Page 21 of My Christmas Biker
“I can make it if I can snuggle you for warmth.”
It was a bold statement, but he grinned in response.
“I know.”
He leaned forward and grabbed my coat, helping my arms through the sleeves. A few minutes later, I had on my gloves and scarf, the hood tightened, and fur lining my face.
“That should do it. I don’t have a spare helmet, so you’ll wear mine.”
“No,” I argued. “I’ve got this warm hood and coat. You don’t have anything.”
“Not risking your safety.”
“And I won’t get on the back of your bike unless you wear your helmet.”
“Ginny,” he growled.
“Brick. Try me. See if I don’t walk instead.”
He blew out a breath, whether in frustration or humor, I didn’t know. “Fuck, you can be a handful. I forgot about that. You and that sass. Always had it, even when you were little.”
“And you love it. So hush. I’m cold, and we need to get moving.”
He couldn’t argue since I was right.
“I want to make a quick stop, and you won’t like it.”
“Stop where?”
Brick thumbed at the road, indicating the black truck we left behind. “I need to know who chased us down, Ginny. It’s the only way to be sure who we’re up against. I don’t like not knowing who my enemies are or not having the intel I need to make a move.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Now get your ass on my bike,” he ordered as we left the truck, and he uncovered his Harley. She was beautiful and sleek, with polished chrome and dark red paint. The tank had been painted in a brick design with the Saint’s Outlaws logo over it.
“It’s breathtaking,” I admired, stepping back as he undid the straps and slowly brought the bike down the ramp. “I need to bring my luggage. There’s Christmas presents in them.”
Brick nodded. “Alright. I don’t have space in my saddlebags, so I’ll have to tie them down with bungee cords. It won’t look cute, but it’ll keep them with us until we reach our destination.”
“Are they going to get dirty?”
Silly question? Yes. I still wanted to know.
“Ginny, baby, we’re both gonna get dirty and soaked, so is the luggage. Nothin’ to help that. It’s wet out.”
Good thing I had smooth, hard cases. “I understand. Just asking.”
His lips twitched. “Get on. I’ll take care of it.”
Once the bags were secured behind me and attached to the sissy bar, we rode away from the truck. Brick had unloaded all his belongings and placed them in the saddlebags. I also noted he sent a few texts, presumably to let his club president andmembers know where to find his truck and the black one that tried to run us off the road.
I didn’t say anything when he pocketed his gun and placed it inside his leather vest. My father explained to me years ago why he wore a cut and what it meant. I understood the significance.
When we pulled to a stop a short distance from the black truck, I stiffened.
Brick flipped up the visor on his helmet. “Don’t look. It’s not worth the nightmares that follow.”
I believed him.