A Honey Badger X-mas: The Ciphers MC (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 7)

by Faleena Hopkins

  As she propels herself to where I’m standing at the hotel’s front desk, Flo gushes, “How are you, Margaret? I heard what happened!”

  In a small town everyone knows your business so the question comes as no shock to me.

  “I’m pretty shaken up,” I admit, comforted by her kind expression.

  “I can imagine!” she says, her eyes wide. She’s got a little too much blush on in a vain attempt to recapture her lost youth, but I’m used to it. Both of us are dressed in costume, and she surveys my black Victorian dress with a red-plaid sash, eyes finally resting on my black bonnet. “Appropriate to wear funereal attire today.”

  Glancing down, my hand floats to the pearl choker I chose for its cherry-colored jewel center. “Oh, I didn’t plan that. I chose it because it made me feel better. This belonged to my great-grandmother.”

  Flo eyes it. “Well, it’s lovely!”

  The door unleashes a wave of voices from the festival outside. Hoping to see my hero, I cut an excited glance over but it’s just a lone woman who’s escaped her group to get warm. Ignoring us, she begins to peruse the old photographs and antique trinkets on display in cases throughout our foyer.

  Flo clasps my hand before she rushes back to the bar it seems she’s tended since the hotel’s inception, 1861. She really does look that old.

  I return to writing out the repairs needed, organizing the notes that were scrawled onto separate, dirty slips of paper by the overnight janitor, and compiling them onto one easy-to-read sheet. He’s been here for an eternity as well, and also operates as the hotel’s after-hours emergency line since he’s a retired handyman and can shut off a busted pipe before a room drowns from a leak, if need be.

  The time does not pass quickly tonight. Every time the door swings open my head snaps to the sound, but my savior isn’t there. Just more tourists wanting a room, or to eat in the restaurant, or grab a drink at the bar and get warm inside and out.

  Perhaps I should have stayed home.

  No one would have faulted me for it.

  But what would I have done?

  Watched television with those men’s terrible, violent fingers haunting my every thought?

  At half-past eight o’clock I decide a walk is needed. No more vacancies tonight and I’m tired of letting people down by telling them the bad news, especially when my spirits keep sinking as the minutes tick by with no sight of him.

  What if he’s gone?

  What if I never see him again?

  The halls here don’t feel anything but soothing to me, though I can see why people believe there might be ghosts. When a building is more than a century old it whispers to you.

  Wait, was that a real whisper?

  With trepidation I whisper, “Hello? Anyone there?”

  “Don’t freak out,” a deep voice says from a good distance behind me.

  I spin around and my eyes widen as they land on my hero standing at the end of the ancient second floor hallway.

  “It’s you!”

  His dark eyes narrow slightly as he cocks his head and asks, “Can you see me?”

  “I’m wearing contacts.”

  His shoulders shift a little and he jogs a thumb behind him. “I said hey, a second ago.”

  “Oh, that’s what I heard.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who are you?”

  He stares at me in silence. It gives me a chance to drink him in. His body is intimidatingly powerful; thick with muscle. His leather biker jacket is bursting at the seams around his biceps. Those worn black jeans are straining against trunk-like thighs, and his steel-tipped, black motorcycle boots look as though they’ve carried him through countless years of traveling to places I’ve never been.

  “Okay, so you won’t answer me,” I venture, inching closer. “You’re in a motorcycle club, aren’t you?”

  He nods, licking his lips. “Yeah.”

  “I haven’t seen one come in. We usually hear them coming.”

  This elicits a smile in his eyes and another step closer from me as a result. He licks his lips again. Is he doing that as I get nearer to him? Because he’s attracted to me?

  My heart starts to vibrate and I freeze, my hand floating to my choker again. His eyes drop to the motion, and my breath hitches as he watches me fingering the red jewel.

  He’s so sexy hot that I shyly stammer, “Well, this was very interesting but I have to get back to work.”

