Twisted Christmas

by Sara Cate

  I nod. “Yeah, that would be great.”

  She nods toward a black SUV, all black and shiny and new looking. I walk over to it, hopping onto the passenger seat. She’s silent as she turns on the car, reversing out of her spot and driving down the opposite way I came in from.

  “I don’t remember anything down this way,” I say, looking out the windows as the trees only continue to grow denser.

  “All the houses are this way. No one actually lives at the clubhouse.”

  I nod, watching as different houses pop up from between the trees.

  “And here we are.” She pulls up along the right side of the road, a modern looking rambler making an appearance. It has large, panoramic windows, which show off the pine trees and mountains in the distance. It’s beautiful, yet not overly so. It’s nestled in the woods, like a hidden diamond.

  “It’s pretty. Is this where Violet lives?”

  “Yes, her and I together.”

  My eyes widen. “Oh, I thought she lived with Lynx.”

  She chuckles. “No, honey. Lynx doesn’t live with anyone. He’s too much of a stubborn ass. I think anyone who lives with him would kill him. Or vice versa.”

  I smile, looking off into the distance. Thinking of him. Thinking of our night together. Does he hate me now? What would he think if he knew I was here?

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  My eyes flit over to hers. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Unbuckling my belt, I give her one more smile as I open the door. “Thank you for the ride.”

  She smiles, though the concerned look never leaves her eyes. “I’ll be up at the clubhouse if you need me.”

  Nodding, I slip from the car and walk to the front door. I think about just walking in, but decide against it, lifting my hand and giving two small knocks on the door.

  “What the fuck?” I hear from the other side, and a small smile instantly quirks my lips.

  The door swings open, and there stands Violet. She’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen her, in joggers and a tank top, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail. “Iris? What the hell are you doing here?”

  I think about telling her nothing. Coming up with some silly lie. Not that I don’t want to see her, because I do, but it’s so much more than that.

  I needed to… escape.

  “Sometimes, I really hate my life.”

  She smiles sadly at me and reaches down, grabbing onto my hand and pulling me inside the house. It’s nice, simple, modern, with female touches here and there. That and Harley gear.

  Harley gear everywhere.

  She settles me onto a cream-colored sectional, pulling a Harley blanket over her legs. “When I was living on the streets with my parents, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t understand why my life was the way it was. I didn’t understand why I could walk blocks away and see people in mansions with nice cars and nice clothes. Why I would walk past the mall and see kids with parents handing their kids ice cream with three scoops when I’ve never even had one scoop. How is it fair that some kids get such a cushioned life, but we get the short end of the stick?

  “But then I realized that we were handed the shitty life because we could deal with it. We were made to be stronger, go through the tougher shit because we can handle it. Our bones our stronger, our blood runs faster, our hearts beat heavier. We’re handed our lives because we’re capable of taking all we’ve ever known and making more for ourselves because of it. And some day, when the time is right, our lives won’t be so shitty anymore.

  “I never would’ve been happy in a cushioned home, driving around in a Maserati and hanging out with surfers. I was made to live in this compound with these bikers, my dysfunctional family that’s not even really my family. They’re thicker than blood. These people are my everything. So don’t fret about life now, Iris, because it will get better. And I’ll fucking be there for you through every step of it.”

  Tears run down my face, and I can barely breathe as the grief and pain of my entire life roars to the surface. I don’t want my life. It’s not a fair one. But if there’s even an inkling of truth in her words, I want to grasp onto them for dear life.

  I want the good. I want it so damn bad.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, wiping my face.

  She chuckles, leaning over and wrapping her arms around me. “No, thank you. Sometimes I’m a piece of shit, and it’s times like this I realize how fucking grateful I should be. Mostly with Christmas being tomorrow? This is where I belong.”

  I nod, knowing that there’s nothing that awaits me back at my apartment. My mom and Ray are probably going through my things for spare change so they can head back to the casino. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s where they spent Christmas day, leaving me alone in the cold, empty apartment.

