Christmas With the Biker Read online

  Christmas With the Biker

  Neya Fang

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  References

  Connect With Me

  Copyright ©2019 Neya Fang

  All rights reserved.

  Christmas with the Biker is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover designed by Wolf Conan.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in the book reviews.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all the dreamers around the world.

  Don’t ever give up, because dreams do come true.

  Acknowledgments

  They say it takes a village to achieve something, which it does.

  This book would not have been possible without the support and help from such a village.

  A huge thank-you to my family who are my biggest supporters—my husband, who didn’t laugh at me when I told him I wanted to write a book, to my daughter for her endless patience when I was busy trying to figure out the writing gig, and lastly to my parents for believing in me.

  Thank you to my friend and beta Sheryl, for her endless feed backs and help with tidbits on the subject matter, even when she was busy juggling life and health. You are a badass, babe.

  Thank you to my critique partner Joel, for his patience and all the help I received since the day I told him I wanted to write a book, for always getting back to me whenever I had a question—more like bucket loads of questions. Words are not enough to say how grateful I am to have met you through the awesome book community. You rock.

  Thank you to my OMBB gang for always sprinting, brainstorming, throwing ideas, helping me with dialogues, You girls are my tribe.

  Thank you Maureen and Angela Marie for always motivating me, and sprinting too. You guys are God sent.

  I want to also thank all the authors who guided me while I took this journey.

  And finally, a special thanks to all the readers who took a chance on this book, who fell in love with Auden and Crane just as much as I did when I was writing their story. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, and I’ll be forever grateful for you support.

  Love,

  Neya.

  Prologue

  “Your assignment for this week is to go out and shop on your own in the mall…” Dr. Reddy, my therapist, said. She’d been a great asset in my recovery. I’d been working with her for more than three years now. She’d helped me overcome my fear of meeting people and talking to them. “…and you’ll be staying in the penthouse in the city for the holiday season.”

  I groaned inwardly and clenched my hands. My heart had started beating wildly in my chest at the thought of living in the city. I liked my cabin in the mountains. Liked my seclusion from the world. I thrived on it. People gave me anxiety. They never took the time to understand the other person. I once had an altercation with a customer in my gallery, hence the therapy.

  Just the thought of meeting that person again gave me chills down to my bone. I never wanted to meet or even see the person in passing.

  I avoided mechanical life as much as possible. My cabin, or house, or whatever you want to call it, was on a large plot of land. I didn’t have neighbors for a mile radius. I only came to the city for my appointments with my therapist and to check on my art gallery from time to time.

  Life hadn’t always been easy for me, especially after losing my dad at a young age; I was only fourteen years old. Dad was the only family I had. I lost my mother during childbirth. She had suffered a brain aneurysm during her labor, and the baby died when he didn’t receive enough oxygen. I was only seven years old then.

  Dad remarried again when I turned twelve. She was good to me, took care of me, but all that changed when Dad died and left everything to me.

  My stepmother was resentful of me, beat me, cursed me, insulted me at every turn. She called me stupid, loser, and an idiot because I stammered. Sometimes she called me worse names. I couldn’t talk without stuttering in front of her, or others. Not that I didn’t stammer before, but it got worse after Dad’s death, and she started raining her abuse on me.

  It got even more worse when I came out as gay. She didn’t like when people had talked about my sexuality with her.

  I had cut her loose when I turned eighteen. My lawyer, Mr. Mica Swaronsky, Dad’s old friend, told me what to do when he came to meet me one afternoon after my birthday and saw her hitting me with her handbag. He not only threatened to call the cops on her, but also told her that she wouldn’t see a penny of the money she’d receive when I turned twenty.

  God, that woman was horrible.

  Pure evil.

  Dark.

  Consuming.

  Destructive evil.

  I was glad she was out of my life.

  I internally shuddered and scratched my left wrist. Every time I thought of her, the scar on it tingled.

  I didn’t know why, even after all these years, that woman still had a hold me; tight and clawing.

  “Mr. Hennessy?” Dr. Reddy’s voice pulled me back to the present. “Did you hear what I said?”

  I nodded.

  “Words, Mr. Hennessy.”

  I repeated the words five times in my head before replying to her. “Yes. I heard you, Dr. Reddy.”

  “What did I say?” She raised her eyebrows questioningly. Her sharp eyes laser-focused on me. She always had this uncanny intuition when I was not in the session, when I had wandered off into my head, or when I was thinking of Silvia.

  Dr. Reddy was one of those women with superpowers. She was old, wise and very astute, but was also very motherly. Nurturing.

  Why couldn’t she be my stepmother? Life would have been so much better.

