Steel Infidels Christmas

by Dez Burke

  Steel Infidels Christmas

  Dez Burke

  Published by Dez Burke, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  STEEL INFIDELS CHRISTMAS

  First edition. December 16, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Dez Burke.

  Written by Dez Burke.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Quote

  Steel Infidels Christmas

  Dedication

  The Steel Infidels Family Tree

  Chapter One | Flint Mason

  Chapter Two | Kendra

  Chapter Three | Flint

  Chapter Four | Kendra

  Chapter Five | Flint

  Chapter Six | Flint

  Chapter Seven | Flint

  Acknowledgements

  Cover Design by Tracey Soxie Weston

  Quote

  “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me,” I tease.

  “Both,” Flint answers with a chuckle. “What do you expect? You married a Steel Infidel.”

  Steel Infidels Christmas

  The Steel Infidels are back!

  It's Christmas Eve and the Steel Infidels are throwing a party at the clubhouse. Everyone is in high spirits, especially Aunt Leona who taste-tested ten bottles of homemade hooch before she left the house. The terrible twins are creating mayhem, the men are knocking back shots, and all Kendra can dream about is her Christmas wish from Flint. Luckily for her, Flint Mason is a man who always delivers. Every single time.

  Come back home and join in the fun festivities! The Steel Infidels have missed you.

  ***This short, steamy 20K word Christmas novella features the fan favorite couple, Flint Mason and his wife, Kendra. The book takes place after the last Steel Infidels book, Take Down. Please read the other Steel Infidel books first because this book contains spoilers. I hope you feel like you're coming back home when you read this book. It's how I felt when I wrote it. Merry Christmas from Dez!***

  Dedication

  I’m dedicating this book to the overwhelming fan favorite, Flint Mason, the man who started it all. There’s rarely a day that goes by without someone mentioning him to me. I wrote Safe House and Liberated way back in 2013. If readers are still talking about a character from six years ago, then I’m happy.

  The Steel Infidels Family Tree

  Jesse Mason -Prez of the Steel Infidels-Trish (wife), Missy (young daughter)

  Flint Mason-VP of the Steel Infidels/Attorney-Kendra (veterinarian, wife), Josh (young son)

  Sam Mason-Youngest Brother-Owns the Inked Dragon Tattoo Shop-Lila (former ATF agent, wife), Trevor & Travis (Daddy’s Dangerous Duo, young twin boys)

  Toby-Marine Sniper with PTSD-Sam’s best friend from high school-Heads up the MC’s gun running operation-Maggie (television reporter, wife)

  Rocco & Donny-brothers and long-term members of the Steel Infidels-run a car and bike chop shop for stolen vehicles

  Tom Brewer-the oldest Steel Infidels member

  Youngblood-new member

  The Raging Cajuns-new members from Louisiana

  Aunt Leona-the feisty head of the Mason family (Note: don’t accept her cookies)

  Assorted Sweet Butts-they come and go. Don’t get attached to any of them.

  Chapter One

  Flint Mason

  Christmas Eve Party at the Steel Infidels Clubhouse

  “For heavens sake, boys! Turn down the music. I could hear the thumping a half mile down the road. What are you trying to do? Wake the dead on Christmas Eve!”

  I turn around at the sound of the familiar voice to see my Aunt Leona hurrying through the front door of the Steel Infidels clubhouse. She’s loaded down with two heavy armfuls of baked goods and dressed in her usual attire. Solid, sturdy shoes, beige support hose, a dress that looks like it was sewn out of a flour sack in the 1950’s and an old, worn brown coat.

  Kendra and I buy her a new coat every Christmas, yet she always wears the same one. Her white hair is tied up into a bun at the top of her head and she’s wearing eyeglasses attached to a gold chain hanging around her neck.

  “Thank God! The food has finally arrived,” I say to my younger brother, Sam who is standing beside me at the clubhouse bar. “I was getting worried. Go grab some guys to help Aunt Leona unload her car.”