  He takes a step backward to give me room. As I pass him, a magnet electrifies the air between us as though I’m meant to turn into his arms and not head away.

  I’m blinking hard and rapidly as I make my escape back to my post.

  This isn’t fear. No, it isn’t that at all. What is it then? I think it’s nervous anticipation of something I don’t quite yet understand. That strange man is so intriguing, aspects of myself are waking up as though from a life-long sleep.

  At the front desk I hear behind me dull thudding footsteps descending the stairs without hurry. I inhale sharply and turn my head to watch him walk down. His eyes are on me as he undoes his black hair from the bun, rakes his fingers through the wavy length of it, and then ties it back up again.

  Did he do that to turn me on?

  Because it did.

  My lips part and he glances to them as he strolls past me. I read the letters on the back of his jacket one more time before he is gone.

  Honey Badger

  She was staring at me like she wanted me, and all of that purity went up in smoke.

  Without her glasses those blue eyes have a sultriness that was hidden before.

  Or maybe that’s just my cock seeing things his way.

  Outside the street is filled with people dressed like she was, in costume to celebrate X-mas, and make money. This whole thing is Capitalism at its finest. It’s all about the cold hard cash, and I want to be rid of all of it. If it weren’t for her.

  Turning back to the hotel I toss the door open and storm back in. Her eyes widen at the sight of me. “What’s your name?”

  “Margaret,” she quickly says. “What’s yours?”

  “Honey Badger.”

  Her eyebrows twitch upward. “Honey Badger?”

  “Yup.” Turning on my heel, I mutter to myself, “Margaret…” At the door my eyes snap to meet hers. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, Margaret.”

  Her jaw drops and I vanish out the door, strolling into the crowd with every intention of returning when the hotel closes in a couple of hours, to make sure she gets home safe.

  A long ways up the road, in front of a group of five, red-nosed Christmas carolers in top hats, gowns, and mittens, I stop at the sound of my name being called. Kinda hard to mistake it for someone else’s name.

  Turning around I see Margaret making her way toward me, a beacon of light in a sea of faces. She’s slipping on gloves, her long coat flapping until she hurriedly buttons it closed.

  As she catches up, steam pants out of her lips but she pretends she’s not out of breath and that she didn’t just run after me. With a casualness that’s fuckin’ adorable, she asks, “Would you like to walk around the festival with me?”

  I stare at her a beat then grunt, “Hell yeah.”

  We make our way through a swarm of people, the street lit by white Christmas lights outlining every single fucking building. They really do it up in this place. That wasn’t the only group singing, either. Another group of happy harmonizers starts singing “Little Drummer Boy” like they’re daring me to give a shit about this holiday, when I hate it. They’re all under ten, balled up by over-zealous parents, so many layers they look like Pillsbury doughboys.

  “Aren’t they cute?” she asks with a warm smile in her voice. When I just nod and keep going, she catches up with me and says, “You didn’t look at them.”

  “Didn’t have to. I heard ‘em.” I glance over and see she’s not happy with my answer. Sucking on my teeth I mutter, “They were kids singing.”

  “Don’t you like kids?”<
br />
  Do I like kids? Why the hell am I out here if I don’t love kids? I left South Vacherie for this quest three months, two weeks and five days ago.

  Nah, that’s not the whole truth.

  I started years ago in every town we ever saved people. But I was half-assing it. Never took it seriously because women didn’t look at me that way back then and I didn’t believe I had a chance of getting what I really wanted — a family of my own.

  I figured I’d live a solitary life, and that the families of my fellow Ciphers would have to do. I’d be a sort of uncle, and that wouldn’t be so bad.

  I wanted my own, but didn’t hope much for it.

  Then Jett Cocker found his wife. The guy I believed would be a bachelor until he died, right along with me, found a woman who made his eyes glow. I became the only Cipher left without someone to call mine. Even the kid Tonk, our youngest member, had one.

  The days dragged on, as I felt more and more angry.

  I didn’t see it coming, the frustration.

  It was bleeding into everything I was doing.

