the cat and tilt my head at the bike. “Ready to rumble?”

He offers a meow.

“Yeah, I thought so. I’ll call the dude, let him know his bike’s ready.”

I do just that, and we putter around. Nomad’s gone completely soft as he now relies on me or Belle to feed him. Right now, he’s parked himself in front of his bowl in the garage, looking forlornly at it. But I can feel his irritation and not being fed on his whim. It permeates the air.

The fucking cat’s got everyone but me wrapped about its paw. The kids love him and he likes going to the school, especially in his biker cat case. Honestly, he’s so obnoxious that I’ve been taking him a lot. Then we help out Belle.

The after-hour kids who spill out from the library. Seems this time of year their parents’ work longer hours.

***

When the bike’s in the hands of her owner and cold, hard cash is in my back pocket, I bribe Nomad into his case, pack him up, and with a promise to feed him, I head back to the Gardens.

Even though we’re edging closer to winter’s true start and Christmas is around the corner, it’s wintry cold, so I feed the cat, then head down to the basement to fix the boiler properly.

Then I go up to the top floor and knock on Mrs. Kovacs’s door.

The old lady takes her time. When she opens her door, she peers at me, and honest to fucking God, I don’t know if her double take’s one of wariness or pleasant surprise. She’s about eighty and her place is cold.

Even if I couldn’t feel it, it’s obvious since she’s pretty much dressed like she’s off on a snowy mountain hike.

“If you’re selling, I don’t want any.” Then her eyes narrow. “You’re the boy with the loud motorcycle.”

Boy? I don’t think I’ve been called a fucking boy since I was nine. But I smile.

“Belle Rosso sent me.”

“The one who’s with that no-good Lance? He ought to be given a hiding. I bet if his gran was still with us,” she makes the sign of the cross, “she’d keep him in line. Why?”

“They broke up,” I say. “And to have a look at your radiator.”

“Well you better come in, otherwise all the cold will get out.” There’s a twinkle in her eye as she does so.

The place is sparse and homely. The kind of place I can see filled with grandkids, great-grandkids, and even great-great. Things might be threadbare but they’re loved and most surfaces are covered with photos of smiling people. Her family.

Fuck, what’s it like to have roots like that?

It doesn’t take me long to fix the radiator and soon her apartment’s getting nice and warm.

When I turn, wiping my hands, she’s there with a steaming mug. “Coffee.”

Something swishes around my feet and I look down.

“I gave your cat some milk, didn’t I?”

Nomad, who followed me up here without me noticing, yawns, licks his chops, jumps up on an armchair, and curls up.

“Kick him out, Mrs. Kovacs.”

“He’s so sweet. I’d never do that.”

Nomad opens an eye and looks at me.

“You can have him,” I say.

Nomad growls.

“For this afternoon. Just let him out when you’re tired of him or he wants to go. He can get back in.” I leave a window cracked for him, but the cat’s a nomad, so he likes to do what he wants, go where he wants to go.

Which will make me leaving when Christmas comes easier. Nomad’s now got lots of homes to go to.

I finish the coffee, and wash my mug and hers, and I take note of all the things that need repairing in here.

“Not your problem,” I mutter.

Still, she’s old. It can’t hurt to return later in the week to fix some things for her.

As I leave, I note a few other things in the hall of the building that need work. When I reach downstairs, I almost run into Belle.

“I was going to come to the school and see if you needed a lift.” I pull her to me and drop a kiss on her cold lips. “Winter’s basically here.”

“I have a car.”

“Jesus, woman, it’s called being chivalrous.”

She laughs at me. “Careful, your reputation’ll slip.”

Her throat calls to me, and I’m a weak fucking man, so I nuzzle it, licking against her skin as I nudge down her scarf a little. “What reputation? It’s why I’m a nomad.”

“You and that cat claim that?—”

“No, I named him that.”

She just makes a small sound of agreement, one that lands on the side of disbelief.

I ease her back. “Aren’t you meant to still be at the school?”

Belle’s eyes sparkle as she twirls away from me. “They’re lighting the Christmas tree outside the library. They usually do it earlier and not so close to the holiday, but . . .”

Fucking Lance.

He’s got influence.

Tthe second the fucker pops into my head, something cold sinks in me. I haven’t heard from him, which is odd.

