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  A SAVAGE SAINTS MC XMAS

  Carmen Jenner

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  A Savage Saints MC Xmas

  TANK

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  A SAVAGE SAINTS XMAS

  Copyright © 2016 Carmen Jenner

  Published by Carmen Jenner

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work and for not making me set some very pissed off Savage Saints MC bikers on you.

  Published: Carmen Jenner © November 2016

  [email protected]

  Cover design and formatting: © Ben Ellis Be Designs 2017

  www.be-designs.com.au

  TANK

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter, watching Crazy through the window of my cabin as he empties an entire bottle of lighter fluid onto the BBQ. He strikes a match and throws it on the heap of charcoal. He skitters back, hooting as if though all his fuckin’ Christmases have come at once when the thing explodes in a burst of flames that reach for the midday sky.

  I growl, but my focus is quickly drawn to the two idiots firing off bullets at a cardboard cut-out of Santa taped to a tree. Grim hits the fat bastard right between the eyes and holds out a hand for Killer to pay up. I take long, deep breaths in through my nose and look around my tiny cabin that’s filled to bursting with my club brothers.

  Ordinarily, we do this shit at the Prez’s house and come Christmas night there isn’t a fuckin’ surface of that place left untouched by vomit, blood or some other bodily fluid. But since I still can’t ride with my hands all jacked up, and Jett is insisting on keeping two guys stationed here to protect Ivy and me from the fucking Russians that are jonesing bad for my balls, this year every bastard and their dog wound up at my place.

  As if on cue—as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking and enjoys taking the piss outta me—Ma pats my cheek and smiles. “It’s so nice to see this place teeming with life.”

  Yes, even my mum made it to Christmas.

  Deck the fuckin’ halls.

  I need a serious drink. I need to see my Warrior Princess’ pretty little mouth choking down my dick, and I need all of these bastards out of my goddamn house. There’s a reason I live this far out. I don’t like people. Fuckin’ period. And every one of these motherfuckers is gettin’ on my last fuckin’ nerve.

  Except my Ma, and Ivy—which makes a nice change because as much as I worship the damn ground she walks on, most days I wanna kill the bitch.

  The roar of another bike on the unsealed drive has my brows drawing together. The only brother missing is Kick, because I left that arsehole in charge of aiding me in playing Santa for Ivy this year. She’d been houndin’ me all day for clues about her present, and all day I’d been tellin’ her she had to wait like all good girls.

  So when I look out the window and see Kick on his bike—and not in the club van like we talked about—I take a deep motherfuckin’ breath and count to ten, and then I open the door leading down to the garage as he shuts off the engine.

  I take the stairs two at a time and head off the bastard before he can make his way into the house. “Did you get it?”

  “Merry fuckin’ Christmas to you too, arsehole.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off and fold my arms over my chest. “Did you get the fuckin’ goods or not?”

  “Yes, I got it. Do you have any fuckin' idea how difficult it was to cart that shit along on my bike? I almost died. Several times.” Kick pulls out his smokes and lights up, inhaling deeply and blowing a cloud of stinking chemicals into my face.

  “What do you mean cart it on your bike? Where the fuck is it? Is someone else bringing it in the van?” I run my hand through my hair. It needs a cut, badly, but I know Ivy wants me to grow it long, the way it was when we first met. I don’t know if it’ll ever get there, ’cause every arsehole and his bitch are making me so fuckin’ crazy I wind up tugging it outta my scalp. “Did you leave it at the clubhouse?”

  “Jesus, you need to chill the fuck out." The arsehole grins. It's obvious he's enjoyin' this shit. "You’re like a bitch on the rag.”

  “Where is it, Kick?”

  He tilts his head in the direction of the Night Rod parked inside my garage. I used to own one of these babies, until Kick ‘borrowed’ it from me a couple years back and totalled the fucking thing. Bike never was big enough for me anyway.