  “Rocco!” he calls out to the bearded, tattooed man playing pool at a table in the corner. “Come help me carry in the food.” Rocco straightens and puts down his pool stick to follow Sam.

  I rush over to grab a plate of sugar cookies out of Aunt Leona’s hand before she drops them. Sam and Rocco head out to her big sedan parked a foot from the front door. We’re lucky she was able to hit the brakes. Otherwise she might’ve driven straight through the glass windows lining the front of the clubhouse. In the past year, her reckless driving has taken out a few fences and stop signs.

  An icy, frigid wind is whipping around like mad outside. I throw my weight against the door to push it shut behind her.

  “Merry Christmas, Aunt Leona,” I lean down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. Her wrinkled pale skin smells faintly of lilacs and a slight hint of something stronger.

  Homemade apple brandy, perhaps?

  “Have you been drinking?” I draw back to ask her in surprise.

  Aunt Leona is a strict Southern Baptist. She generally believes overindulging in alcohol is a sin. Except when it comes to her own homemade apple brandy. For some unknown reason, she doesn’t classify her whiskey in the same category as other liquor. Maybe because it’s made from apples from trees in her cow pasture instead of being processed in a moonshine still.

  Or maybe it’s just because she flat out refuses to believe anything that she lovingly prepares in her cozy, sunny kitchen could be sinful.

  “Drinking? No! Of course not!” she replies with a girlish giggle. “I wouldn’t drink and drive. All I did was take a tiny sip out of each bottle of hooch I brought for the party. I wanted to make sure the liquor hadn’t gone bad. It was only a taste.”

  “One tiny taste of how many bottles though?” I ask. “How many did you bring?”

  “Ten,” she replies with another a little snicker. “When I was a young girl, I heard about a man who went blind from drinking bad moonshine. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for poisoning an entire motorcycle club on Christmas Eve.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time you poisoned people,” I remind her with a gentle smile.

  “Flint Mason! How do you hold your mouth to tell such a lie!” she says. “You know that wasn’t poison I gave those pesky reporters hanging around the clubhouse. It was my special cookie recipe with a little extra kick to send them all running for a bathroom. Or into the woods looking for a tree to hide behind.”

  “They were definitely moving as fast as their little legs could carry them,” I say, laughing at the memory. “That was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  “The MC needed them away from the front gate and apparently, I was the only one who could come up with a plan,” she says. “Your old Aunt Leona took care of it. End of story. Anyway, they’ve should’ve known better than to take cookies from a stranger. Even a child knows that.”

  A couple of years ago, the Steel Infidels landed in the middle of a big mess on Valentine’s Day. Sam, Toby and I had stopped by a mall in Atlanta to pick up presents for the ladies. The next thing we knew, we were caught in the middle of a mass shooting in the food court. Toby took out two of the terrorists with his Marine sharp shooting skills and we split before the cops arrived.

  The next day
, reporters from all over the country landed in front of our clubhouse in search of a story. Which was very bad timing for the Steel Infidels. The last thing the MC needed was media attention and thousands of eyes on our illegal activities. The media made us out to be heroes, when we’re anything but that.

  After days of being trapped for days inside the clubhouse by the reporters, Aunt Leona saved us. I’ll never forget looking out the clubhouse window to see her wandering through the crowd of reporters, smiling and giving out cookies.

  “The reporters thought you were a kind, old lady handing out free samples,” I say.

  “That’s exactly what I am,” She lets out a snort. “A kind old lady until someone threatens my boys. Then you don’t want to see me coming. Never underestimate an old lady carrying a big pocketbook and bearing gifts. We can pack a powerful punch. Besides nothing is free in this world.”

  “Don’t I know it.” I grab her in another quick hug. “I’m glad you’re here. Otherwise we’d been forced to eat whatever the Sweet Butts could throw together.”

