Page 106 of Held-
“You're kidding me.” Why did she go to him, and not to me? “None of this makes any sense.”
“Nope. We text sometimes.” He pulls out his phone, scrolling through messages. “She sends me recipes. I send her pictures of the food I make with them.”
I run my hand through my hair, trying to wrap my head around this. My aunt has been secret buddies with my MC president for years. The woman operates on a level of quiet influence I clearly never gave her enough credit for—moves in the dark, pulls strings, and somehow no one ever sees it coming. A stealth ninja disguised as a churchgoing, cookie-baking aunt.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter.
Cece squeezes my arm, clearly enjoying my bewilderment. “I think it's sweet.”
“Sweet isn't exactly the word I'd use,” I mutter, still trying to wrap my head around my aunt's secret friendship with Big.
Big claps his hands together, the sound echoing through the fellowship hall. “Alright, Cece. You're running this show. What do you need us to do? Put us to work.”
Cece straightens her shoulders, and I can see her shift into organizer mode. The confidence looks good on her, a welcome change from the tension that's been shadowing her face since the arrest.
“Okay, so the system works like this,” she explains, gesturing around the room, “the church ladies will check in the families at the front table. They've got a list of everyone who pre-registered. Once they're checked in,” Cece continues, “they'll come through here where we have the toys arranged by age group. Each child gets three toys and a book. After that, they move to the grocery section where they can get a holiday meal box and some pantry staples.”
“Where do you want us stationed?” Domino asks, walking over to join us.
“You guys would be great for helping with the toy section,” Cece says. “Some of the families have multiple children, and they might need help carrying everything.”
“We can handle that.”
“That would be wonderful,” Cece says, her smile brightening. I watch her take charge, directing everyone with a confidence that makes my chest tighten. This is her element—organizing, helping, making sure no one gets left behind. It’s one of the many things I love about her.
Suddenly, Cece freezes mid-sentence, her face draining of color. “Oh no. I completely forgot about Santa.”
“What about Santa?” I ask.
“The mayor always plays Santa,” she mutters. “He hands out candy canes and takes photos with the kids. I can't believe I didn't think of this until now.”
My jaw clenches so hard I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. “That's not happening. Not this year.”
“But the kids—” she starts, worry creasing her forehead.
Before either of us can say another word, Wrecker comes barreling across the fellowship hall, nearly knocking over a stack of gift bags in his enthusiasm.
“Did someone say Santa?” he asks, grinning like he's just won the lottery. “I couldn't help but overhear you’re in need of a Santa.”
“You?” she says, eyeing Wrecker with a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Playing Santa for a bunch of church kids?” Considering the first time she met him, he was taking body shots off a stripper at our clubhouse, I can understand her hesitation.
Wrecker's grin widens, “I know I'm not exactly what these church folks expect for their Santa. But I can be jolly as fuck—I mean, jolly as holly.” He corrects himself with a quick glance toward the church ladies. “And I promise not to scare the little ones.”
I watch Cece consider this unexpected offer, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. The idea of Wrecker playing Santa for a bunch of kids should be laughable. But there's also something weirdly perfect about it.
“The costume might not fit,” she says, but I can tell she's warming to the idea.
“I'll make it work,” Wrecker insists. “Come on, Cece. You need a Santa, and I need to spread some Christmas cheer. It's a win-win. I’ll beg if I have to, sweetheart. Please, pretty please,” Wrecker adds, clasping his hands together like he's actually praying in this church. “I've always wanted to be Santa. It's been my lifelong dream.”
I stifle a laugh at the sight of this tattooed biker begging to play Santa Claus. “Since when?”
“Since right this second when I realized it was an option.” He tugs at the Santa hat on his head, adjusting it to a jaunty angle. “Come on, I'm already halfway there with the hat.”
Cece looks up at me, uncertainty written across her face. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head—weighing the disaster of having no Santa against the potential disaster of Wrecker in the role.
“He's actually good with kids,” I tell her quietly. “His sister has three little ones. They adore him.”
She blinks, surprise flickering across her features. “Really?”