  The saddlebag moves. I frown but head toward it, failing to understand what the hell is going on here. I lean down, open the leather flap, and a teeny tiny little blue-grey head pops out. It’s all squashed up nose, and big blue eyes, and ears for fuckin’ days.

  “What the fuck is this?” I ask.

  “It’s a dog, dumbarse.”

  “That’s not a dog, that’s a rat.” I pull the vermin in question out of the saddlebag and hold it at arm’s length. It squirms to get closer, its fat belly straining against my hands. Chubby little legs kick the air between us, and his pink tongue desperately licks at nothing as if it could propel him closer.

  “It’s a puppy.” Kick shrugs. “French Bulldog pup, or some shit.”

  “I don’t want a fuckin’ pup. I wanted a dog. A big-arse mean, vicious Pitbull, you’ve given me a fucking rat. Take it back.”

  “I can’t take it back.” Kick smirks. “It’s not just for Christmas, it’s for life.”

  “Just ring the shelter where you got him and tell them you made a mistake,” I say. The rodent in question lets out a yip, and I direct my gaze back to it. He yawns, his little mouth showing off two rows of perfect sharp teeth. He stops wriggling in my hands long enough to lick me. He whines.

  He is kinda cute. For a rodent.

  I shake my head and glare at Kick. “I thought I said no puppies?”

  “Listen, it’s Christmas, brother. That Pitbull you wanted had gone already, and the chick at the shelter was hot.” He scrubs his hand over his beard. He looks like a fucking mountain man: shaggy, ratty-arse hair, full beard—not just a little stubble, it’s as if his facial hair has declared an all-out friggin’ war on his face. He looks like shit. Has for months, since that bitch Indie walked away. “She handed me the only other blue dog they had, and he smelled all sweet, and ... I don’t fuckin’ know. New and shiny, and shit.”

  “You pussy-arsed bitch. You fell for the cute puppy routine?” I ask, and set the furry little shit on the ground. He jumps around my boots, nips at my ankles and lets out a playful little bark. When I ignore him, he waddles over to Kick and that cockhead is putty in the mutt’s paws. “That stray of yours really did a number on you, didn’t she?”

  “Shut your fuckin’ mouth, or I’ll do it for you,” he
warns. I don’t know what the hell happened there. He saved the bitch, and then fell in love with her. He swore to protect her, and he did. He killed every last motherfucker who did her wrong, but he didn’t hold on to her. He let her walk, and he’s been miserable ever since.

  That makes fuckin’ two of us.

  Between the shit with Ivy’s dad, Butch dying, losing the use of my hands for several months, and seeing the closest brother I have to family drinking himself into an early grave, this year can bite my big hairy balls. This Christmas is no fuckin’ picnic for any of us.

  The club lost two members these past few months, and it’s left us wounded. One Eye betrayed us, and his death was way too fucking easy for my liking. Squeals was just a baby. A fat-shit of a prospect who was so fucking terrified of his own shadow he’d squeal like a little piggy when something bad went down. Bad shit always went down in the MC. It wasn’t goddamn rocket science. You play with the Saints, and no matter how big and scary you think you are, at some point, you're gonna wind up screamin' for your mamma. From there, you got two options: dead, or wishing you were.

  Losing a patch and a prospect could be crippling for a club. Who we lost didn’t mean shit. No one cried at Squeals’ funeral—none of the brothers, anyway—and One Eye was a traitor who got a bullet to the head and a shallow grave inside a burnt-out cop car. It’s what we lost that matters. Numbers. Ours are dwindling. We’re vulnerable now, especially without me being back on the job.

  I know Prez can’t afford the manpower he has stationed here, which brings me back to the fact that I need a fuckin’ guard dog. When I found out Butch had met his untimely end, I swore I’d never get another dog. But I need protection because I ain’t living through another fuckin’ day of seeing Ivy tortured.