  “You can spend the day here with us tomorrow. We have a big thing with everyone. It’s a lot of fun.”

  I smile sadly, shaking my head. “Thank you. That’s really nice, but I have to be home with my mom. She doesn’t have a lot of family, and I always try to spend time with her.” If she’s ever around, which is rarely ever.

  She nods, like she knows I’m lying straight through my teeth. “Want to watch a movie?”

  A genuine smile passes my lips this time. I can’t even say the last time I watched television. We don’t have one at our house, so I never have the chance.

  “I think that sounds perfect.”

  We snuggle underneath the Harley blanket, getting comfortable as Violet searches through Netflix for a movie. Resting my head on the couch pillow, I sigh when I smell the familiar scent of smoke and pine.

  Lynx.

  I burrow my face in the pillow, getting comfortable and closing my eyes.

  I’m asleep before Violet even picks a movie.

  Chapter 10

  My eyes crack open, and I’m momentarily disoriented.

  Where the hell am I?

  I glance around, remembering I came over to Violet’s earlier. The day rushes back to me. Me running from our apartment, hitchhiking to the mountains, Violet’s talk…

  “Fuck.”

  The scent of Lynx hits me, and I roll my head into the pillow, wondering if he’s come here recently to make the pillow smell so strongly of him. I don’t understand why I have such a connection to him. It’s not like he wants me. It’s not like he cares about me. Not really, anyway.

  “Violet?” I ask as I stand up, looking around the spotless house. The evening sun shines through the trees and into the windows, casting the dark wooden floors in a golden light.

  Spotting a white scrap of paper on the table in front of me, I bend down, swiping it up and glancing at Violet’s messy scrawl.

  Iris,

  Haley needed me to help her get ready for Christmas up at the clubhouse. I’ll be back in a few hours. Feel free to hang out here or come up if you want to hang with us.

  I’ll be back in a bit.

  V.

  With a sigh, I drop the note back on the table, walking around the couch. I don’t want to go to the clubhouse, but I also don’t really want to be here by myself.

  But there’s one thing I want even less, and that’s to go back to my house already. I’d rather wait till later, when I know my mom will either be gone or passed out. I don’t want to deal with her or Ray anymore today.

  I walk through the kitchen, seeing live-edge wood countertops and dark matte stainless-steel appliances. A lone coffee cup sits in the sink that reads badass bitch in the center.

  I’m not sure if it’s Violet’s or Haley’s. It fits both of them.

  A small Christmas tree sits in the corner of the room. Twinkling lights flicker with every color of the rainbow. Underneath this tree is empty, so I’m guessing all the presents go to the clubhouse.

  The rest of the house is filled with Christmas decorations too. Christmas trees and snowmen and Santas fill the shelves and walls. Lights are pinned around the windows, red glowing bulbs delicately pinned around the glass.

&n
bsp; Wandering down the hall, I peek around the first doorway, seeing a small bathroom with a cream and blue color scheme. I keep walking and take a right, seeing what I’m assuming is Haley’s room. It’s dark, with a gray and navy bedspread on her tufted bed. A massive Harley poster hangs on the wall.

  I head to the last door on the right, knowing immediately it’s Violet’s room. It’s so chaotic. Completely Violet. Posters and pictures and so much damn clutter I have no idea what color the walls actually are. Her tall wooden dresser is filled with Harley scarves and wrist cuffs.

  She’s literally the coolest person I’ve ever met.

  And I suddenly feel like the homeless kid from down the block.

  Wait, I really am.

  I glance down, my clothes so tattered and wrinkled, I wish for just a moment I could step into her shoes. Be taken care of by everyone around me.

  I step into her room, glancing at the million pictures she has pinned to her walls. Her in between seven men, all grizzly and covered in leather. They are all so handsome, dangerous looking with an edge of mystery.

  Then there’s the other set of pictures.

  Her and one of the seven guys. She has dozens of them. Her hanging on him. Her looking pissed at him. Him looking pissed at her.