Then again, there’s lots to do when you’re planning on being evil.

“When are you going?”

“An hour.” Some of the spark fades and she goes to the stairs leading up, her hand on the worn banister. “I’m hoping it’ll make up for some threadbare Christmases this year.”

“I’m sure it will.” I pull out my phone and check the time. “Hey, wanna ride there?”

“To the tree?”

“Yeah.”

A smile breaks out. “If it won’t ruin your reputation.”

“I’ll survive.” I go to her, kiss her. “I’ll be back.”

“Oh good,” Lance says, gaze shifting over me as he motions me out of the foyer and past his office to some stairs. “Saved me chasing you up.”

We take the stairs and out a side door, into a tiny courtyard. I think it’s the back of the building, as I can hear street noise, and high rises are around us—high rises for Sweetwater, anyway—but I’m looking at the backs of other buildings.

“If this is some kinda execution,” I say, “I’m warning you I’m bigger and meaner than you.”

It’s a joke but Lance actively jerks away, going pale. “No, no. I was going to call you. Everyone’s probably at that idiotic tree.”

“Couldn’t stop it?”

“Why would I? I’d have thought most people would be too busy trying to make money and make ends meet than go look at a damn tree.”

“Fuck the holidays?”

He nods, missing my pointed little joke at his expense. “It’s not my fault times are tough.”

“Actually,” I say, leaning against the wall as he comes to a stop at another door and starts fumbling for keys, “it’s exactly your fault. Trying to throw people out of their fucking homes.”

He shoots me a sharp look, the first real sign of teeth on him. His ruthlessness is really starting to show. “Times are tough. The economy’s hitting us all.”

Fuck, he’s a dick. Class A. All the fucking awards.

“You could’ve put in for the tree?—”

“What are you talking about?”

“Someone told me it’s later this year.”

“Who are you, some kind of biker Santa?”

I laugh. Sliding metaphorical knives into him’s fun. “Making conversation, rich boy.”

“You’ve been talking to Belle. Not that she’d look at you, but she’s mine. We’re going through a patch, but that twenty k ring I got her is perfect.” He pats his pocket, like some kind of stalker creep who has the ring on him at all times.

He probably fucking does.

“That’s up to the lady if she wants your ring.”

Lance takes a step closer but stops just shy, his finger pointing at me. “Had nothing to do with that idiotic tree. Council money is tight. We need to inject funds into this city. Make it shine bright. Speaking of shining, it’s time for you to step up your job. Some of those idiots will take a real hand to help out come the twenty-fourth.”

I look at him as he veers around me and unlocks the door. With a sigh, I follow him into the cool dry of a basement.

I can’t help thinking of Belle. If she were here, the jokes about a murder basement would fly.

“Or they might pay up.”

He snorts a laugh as he flicks on a light. In among the boxes, old file cabinets, and broken or discarded furniture is pretty much a haul from a Z-grade action movie.

I stare at the baseball bats, the chains. The spiked gloves. The nunchucks. Honestly, I would be shocked to find some knives and guns in the mix.

The man would earn more points from me if there were.

“They can’t afford it. I did some calculations based on incomes and there’s no way they can pay the rent and the fees.”

“Not even Belle?”

He sends me a sharp look. “She doesn’t need to.”

I leave that be. “I’m not using weapons. This . . .” I wave a hand over the mess. “This is not what I signed up for. I’m not doing it.”

“Now, now, we have a deal and I need some help. Look.” He heads out and locks the door when we hit the night air. Then he tosses me the keys. “Not asking you to do anything illegal. You’ve got friends here. I’ve seen the bikes that appear in the courtyard of the Gardens. Come the set date, you might appreciate help to get these people out.”

I grind down on an answer, keeping it to myself.

The guy’s up there with pond scum. “I’m not crossing lines.”

“Don’t.” He checks his watch. “Oh, I’ve got to go. Just take care of it, and in case any of your friends feel like they might need something from the building? You can’t get into it from down there.”

“I’m not crossing the line.”

“Then get some people who will.”

Frederick Jones thumps my back when I step into the bar. Time’s running out, but if Lance wants help . . .

“Need to talk to Gravel.”

“This way.” He leads me in to the office where Gravel’s talking it up with the pretty little Mellie.