  I was discouraged and taking it out on everyone.

  Especially myself.

  Melodi told me one night when she’d had too much tequila that I needed to get to a fuckin’ gym if I was going to find a wife. “And maybe stop chewing with your mouth full, Honey Badger. That shit’s digustin’!”

  She’s always a bitch, but no one wants to change her. So I heard what she said, took it in, and it was enough of a kick in the ass to make me think I might be able to get it done.

  I started lifting weights. Running. Training my body into what it is now. I turned down beer and drank more water. I sweated more than I have in my entire life, but eight months later I was fucking ripped and ready to go.

  The search began. While we traveled I scanned faces, drifted away from my brothers to delve into corners of every town hoping to find my wife. I went out on lone missions because I wanted more time to do what I had to do.

  Then after our last job I took off for San Francisco while my fellow Ciphers all went back home. I stopped in Nevada City for a night of sleep only. Chose a Bed & Breakfast up Broad Street because it was smaller than the National Hotel, and I like my fuckin’ privacy. But the second I walked into the place, heading for the hotel’s bar and saw this redhead? I regretted my choice, and my plans to move on to another city vanished.

  Pure. Kind. Gentle. She was the complete opposite of me. And when our eyes met I felt it in my gut. She was the one I was lookin’ for.

  I want kids. I want to be a father.

  I just don’t like Christmas.

  “It’s not that,” I mutter to Margaret, expecting her to accept and drop it.

  But I’m not that lucky.

  “Then what is it?” she pries.

  We stop in front of a small bookstore that is packed with people buying gifts. My eyes cut to her bonnet for a second because she looks damn cute in the thing. “I like kids. But I don’t like them out here begging for money.”

  “They’re not begging. They’re singing! Carolers always had a top hat in the snow in the olden days so that people could be generous and pay them for their song.”

  “The song should be free.”

  Margaret’s pretty blue eyes narrow on me. “It’s a tradition. This is the season of gift giving. The money given to them is a gift!”

  “Nope,” I mutter, walking away.

  She runs up to me. “Hey! You can’t just walk away like that. We were in the middle of a discussion.”

  “Discussion ended.”

  She tugs on one of my biceps and I look at her with amusement as she snaps at me, “That’s not how you treat a woman, Honey Badger.” She hesitated over my name, which made her barking at me even more comical.

  I don’t know one woman who would put up with what I’m about to say, but I’m fucking with her. We always do this back home. Very seriously I lean in and say, “When I say a discussion is over, it is.”

  Her cheeks puff up like a pissed off blowfish. “Oh, is that so?”

  Is that so?

  I’m not familiar with that expression.

  So I calmly say, “No.”

  She gets confused. “It isn’t so?”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Is that so means, is that the case? Is that how things are going to be?”

  On a smirk, I chuckle, “Oh, then yeah. That’s so.”

  She almost floats away she puffs up so big, her corset fighting her the whole fucking time. Yeah, I know what a corset is. I know the name of every female under-thing ever invented. And I want to take that corset right off, especially with her all fired up like this. Of course I had to pick a redhead.

  But she flips around. Leaves me standing here.

  Didn’t expect that.

  Okay, I can chase.

  I catch up to her. “Piss you off?”

  “You made me angry, yes.”

  “There’s a warm fire pit over there. Wanna go?”

  She glances to me, confused as shit, but her angry footsteps slow. “I do like fire pits.”

  I grab her hand and weave my fingers with hers, turning us around. I walk like a bulldog and she like a cat with a stick up its butt.

  I bet to anyone interested, they’d look at us and think I don’t belong with this chick. But I already know that she belongs with me.

  She’s way the fuck out of my league but that’s never stopped me before.

  I’ve got the best bike on the road.

  I’ve got a gun collection that could be in museums.

  My fucking room at The Cipher’s home base in South Vacherie, Louisiana, has the most comfortable bed, couch and chairs that money could buy.

  I saved up and slept on the floor until I had what I wanted.