  “God help you if you eat anything they fix,” she mutters. “You know I couldn’t let my family go hungry at a Christmas party. I understand the need for pretty girls hanging around the clubhouse, but can’t you boys find some Sweet Butts that can cook? What about Thelma down at the Bardsville Café? She seems like a nice woman. Her and Rocco might hit it off just fine. He needs a gal. You should invite her to one of your parties. She would be a nice addition.”

  I raise my eyebrows at her. “Thelma is a grandmother.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” she asks in a huff, glaring at me. “Rocco and Tom Brewer aren’t exactly spring chickens. What are they? Almost fifty years old? They could easily be grandpas.”

  “Not quite,” I answer with a chuckle. Rocco and Tom would be pissed as hell if they knew they were being referred to as grandpa material.

  Aunt Leona and I have had this conversation plenty of times before. She’s Mom’s elderly sister. Ever since Mom passed away years ago from breast cancer, she’s been like a substitute mother to me and my brothers. The tradition of the sexy Sweet Butts being a permanent fixture in the Steel Infidels clubhouse is something that she’s never completely understood.

  Not that many women do.

  My wife Kendra, along with the other wives, Trish, Lila and Maggie tolerate the sexy, young women hanging around the clubhouse, but that’s the extent of it. The wives in the MC will never form close relationships with the Sweet Butts.

  Kendra has one rule of law where they’re concerned.

  The Sweet Butts can look all the want at the married men in the MC, but they’d better not touch.

  Ever.

  Or vice versa.

  It’s a fair deal. If anyone crosses the line, they’re thrown out the door for good. No questions asked or lame explanations listened to. The Sweet Butts tiptoe carefully around the wives. No one wants to be on the receiving end of their wrath if a line is crossed. I know I sure wouldn’t want to be.

  Aunt Leona takes off in a fast pace toward the kitchen. It’s located at the rear of the big warehouse building we renovated years ago into a clubhouse. The Sweet Butts have lit several holiday scented candles around the room to mask the clubhouse’s normal smell of sweat and beer. It’s beginning to smell a lot like Christmas.

  “Why didn’t you let me send one of the guys to bring you here?” I ask, doubling my steps to keep up with her. “It’s not safe for you to be out driving in this kind of weather. It’s beginning to sleet. The weatherman said we might even get snow for Christmas.”

  “That’s what he always says.” She shakes her head at me. “They’ve been talking that foolishness for years to drum up ratings on the television. It’s all for show. I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve had a white Christmas in North Georgia. Stop worrying about my driving, Flint. I’m fine. When I need your help, I’ll let you know.” She shoots me a stern look over the top of her eyeglasses. “You understand? I’m not helpless, so don’t you dare start treating me like I am.”

  “Yes ma’am,” I say. “Point taken. At least let me get one of the guys to follow you home tonight to make sure you arrive safely.”

  “Okay, if you insist,” she relents with a long sigh. “Only because I don’t want to argue with you.”

  We step into the crowded kitchen. Several of the MC’s Sweet Butts are standing around doing absolutely nothing. Most are young women in their early twenties with long blonde hair, huge tits and big asses. The Steel Infidels have a specific taste in their women and they rarely vary in their choice of girls.

  When the Sweet Butts see us entering the room, they jump up and pretend to be working hard preparing for the club’s annual Christmas Eve party. As far as I can tell, all they’ve managed to do so far is line up a few paper plates and napkins on the counter.

  I’m not surprised.

  With the exception of occasionally being able to make a cold bologna sandwich or open a bag of potato chips, they’re worthless at most household duties.

  Not that it matters.

  They’re not here to cook and clean, though we all like to pretend otherwise. Their talents lie in other areas.

  The Sweet Butts are a huge draw for men interested in joining the MC. To keep the Steel Infidels powerful and respected, we take the necessary steps to make that happen which means a steady supply of sexy women hanging around. We’ve never had an issue getting beautiful girls. They line up for the opportunity to swing their long legs over the bike of a Steel Infidels member.