  Who is he?

  I hear the creak of the front door opening, and I quickly make my way out of her room. “Violet? I thought you’d be gone—”

  Lynx.

  He stands in the doorway, flakes of freshly fallen snow on his shoulders as he stares at me.

  “Lynx?”

  “You walked here?” His tone is angry, his eyes narrowed toward me in irritation.

  My eyes widen. “Um, no, actually, someone gave me a ride.”

  His lip curls back. “Who the fuck is someone?’

  I shrug. “I-I don’t know.”

  His face grows red in fury. “What the fuck are you thinking getting in a car with someone you don’t even know? He could’ve been a fucking serial killer or something.”

  “I got on the back of your bike,” I snark, feeling extra spicy for some reason.

  His eyes narrow, a small smile quirking is lips. “And that was your first mistake.”

  I say nothing, and he steps off the front rug, walking over to the couch. “What’re you doing here, Iris? You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m here to see Violet.”

  He glances at me over his shoulder, his strong jaw sharp enough to cut steel. He knows I’m lying. And at the end of the day, I know I’m lying, too.

  I always want to see Violet, but if I were to stop lying to myself for one moment, I’d realize the real reason I came to the forest in the mountains was to see the man sitting in front of me.

  “I don’t know what you want from me, Iris.”

  My chest aches. No, not my chest. My heart. It hurts because I want someone that I know with absolute certainty I’m not supposed to have. But it doesn’t stop the want. It doesn’t stop the aching deep in my chest.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you know? If you don’t even know what you want. What do you know, then?”

  I circle around the couch, my sweatshirt suddenly stuffy even with the light flakes falling outside. I step up to the arm of the couch, his shoulder near my thighs.

  I’m not the kind of person that speaks up. I don’t discuss my feelings or go out of my way to be bold. I’d rather blend into the background and pretend shit doesn’t exist. It’s easier that way.

  But standing next to him, his strong, powerful form, as he demands an answer from me, I don’t think I can do anything besides speak the truth.

  “I like you.”

  He sighs, saying nothing.

  “I like how you make me feel wanted. How you make me feel like I’m not just some poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks. How you touch me… and kiss me…”

  His arm snaps out, and he wraps his fingers around my thigh, squeezing tight as he pulls. My knees give out, and I fall into his lap. I feel his hands go to my waist as he spins me around, so I’m facing him, my back bent over his thighs as he glares down at me.

  My knees are covered by his large, muscular hand as it rests there, and I feel so self-conscious with my ugly sweats and hoodie. I don’t remove my eyes from his when he slides his hand up my outer thigh, my insides quivering from the absolute strength of his fingers as he trails them along my body.

  “You are too innocent, too pure to even touch. Do you know what I’ve done with these hands? The pain I’ve inflicted?”

  I shake my head, goosebumps breaking out all over my body as he reaches my waist. “I could paint all of California red with the amount of blood I’ve spilt.” His fingers curl beneath the fabric of my sweatshirt, brushing my skin and making me shiver. “I could fill a cemetery with the number of bodies I’ve dropped into the ground. Do you still like me?”

  I should say no. I should run for my life for him admitting he’s hurt people. That he’s killed more people than he can apparently count. But it doesn’t scare me, not in the least.

  It turns me on.

  I squeeze my thighs together as his fingers dance along my ribs, pulling my sweatshirt up with his wrist. “Speak up, Iris. I can’t read your mind.”

  “You don’t scare me,” I whisper, my breath leaving me as his fingers trail along my sports bra. I should be repulsed; I shouldn’t want his hands on me at all.

  I only want him more.

  His hands shove my sweatshirt to my neck, my nipples hardened against the thin fabric of my bra. He pulls my bra up, my breasts bouncing free in the cool air. “That’s where you’re wrong, Iris. Because you should absolutely be frightened of me.”