  “You can’t take it back,” Kick says, dropping his cigarette and stubbing it out with his boot. “I know what this is about, and you don’t need a vicious Pitbull, a Rottweiler or any other dog, you need to teach Ivy how to defend herself.”

  “How am I gonna do that?” I say raising my hands, which are still stiff and causing me grief even after the casts were removed a couple weeks ago. “I can’t fucking grip the handlebars of my bike properly, much less teach the bitch to fight.”

  “Let me teach her.”

  “No fucking way,” I say through my teeth. I love Kick like family, but he and Ivy have a very long, very painful history, and the thought of the two of them together—sweating, adrenaline pumping, bodies colliding on the gym mats as they spar—sets my blood to boiling point. He might be hung up on that Indie bitch, but he ain’t turning down pussy like Ivy’s because he’s a little heartsore. And though I trust my little Warrior Princess, I know she’s human. She’s prone to giving in to vices, just like the rest of us, and she has one hell of an addictive personality. Kick didn’t just aid her coke addition, he encouraged it.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Listen, she’s been doin’ good.”

  “I know. So what?” Kick shrugs and bends down, scooping the dog up and letting the little germ-infested fucker lick his face.

  “So I don’t need you fuckin’ all that up for me.”

  He grins. “How could I possibly fuck that up for you, brother?”

  “No more fucking games, Kick. She loved you once. You fed her addiction for years. You’re a trigger for her.”

  “I was a trigger for her,” he says, shaking his head. “I was her fucking executioner, you were her saviour, and now I’m nothin’ to no one. You ain’t gotta worry about Ivy around me, brother.”

  I know he’s right, this isn’t the first time he’s seen Ivy since she got clean. He’s been around a few times. The most recent being two days ago, when he picked Ma up from her house and brought her here to the cabin. Besides, Ivy accepted my bloody proposal. I am one fucking lucky bastard. I know that, but I can’t let go of all the shit I’ve seen happen between the two of them. Yeah, I know I couldda stepped up sooner. I only have myself to blame for that, but like I said, she loved him once, and a part of me is terrified that she’ll discover I was a means to an end, and that she’ll go skipping back to my club brothers to give her everything I can’t provide.

  Kick runs his hands over his face. Goddamn, he looks like shit. Dark circles line his eyes, and he’s pasty as a sheet. “Jesus. You’re really fuckin’ hung up on the stray, huh?”

  “Yeah, turns out you can’t save a girl from a sick, twisted motherfucker without falling in love with her.”

  I laugh humourlessly, “Tell me about it. What are you doing to get her back?”

  “Nothin’. I tired.” He scratches the pup’s ear; whose pink tongue lolls out to the side. “She don’t want me.”

  “You ever think maybe she just needs some time to get over what the hell happened to her? Maybe she’d have been better off if you’d let me put a bullet in her that day in the warehouse.”

  “Don’t.” His hands tremble, as they work over the dog’s soft fur. Kick went and got himself all tied up in knots over a pretty little piece of arse.

  Dumb fuck.

  Not that I was any different. I fell for junkie club whore whose psychotic father almost killed us both. Then I asked the bitch to fuckin’ marry me. I need my head checked. We both do.

  “Well, the way I see it, if she ain’t coming back to you then you got two options, brother. One, you kidnap the bitch.” He just looks at me. And yeah, maybe suggesting that he kidnap a rape victim, again, isn’t the best idea. “Or two, you fucking forget about her.”

  “Don’t you think I damn well tried?”

  I tilt my chin toward the fucked-up piece of jewellery on his finger. “You’re wearing her tooth like it’s a goddamn talisman to ward away evil. You ain’t tryin’ hard enough.”

  “Don’t fuckin’ start on me, Tank. Not today. You wanna talk about the junkie bitch you got playin’ house upstairs?”

  “That bitch, is gonna be my wife,” I blurt. His expression goes blank, and for a beat, I think my words haven't registered, but his lips finally twist into a grin. He shakes his head, and I find myself grinning like a fuckin’ fool.