“Mel,” he says, “gonna ask you to run that errand you need.”

She nods and scurries off.

“You don’t work here.” I lean on the desk.

Frederick disappears then returns with beers.

“Neither do you.”

“Sunk some money in here,” Frederick says.

Gravel smirks. “You don’t get to be me, young Saint, without having fucking privileges.”

“You’re not that much fucking older than me.”

He counts out three fingers. Then narrows his eyes. “Older, little Saint. By fifteen fucking years. And I know your old man.”

I’m bigger than him. “Can you look over Mellie’s lease?”

“Not a fucking lawyer, duderino.”

Grav’s had a few.

“Both of you?”

“Why?” Frederick asks as I toy with the bottle. “Something up?”

“You could say that. Might have a Christmas job. For those that’re interested.”

Belle’s scent’s got a Christmas edge today. Cinnamon. Spice. Warmth and eggnog. The sugary goodness of cookies and cakes.

Even though the tree’s visible from a few streets away, when I pull up, I take it in, and the crowd of people, the little kids running about.

Fucking Nomad’s lucky he’s not here. Although, knowing that cat, he’d probably like it. Little weirdo.

But I’m sure he’s still upstairs with Mrs. Kovacs, being lazy.

Her hands are still wrapped around my waist, and I squeeze them before she slides off the bike. I take the helmet and lean in as I get off.

“Have you been baking?”

“You weren’t gone long enough.” Then she goes pink. “I might have whipped up a batch of cookies. They’re cooling on my counter.”

“Pencil me in for some of those.”

“There you go, ruining your reputation again.”

I sling an arm around her and kiss her upturned face. “Fucking badass bikers like cookies. It’s a fact.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Where are all the decorations the kids did?”

She weaves us through the crowd, and I get her a candy cane on sale. She looks fucking cute as she eats it, offering me a bite of the sweet, peppermint goodness. I turn that down, opting instead for a slow kiss.

“Oh boy.” She gives me a wobbly smile, pressing in close. “And in public?”

“I’m not ashamed of you, Belle.”

Her blush deepens and her smile grows. “I’m working on getting over the shame of you. Isn’t your head cold?”

I laugh. “Nope. And the jokes on you, I want you ashamed. I want to be your dirty filthy secret.”

I say this right against her ear, the shiver that runs through her has nothing to do with the cold.

She’s not ashamed, it’s been clear since day one. I don’t think she does that, anyway. Belle’s not a woman to put people in boxes.

Kids rush up to us, screaming questions about the stupid cat, and she says hello to about half the city.

With her, here, this is more like a town than a small city. Because that’s Belle all over, sweet, giving, interested. She shows me the names on the trees, the wishes the kids put down. And, at the present donation box, she opens her bag and drops in a few colorfully wrapped gifts.

Her friend Hannah comes up. “You’ve already donated a lot, Belle.”

“It’s going to be a hard Christmas.”

Then she shows me the library with its decorations the kids worked on.

It’s dark and the only thing missing is snow. I pull her to a stop and point up. “Mistletoe.”

I don’t give her a chance to respond. Her mouth is sweet, pepperminty, warm and wet and her tongue eager. It’s one of those kisses that isn’t a prelude to sex. But it’s so fucking hot it should be. It holds promises, emotions not spoken about, and it’s one of the realest things in my life.

The kiss is pure. Her heart’s in the mix, and so is mine.

At this moment, I’m in love with her.

In this moment.

Breaking the kiss she looks at me. I don’t hear anything but our uneven breaths, the beats of our hearts. Her eyes are soft and warm. Then a scream of laughter pierces the air and the moment’s done.

She looks up. “That’s a twig, Saint.”

“Go with it.”

“Belle.” I close my eyes as the world turns stark. Cold. Lance is there, not smiling. “I see you know my employee.”

I let go of her, my hands forming fists. Exactly how much trouble would I be in if I fucking rearranged his dental work?”

But Belle’s face is a mess of confusion. “Employee?”

“Didn’t you know?” A smirk spreads over his face. “Nicholas Santiago works for me. He’s in the building to get rid of you all. Have a good evening.”

The fuckwit walks off.

Belle stares at me, all the hurt’s in her eyes. “S-saint? Is this true?”

“Yes.”

Fuck.