  I sighed and took a deep breath. I again followed the process of repeating the words in the head before replying to her. It was a technique my therapist taught me to use to overcome my stammering. Most times it worked, but there were instances when no matter how many times I repeated them in my head, I couldn’t talk without stuttering.

  “I’m to stay in my penthouse in the city for the holiday season, and I have to go shop on my own in the mall.”

  “That’s right. I know it’s jarring to be around so many people after being secluded from them for years, but you have come a long way from talking to no one in years to talking to so many in recent months. I’m so proud of you. You have really worked hard to get over your fears. You’re a badass.”

  I nodded and blinked rapidly, not allowing the tears to fill my eyes. I hated crying. Hated it more than anything in my life.

  It was one of the things Silvia enjoyed the most, watching me cry and beg her.

  I pushed the thought away and focused on completing this week’s assignment.

  I can do it.

  “Good.” A buzzer went off in the corner. “And it’s a wrap of today’s session
. I’ll see you again next week. Same time.” She got up and extended her hand to me.

  I got up and took her offered hand. “Yes, see you next week.” I turned to leave, but stopped just before opening the door when she called my name. I looked over my shoulder and prayed.

  Please don’t say it, don’t say it.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Hennessy.”

  I stiffened, my throat closing in to the point of it being painful to swallow. I clenched my jaw and blinked several times before I gave into my emotions. I hated holidays. They remind me that I was alone in this world. I gave her a stiff smile, feeling the muscle jumping under my skin.

  “Happy T-Thanksgiving.” I cringed and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see the pity on her face. Without looking over to her, I yanked the door open and ran out of the room.

  Yeah happy fucking Thanksgiving.

  Chapter 1

  Auden

  I took a tentative step inside the shop I wanted to buy gifts from. I wiped my sweaty palms over my jeans and pulled a cart out of the stand. With each step I took, my heart beat just as wildly inside my chest.

  I swallowed hard and looked around me. The shop was abuzz with people in every nook and corner, like ants gathering food just before winter.

  I looked at all the displays, offers on every damn thing. Songs were being played, sales people were handing out gift coupons, and people were hoarding any and every item in the shop. I had never seen anything like this. I had only ever heard of it or seen on the news. This was crazy. I meant, people didn’t need everything that was available in the shop to live a decent life.

  I watched with rapt attention when I found two people fighting over a single cooking pot. That was seriously messed up.

  In another aisle, I found a teenage girl and an old woman having a tug-of-war over a fur jacket.

  I shook my head and walked by them. Thank God I was not one of them. I could never fight like that, like a cat and mouse.

  I walked silently, lowering my head to avoid any kind of eye contact with anyone. My pulse spiked when I finally reached the aisle I needed to buy my stuff from.

  My eyes widened when I took in all the things that were available in the aisle.

  Gods, there’s so much stuff to choose from. So many different brands, different offers on each brand.

  I rubbed the back of my neck, then crossed and uncrossed my arms over my chest as I looked over all the deals.

  I looked to my right, then to my left. There were too many choices, too many brands. I just wanted to buy a few good sets of bedding.

  This was a mess. I shifted on my legs, unable to stand still. I rocked in place when I couldn’t make a firm decision.

  Biting my lips, I picked one set that looked good, or at least one I thought it would look good. I meant, I liked the color combination. It would look good with the bronze bed frame. I collected a few more sets, confidence finally filling me.

  I was going to ace my assignment today and make Dr. Reddy proud of me.

  I checked my cart and counted the number of beddings I’d collected so far. There were four: a pale pink, an off white, a light shade of gray, and a sky blue.

  I entered the next aisle of bedding, looking, checking a few more items on the display. My eyes finally caught another set of bedding. It gave a very beach-y vibe. The color was a light shade of coral, with an intricate pattern on the center.

  I lifted it off the rack before anyone else saw it and took it. It was the last piece and I didn’t want to lose it. I was about to drop it in my cart when a hand grabbed it out of my hands.

  Jaw met floor. Eyes popped out and bounced back in.

  I staggered away, and my eyes found the source of the hand it belonged to. A woman. Blond hair, dark green eyes, thin like a dry stick, and she wore an ugly dress that looked like it was used to wipe toilet floors, and she looked to be in her mid-twenties.

  Christ on a candy cane!

  Heart pounding, I looked around me to see if anyone had watched the exchange, but found no one.

  “That’s mine, Honey.”

  What? How could it be hers? I took it out of the rack first. She was nowhere around me when I neared the rack. The nerve of this woman, but I didn’t say anything I was thinking. I shook my head and bit my lip. I quietly took a step back, ready to bolt, but then I remembered what I’d read online. To not give in if someone tried to bully me. Everyone was a raging lunatic on that day.