  Like my brother, Jesse always says, “You can teach a pretty woman to cook, but you can’t teach a good housekeeper to be pretty.”

  Aunt Leona slowly surveys the room of skimpily dressed young women, then lets out a long, disgusted sigh. “Well, I guess you ladies were waiting on me to get the party started,” she says with a touch of sarcasm. “Quit standing around and help me get the food ready.”

  She places a heavy cake carrier on the table and takes off the lid. My mouth waters at the sight of the seven-layer Italian Crème Cake with double frosting. Pecan halves line the top of the cake.

  For a moment my gut clenches in nostalgia. Our mother always made that cake once a year at Christmas for a special treat. Aunt Leona continues to do it every year in remembrance of her.

  “Stop drooling over the cake and take my coat,” she says, shrugging out of it and handing it to me.

  Her watery blue eyes narrow when she notices the MC’s newest Sweet Butt working quietly on the other side of the kitchen. The girl is awkwardly holding a dustpan and trying to sweep debris into it. It’s clear she’s never held a broom in her life.

  She’s clothed in a tiny outfit of tight, jean shorts revealing an inch of her plump ass cheeks, a cropped top and thigh-high black boots. Her fake breasts are almost spilling over the neckline of her blouse.

  This is the first time I’ve taken a long look at her. She looks awfully damn young. I hope like hell that she’s at least twenty-one. The club can’t afford to be caught with minors. I’d better doublecheck her driver’s license soon to make sure.

  “Good lord, child!” Aunt Leona calls out to her. “It’s twenty degrees outside and you’re running around like it’s the Fourth of July. Give her my coat, Flint to wrap up in. She must be freezing to death.”

  The girl’s eyes widen in alarm when I hand Aunt Leona’s worn, brown coat to her. She knows better than to argue with our oldest family member or insult her in any way. Her eyes dart to my face, begging me silently to help her out.

  The other women duck their heads and get busy filling red plastic cups with ice to hide their smiles at the girl’s predicament. There’s always a fierce competition going on among the Sweet Butts. The girls are a jealous, devious bunch. As a result, there’s a frequent turnover among them which means a steady supply of willing pussy for the crew. The other women aren’t about to lift a hand to help the new girl.

  “Maybe you have a coat of your ow
n or something warmer to put on?” I suggest. If the girl isn’t smart enough to take the hint, then she’ll be stuck wearing Aunt Leona’s coat all night.

  She nods quickly in relief to be offered a way out. “Yes, I sure do. I have a long black sweater upstairs in the office. I’ll go get it.” She gives Aunt Leona a polite smile. “Thank you for offering me your coat. I appreciate it. You’re right, it’s getting cool in here.”

  “You’re more than welcome to borrow it, dear,” Aunt Leona says with a straight face without a hint of amusement. “I have an extra crocheted shawl in the car if any of you other ladies need something to keep your bosoms warm. In my opinion, a few of you are looking a little nipply.”

  She turns to wink at me where the Sweet Butts can’t see, then pulls a folded apron out of the big purse slung over one shoulder.

  “Help me tie my apron around my neck,” she says. “My old hands are arthritic. It’s time to get this party started. Let’s go to work girls and throw the Steel Infidels the best Christmas party they’ve ever seen. The children will be here soon, and I want everything to be perfect. It’s times like this that they’ll remember one day.”

  She begins opening and closing cabinets to search for serving utensils.

  “Don’t you have a cake server anywhere in this place?” she asks in exasperation, when she can’t find what she’s looking for. “What kind of a kitchen is this?”

  A Sweet Butt tries to be helpful and hands her a plain butter knife.

  “I reckon this will do,” Aunt Leona says, rolling her eyes. “I can’t wait to see the kids. I promised them I’d let them help me decorate sugar cookies while the rest of you do whatever you do at these shindigs. Those little kids have big eyes and ears. I’m not sure the clubhouse is the best environment for them. No telling what bad curse words they might pick up.”