  That’s what I’ve done my whole life with women until I met this one; I’ve slept on the floor. Now it’s time to aim high.

  Of course life wants to fuck with me, though, because what are they doing at the fire pit? Roasting chestnuts. Yep, they’re motherfucking roasting goddam chestnuts around a fire. I almost growl with frustration, but cover it in time as she glances to me, eyes suspicious.

  “Would you like a chestnut?” she asks in a searching way.

  She’s testing me.

  She can tell I’m boiling over.

  Just take the chestnut, Honey Badger.

  Take the motherfucking chestnut.

  “Nope,” I mutter.

  Her blue eyes narrow again before turning to the man who’s offering. “Yes, I’d love one, thank you.” She holds it in front of my mouth to feed it to me, her eyes dancing with interest. I shake my head and she drops it from one gloved hand into the other. “Come this way.” She pops it into her mouth, and grabs my hand, lifting up the long hem of her Victorian gown with the other so she can walk faster.

  “You takin’ me to bed already?” I smirk, but the joke doesn’t amuse her.

  “I want to show you something,” she dryly tells me, her eyes locked ahead as we make our way through the crowded sidewalk. At the end where Union Alley intersects with Broad Street, and where her hotel is in sight across the way, she stops at the edge of the town’s twenty-foot-tall Christmas tree, releases my arm and watches me as I get all twitchy. “Isn’t it pretty?”

  I side-eyeball the thing for a millisecond which is way too long a time in my world. “It’s…” I can’t even say it, so I just cross my arms as happy strangers swarm around. There are miracles alright. It’s a miracle no one’s running into us.

  She faces off with me. “You’re a Scrooge, aren’t you?”

  My turn to go.

  She chases me down. “You hate Christmas?”

  I keep right on walking through the slush. “Yep. It’s bullshit!”

  “You can’t call it bullshit. That’s like saying bunnies are ugly. Why do you think that way? What happened?”

  I grumble, “That’s my fuckin’ business, ain’t it?” walking fa
ster and making it harder for her to keep up. I can’t get away from this conversation fast enough.

  “You hate Christmas but you come to Nevada City? That makes no sense.”

  Turning, I growl, “I didn’t come here to see this!”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “I came searching for you!”

  We stare at each other. “I don’t understand.”

  Not one for poetry I blurt, “I’ve been searching for my woman. That’s you.”

  “What?!” she gasps as if I just told her I believed the earth was flat. Or that there was a guy in the North Pole with elves and a wife who cooked for them all. Yeah fuckin’ right. “That’s crazy. You don’t even know me.”

  I shrug and lean in, pointing to my chest. “I’m more animal than man and we lead by instinct. I know it in here. But I’m done with this conversation.”

  I leave her staring after me, standing back where I found her, in front of the National Hotel.

  Margaret

  Flo taps on my shoulder as I watch him stalk off with his shoulders tense and fists clenched. “Who was that, Margaret?”

  Glancing over to her in a daze I whisper, “What?”

  “That biker fella. He seemed real interested in you.”

  “We just met,” I tell her, eyes clouded. What does that even mean, he searched for me?? Did he have some vision of me or something? I’ve never heard of such a dreamy thing coming from a man’s lips before. Especially not a gruff beast like that one.

  “I’d snag him…for a night,” she smiles with a wink.

  Mildly shocked I laugh, “Flo!”

  “I’m just saying, Margaret, if I were any younger I’d run after him myself. Look at these guys.” She waves a wrinkled hand around the festival where crowds of people shop at booths overflowing with crafts, baked treats, and toys. “A lot of pussies. Enough with the khaki slacks. But that man! Mmm Mmm Mmm!” She walks away with a saucy smile thrown over her shoulder. “But I always did have a thing for bikers. And sailors.”

  My feet start the journey back to the hotel desk and when I see Carla I thank her for taking over for me, but I don’t need the rest of the day off after all. She chats with me a moment about what’s going on with her children in college.