  I followed the technique I used and repeated the words I wanted to say to that… that… hussy?

  No, not the correct word to describe her.

  Harpy, then?

  No, even that sounded blah.

  I looked her up and down and finally decided the word I thought best described her. I took a deep breath and uttered them.

  “I don’t think so, Jezebel.”

  This time it was her jaw that met the floor, but she quickly recovered and narrowed her eyes, her body tight, ready to bolt.

  I reached to grab the set I fell in love with, but she pushed it behind her back.

  “That is mine,” she hissed.

  “B-b-but I had it f-f-f-first. It’s m-m-m-mine.” I cursed myself for stuttering.

  “No, it’s m-m-m-mine,” she mocked me.

  Instantly, tears filled my eyes and my throat closed in with a lump the size of Texas. My whole body ached. It was like I was all over again in Silvia’s presence. I squeezed my eyes shut to ward off the tears before they could spill and rubbed my arms, my gaze darting all over the place. I was highly aware of my surroundings, panic slowly building in the pit of my stomach.

  Startled, I bounced on my foot when she snorted. I swallowed several times, afraid of my voice and emotions at that moment. I wanted to drop everything and run away from there.

  “You can do it. You’ve got this. Just breathe.” Dr. Reddy’s words ran through my mind.

  Could I do it?

  My hands were shaking. I was shaking. I was breathless too, and my throat felt too dry. I blew out a series of short breaths to gain control of my situation, clenched and unclenched my hands, then took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. “No, it’s mine.” The words came out smoothly. Not stuttering.

  I was proud of myself.

  I punched the air. Take that, you hoochie.

  “You can kiss my fancy, insured buxom ass, but I’m not giving it back to you. I saw it first, so it’s mine.” She lifted her chin high, her eyes shooting daggers my way.

  What are we, five?

  And insured? Her ass?

  My eyes zeroed in on her chest—flat chest—and from the looks of it, I could tell her so-called insured derriere was just as flat. I wanted to lean to the side and check out her ass just to quench my curiosity, but I wasn’t brave enough to put my mouth in a lioness den.

  Nope, not at all sir. I valued my head and my life. Thank you very much.

  Her eyes narrowed when a snort made its way out of my nose. I quickly covered it with a cough and tried again to take the bed setting off of her hand, but the tramp scratched my arm. I gasped and moved back. I stared at her, incredulous of her behavior.

  The hell’s wrong with her?!

  I hissed and looked down my arm when I felt a burning sensation. I saw blood oozing out of the scratch—no scratches, four of them and at least two, or maybe three inches long.

  Thank god, I was up-to-date on my tetanus.

  This woman was crazy. Nuts.

  I looked up at her again and showed my arm to her. “W-why did y-y-you do t-that.” This time I wanted to beat myself for stammering again, but the humiliation of not being able to talk without getting stuck and not able to defend myself against a tiny woman was greater at that moment. The burning behind my eyes was getting stronger and stronger by the second.

  I was becoming a laughing joke. She made me look like a big fool.

  “Because I c-c-c-can.” She shook her head as if moving to a beat.

  “B-but I saw it f-f-f-f-first, and had
it in m-m-my hand. Y-y-you snat-ch-ch-ched it from my h-h-hand.” My voice broke on the last word, a thin sheen of tears pooled in my eyes.

  I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I’m a big boy and I will not cry.

  This was supposed to be an easy peasy assignment, but it was turning into a nightmare from hell.

  “You can’t prove it,” she sneered and flicked her hair.

  Fuck the assignment! I wasn’t going to enter into a fight with that deranged woman. It was not worth it.

  “Actually, he can.” A husky voice spoke from behind me. Loud and clear. Sensual and mystical. “You see, there are cameras everywhere.”

  The voice was low, deep and hoarse. It was sexy and very attractive.

  At a snail’s pace, I wheeled in my spot, trying to find the source of the voice, and then I met a tall, very very tall man. Taller than me. He must have been at least six feet seven inches.

  My eyes rolled all over his body, drinking in the gorgeous specimen in front of me. Broad shoulders, lean, yet muscular, short—but not too short—dark hair, trimmed beard, and colorful tattoos peeking out of his T-shirt collar. He was all dolled up in black from head to toe. Black leather jacket, black jeans, black inner T-shirt, black leather gloves, and black combat boots. One raggedy handsome fella, and a bit young for my taste.

  I was too old for him, too ugly to be in the presence of his beauty, but my heart couldn’t help skipping a beat when our eyes connected for a barest of a beat before he looked back to the woman.

  “And I recorded what you did to him. That’s evidence enough to charge you with an assault.” He smirked. That small tug of his lips going upward was sexy. It revolutionized his whole face, making him the devil with beauty.