  He bends over, his teeth biting down on my nipple. A zing rolls through me, my spine arching into him as a squeak breaks from between my lips, and his hands go lower, circling around my rib cage. His fingers are so long and strong that they almost fit around my entire torso. He’s a man, a fucking beast of a man that can break me with the flick of his wrist.

  Maybe I am slightly frightened.

  He ravages both breasts, going from one to the other until they are both swollen and so sensitive even a breath of air makes my body quake. Squeezing my ribs tight, he pulls me off of his lap and slides me to the edge of the couch, my messy hair sprawling across the Christmas pillow along the end of the cushion.

  He pins me there, against the soft cushions, his hands sliding to my biceps and hovering above me, so commanding, so large and overwhelming, my breath leaves my lungs.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” he growls.

  “Yet here you are,” I breathe. He stares at me, his eyes so dark and enigmatic, all hesitations seep from me, and I pull myself up, pressing my lips against his. He exhales heavily, and I open my mouth, dipping my tongue between his lips, showing a lick of dominance.

  He demolishes it.

  His hand goes to my jaw, and he manipulates me exactly how he wants me, not allowing an ounce of power to emanate from me, taking it all for himself. Taking complete control.

  His thumbs dig into the dimples of my cheeks, his free hand trailing down my body until he reaches the waist of my sweats. He pulls, and with one quick yank, they’re at my knees. I can’t think, can’t even breathe, as he exposes me for the first time.

  He releases me, sitting back on his haunches, his knees on each side of my waist, pinning me in place, my body bare from breasts to knees. He breathes down hard, like a fucking animal. Head of the pack. King of the fucking jungle, his nostrils flaring as he appraises my nearly naked body.

  “What a forbidden fucking treat you are,” he says as his hands trail down from my breasts to my hips. He shuffles back, pulling my sweats off the rest of the way and tossing them aside.

  Will he know? Will he be able to tell I’m a virgin this time? Do I look like a virgin as I lay here at his mercy?

  He grabs my ankles, yanking them apart as he glances between my legs. “You should go, Iris. Get out of here befo
re it’s too late.”

  I shake my head, even as nerves bubble in my chest. “I don’t want to,” I whisper.

  His eyes flit to mine. “I will ruin you.”

  “Maybe I want to be ruined.”

  He pins my legs apart, and I can’t hold back their tremble as his fingers dance along my inner thighs until he hits right below my sex. It begs, pleading for any kind of relief. After only one orgasm from him, I feel ravenous, needy for his skillful touch.

  “I don’t do gentle.”

  “I don’t want gentle.” I lift my chin, pretending to be strong even as I feel my confidence waver.

  The pad of his finger brushes against my folds. The slight bit of hair there, only because I never expected anything, making me self-conscious, worried he’ll think I’m lazy, sloppy, not sexy in the slightest.

  It’s the opposite.

  His fingers bury in the curls, pulling them slightly. “You are the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  I arch into his hand, wanting more, scared of more, but wanting more nonetheless.

  He slides his fingers between my folds, finding wet heat. His eyes close, and he inhales deeply, taking in everything, every drop, every scent, like he wants to memorize it. Keep it.

  “Last chance, Iris.”

  My heels dig into the cushions, and I shove myself closer to him. His eyes burn bright as he watches me, and he grabs the skin behind my knees, pulling me toward him; exactly where I want to be.

  That’s all he needed.

  He bends down, shoving his face between my thighs, inhaling deeply, his nose buried in the short curls. His tongue darts out, slipping right between the wetness. He licks, going right to the sensitive bud and sucking. Hard.

  My back arches off the couch, my legs trembling on each side of his head as he takes complete control. He eats me like a starved man, like every ounce of me will sustain him for life. Like I am the essence he’s been craving.

  I grab onto his hair, wild around his shoulders, and I pull, overcome with so many sensations. He growls into my flesh, the vibrations against his lips spurring a tingling between my thighs. It grows, spreading down my legs to my feet, a heat that burns its way across my skin. I can feel myself nearing the edge, teetering on the cliff of destruction.