Page 107 of Held-
I nod. “He's their favorite uncle. Takes them to the zoo, builds them blanket forts, the whole nine yards.”
Wrecker beams at my endorsement. “I can do the 'ho ho ho' and everything. Watch!” He takes a deep breath and lets out a booming “HO HO HO!” that echoes through the fellowship hall, making several church ladies jump and clutch their pearls.
“Maybe dial it back about twenty percent,” I suggest.
Cece laughs—a genuine laugh that lights up her face. “The church’s costume is in the back. Come on. I’ll show you where it is.”
I watch Cece lead Wrecker toward the back room, the Santa hat bobbing with each excited step he takes. He's practically bouncing, talking a mile a minute about how he's going to “crush this Santa gig” and asking if there's a specific way to say “ho ho ho” that won't offend the church crowd. I can't help but smile at his enthusiasm, though I only let them go because I know Wrecker will keep her safe.
The moment they disappear around the corner, I turn to Big, my smile fading.
“Did my aunt really call you?” I keep my voice low, glancing around to make sure none of the church ladies are within earshot.
Big's massive shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “She did. But so did Joe.”
“Joe? Our lawyer Joe?” That catches me off guard. “Since when does he have your number?”
“Since he's done some work for the club in the past.” Big scratches his beard, eyes tracking the room with the constant vigilance I've come to expect from him. “Helped us out of a few tight spots. Man knows how to navigate the system.”
“So you're telling me, my aunt, my lawyer, and my club president are all in cahoots behind my back?” I ask, not sure if I should be pissed or impressed.
Big chuckles. “Not exactly behind your back. More…bolstering your efforts. Your aunt was worried about Cece. Said that Kincaid prick might try something after the restraining order went through.” His voice drops even lower. “Joe filled us in on the rest. Figured we could be useful, so here we are. Just enough of a presence to make a point without turning it into a spectacle. Four bikers helping with a church charity? That’s aheartwarming news clip. Twenty bikers? That’s intimidation—and not the kind your father’s congregation would appreciate.”
I nod, gratitude pushing up through the anger that’s been welded to my ribs these past few days. “Thanks, man. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe a damn thing.” Big claps a hand on my shoulder, steady and solid. “She’s yours. That makes her family.”
In all my years with the MC, I’ve never brought a woman into the fold this way. Never had anyone who mattered enough to bind my club life to my personal life. I haven’t even given her a property patch yet, and they’re already stepping up to protect her.
The realization hits deep, stirring something fierce and proud in my chest.
Damn, it feels good to be a Heaven’s Reject.
“So what's the plan?”
“Domino's on the door,” Big answers, nodding to the club and their positions. “Skelly's floating, keeping an eye on all entrances. I'm staying wherever she is, and you...” He gives me a meaningful look. “You just try not to murder anyone in a house of God.”
“Tall order,” I mutter, but I appreciate the thought they've put into this. “What about Wrecker?”
“Santa's job is to see everything,” Big taps his temple with one thick finger. “He can see who comes in, who's watching too closely. Plus, who would fuck with Santa?”
I snort at the image of Wrecker in a Santa suit beating the shit out of Ethan. Talk about Christmas miracles.
“Mayor’s not gonna appreciate us being here,” I say, watching more volunteers trickle in. “Ethan won’t either.”
“That’s the idea,” Big replies. “But remember—we’re here as model citizens helping with a charity event. Pure community service. Anyone who complains ends up looking like an asshole.”
The sound of Cece’s laughter pulls my attention. She’s walking back with Wrecker, who is now fully suited up as Santa. The beard’s crooked, the hat’s sliding off, and the entire outfit looks two sizes too small—pant legs hovering above his boots, coat buttons fighting for their lives against his shoulders. But the grin on his face radiates genuine joy, and damned if it isn’t exactly the kind of ridiculous brightness today needed.
“How do I look?” Wrecker asks, spinning with his arms out. “Jolly enough?”
“You look as though Santa hit a growth spurt,” I say, and Cece laughs again.
That sound hits me right in the chest, warm and grounding in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
“We'll make it work,” she says, adjusting his fake beard. “The kids won't care if the pants are a little short.”
Wrecker strikes a pose, hands on his hips. “Santa doesn't skip leg day. That's my official story.”