My Christmas Biker: A Saint's Outlaws MC Prequel by Nikki Landis

Author:Nikki Landis [Landis, Nikki]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nikki Landis Books
Published: 2024-12-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6 Gingersnap

Followed? What did he mean by that?

Was the black truck coming back?

“Ginny, baby, I need you to listen. No questions. Just obey me because I have to know you’ll stay safe.”

What the hell was he talking about? Safe from what? The truck with the skull? I didn’t have a clue what that meant or why the person driving it was a threat.

Wait. Is this the person who killed my father?

“Brick?” My voice shook as the emotional implication of what this could mean hit me. Was the murderer after me and Brick now?

“I need you to hand me the gun in my glove box.”

Shit. He’d never ask me if he didn’t suspect something. Right?

My fingers trembled as I opened the glove box, reached for the gun, and handed it over. Brick took it from me, placing it on the seat before his hand held mine, interlacing our fingers. He held my hand tight, helping the quiver subside.

“I always keep a loaded weapon with me, but the safety is on, and I won’t use it unless necessary. Feel me?”

I didn’t trust my voice. Nodding, I gripped his hand tighter.

“I know this is scary, but I’m with you. I won’t let anything happen to you, Ginny. I’m still keeping that promise to Hesh.”

I blinked, processing what he said.

“You’re gonna be fine. I swear it. Keep your head down. Let me keep you safe. Okay, Baby?”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Good girl,” he praised and lifted my hand, kissing the top before he released it.

I watched as he reached for the gun, eyes on the road and never bothering to look at the weapon. It occurred to me that he touched it with enough familiarity that he didn’t need to look at it to use it. With one hand on the wheel, the other palmed the gun, Brick staying alert as I saw the headlights from another vehicle lighting up the interior of the truck.

An engine revved behind us.

Oh, God. The black truck was back.

I didn’t think it could get any worse until something bumped into us, rocking the frame of the truck as I screeched. Behind us, the trailer with whatever he hauled back there groaned in protest.

“My bike,” Brick growled, glancing in the rearview mirror.

“Bike?”

“My Harley.”

Oh. We got hit again, a bit harder, and I closed my eyes tight, feeling my chest tighten.

“It’s just a little rub, Sweetheart. Breathe for me.”

A little rub? Was he serious!? Spots danced in my peripheral as I sucked air into my lungs.

Breathe, Ginny!

Brick glanced in the rearview mirror, and I watched a muscle in his jaw tick. He seemed calm despite the danger. My dad had been like that, easygoing and the type to roll with whatever situation life placed him in. Unfortunately, his life in a motorcycle club made him a target. I never found out why he was killed. What did he know? Who did he piss off?

I wondered if I would ever get those answers.

The next “rub” was far less gentle than the previous two.

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