  Admitting that out loud to my brother—to this brother—feels like a ten-tonne weight has just been lifted from my shoulders.

  “You sly fuckin’ dog,” he says, closing the distance between us. Kick pulls me into a one-armed embrace. He’s careful not to squash the pup. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  “You were caught up in your own shit. I told Ma last night. I think she almost beat the shit outta me for not telling her sooner. I also got an arse whopping for not giving Ivy a ring.”

  Kick’s brow furrows. “You proposed without a ring?”

  “Shut the fuck up, I had two broken hands at the time, and I was busted up to all shit. I couldn’t wipe my fucking arse by myself, much less shop for a ring. I had to get that little arsehole Crazy to drive me into the city to buy one a couple weeks back.”

  I fish a piece of black ribbon out of my leathers along with the ring box and open it. The huge pear-shaped black diamond winks in the light. I pulled it out of the safe earlier today, and I’ve been carrying it around since. I had plans to hang the ring from around the neck of our new dog—not puppy, but dog—and smack his hindquarters to send him upstairs to Ivy. I’m gonna need a new plan.

  Kick leans closer and whistles. “That’s no ordinary ring.”

  “She ain’t an ordinary girl.”

  He laughs. “No, she’s not.”

  “Tank?” Ivy calls from the top of the stairs. Shit.

  “Just a fuckin’ second, babe,” I shout. My tone is all off. Not many people get the jump on me. I know she won’t be happy with the attitude I just gave her, so no doubt she’ll come stalking down the stairs to tell me all about it.

  “Stall her,” I mouth to Kick, as I snatch the dog off him. I keep my back to the staircase and yank the ring from the box, threading it onto the black ribbon. I tie it around the little fucker’s neck—not without some d
ifficulty. I snap the box closed and shove it down the front of my leathers. Ivy’s used to me bulging out around her like I can’t contain my fuckin’ hard on, so she won’t pay it too much attention. The pup, however, is determined to blow our cover. He growls and twists in my arms, attempting to the chew the ribbon around his neck. I ignore it, and keep my back to the doorway.

  Ivy runs down the stairs, she’s was obviously expecting to find me alone, because she fumbles over her words. “K-Kick. I didn’t know you were here.”

  I can’t stand with my back to her all day, and I turn to search her expression. I can’t work out whether she’s happy to see him or not.

  Kick pulls another cigarette from the pack and shoves it in his mouth, lighting up. The cocky fuck tilts his chin in Ivy’s direction. “’Sup, darlin’?”

  She gives him a tight smile and turns her full attention to me. She screams when she notices the wiggling fur ball in my hands. “Holy shit, you bought me a puppy?”

  She doesn’t even wait for an answer, just snatches the thing out of my hands. That’s when I notice that the ribbon has come loose.

  Oh, fuck.

  I scan the floor, my leathers, my boots, the space between Ivy and me. It’s gone. The dog makes a hacking sound, and realisation dawns on me. That little fur ball fucker ate my goddamn ring.

  “No, no, no!” I shout.

  Ivy frowns, holding the dog away from her face so she can give me a disappointed glare. “No, you didn’t get me a puppy?”

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” I point to Kick. “This is your fault.”

  “What are you bitchin’ about now?” Kick says, blowing a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling.

  “The puppy ate the fucking ring, dumbarse.” For a moment, Kick pales. The laughter starts softly, as if he has something caught in his throat, and then he bends double, slapping his knee as he guffaws at my expense. I glance at Ivy. Her gaze slides back and forth between me and Kick.

  A smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “You bought me a ring and a puppy?”

  “Happy Christmas, Princess.” I shrug. Ivy throws herself at me, squishing the little rodent between her perfect tits and my hard chest. I glare down at his arsehole puppy face and I find myself scratching his ears before I realise what I’m doing. I take him and set him down on the floor, because the little prick needs to know who’s boss. “Though you may have to wait a day or two for the ring to resurface.”