A Kiss to Remember: NYE Kisses Collaboration Read online

  Xander juts his chin out, his own fists balled at his sides. “The way my shit smells like has nothing to do with getting the fucking job done here. Now Mitch put me in charge of our crew on this project, and I’m telling you to go.”

  Neither one of them have noticed me standing here yet, but when Randy rushes forward, his fist raised to land a blow to Xander, I move. I don’t know what I am trying to accomplish by coming between them, but when Randy’s fist crashes into my cheek, I know that I had just made the most idiotic move in the history of time.

  I fall to the ground, my hands clutching my cheek, my head exploding in a hazy combination of pain and blurry nothingness.

  “Fuck!” Randy snaps, waving his hand up and down in the air.

  “Shit!” Xander says, dropping to his knees at my side. He cups my face in both hands, and stares down into my eyes. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t even fucking see her there until she was already on the damn ground.”

  Xander looks up and scowls at Randy, his eyes narrowed to meager slits. “I told you to fucking go.”

  “Shit,” Randy mutters again, but this time he does as he’s told and leaves.

  I try to open my eyes but the light nearly blinds me and the blood rushing through my ears is so loud, I can barely even hear their exchange. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

  Xander’s voice is filled with urgency and his hands are skimming over my forehead, his arm behind my neck for support. “Emery,” I whisper, even that word too loud for my swirling head.

  Xander pauses. “What?”

  “Not sweetheart,” I tell him. “Emery.”

  Xander chuckles just as my vision begins to clear. “Sorry. Emery. Are you okay?”

  I blink slowly, willing my eyes to start working like God intended and force myself to sit up. “Think so,” I whisper.

  Xander sighs. “Jesus, woman. What were you thinkin’ flyin into the middle of that like you did?”

  “Randy’s a prick,” I whisper, my head finally starting to clear. “Didn’t want him starting trouble.”

  Xander smiles down at me, his teeth perfect and white, his cheeks broken up by dark stubble and the sexiest set of dimples I’ve ever seen. “Xander,” he says, and I frown. He chuckles softy. “My name. It’s Xander.”

  I lift a hand to rub my cheek. “Nice to meet you, Xander.”

  “You’re gonna have a nice bruise there,” he says, reaching out to gingerly touch my cheek. “You’ll be alright though. Randy’s a pussy. He can’t throw a punch to save his life.”

  “Thank God for that,” I mutter, wondering what a harder punch from that prick would have done to my face.

  “Little piece of advice though, Emery,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet. “Next time you see someone throwing a punch … avoid it. Don’t run directly into it.”

  “Gotcha,” I mutter, a smirk playing on the corner of my mouth.

  Xander sighs and looks around. “I’m gonna have to fill out some paperwork on this whole thing. I’ll bring it around for you to sign.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, watching as he puts some distance between us, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Nice to meet you too, Emery.”

  Just the sound of my name on his lips sends a shiver down my spine. Oh, you’re going to have to watch yourself with this one, Emery.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Xander

  “Are you fucking seein’ this shit?” Pounder snarls as the three men walk into the clubhouse. Each of them wear a shiny new leather cut, free from wear and tear and all three of them emblazoned with the Satan’s Descendants patch on the back.

  “What the fuck?” Nutsy mutters. “Since when are we just handin’ out patches to all our buddies without makin’ them jump through the same hoops the rest of us did?”

  I watch through narrowed eyes as our club’s president, Rover, approaches the men, his hand ready to shake and a wide smile on his face. He greets each one, slapping them on the back and motioning to the room where we hold our weekly church meetings.

  As they disappear behind the closed door, me and the six other patched members of the club stare at each other in shock. Rover had been our president for less than a year. He’d been voted in after our original prez found himself on the underside of a tanker last summer. He hadn’t survived.

  He’d be rolling in his grave right now if he could see what Rover has turned this club into. My father would too. He’d been one of the original five that had started Satan’s Descendants. He’d loved his club so much, he’d died for the cause, shot by a rival club that was trying to claim our territory as their own.

  “Let’s see what he has to say,” I tell the others, feeling the tension build around me. “Maybe there’s an explaination.”

  “Name one fuckin’ scenario where it’s okay for a fuckin’ civilian to be wearin’ our patch,” Pounder growls. “Rover is turnin’ this club into the goddamn good ole boys gang for him and his buddies and I’m done lettin’ it happen.”

  He’s right. Rover is a decent guy. He was a great VP under our former prez, but he’s a shit leader on his own. Money is being dropped on unnecessary things, there’s been zero organization for any of our recent runs and rallies. And lately, he’s been constantly bitching about our numbers and how important it is to get more patched members into the club.

  The door to the meeting room opens and Rover motions for the rest of us to come inside. One by one we file through the door, taking our regular seats at the table, each one of us eyeing the three new faces sitting at the other end of the room. All three of them stare back at us, a smug look on their faces.

  “Alright, assholes, listen up.” Rover usually takes the time to say hello and chat with the rest of us before he starts his meetings, but not this time. He’s not fucking around today. “You may notice we have three new members with us today.”

  “Yeah,” Pounder says. “About that. Was I fucking absent the last couple of years while they were getting’ acquainted with all of us and did their time as prospects?”

  Rover glares. “No, I decid–”

  Pounder doesn’t give him time to speak. “What about when we voted on whether we thought they would be an asset to this fucking club? ‘Cause I sure as fuck don’t remember that.”

  The three men aren’t looking so smug now and Rover’s face is flushed a nasty shade of red. “Enough!” he roars, his hands on the table as he glares first at Pounder and then around the table at the rest of us. “I am the president of this club. I say what is good for it and what is bad. If the rest of you fuckers don’t like it, you can turn in your patches right fucking now!”

  Everyone shifts uncomfortably in their seats except Pounder. “That’s not how this fuckin’ works, and you know it,” he seethes.

  “This club doesn’t have the numbers to stand up against the Devil’s Rejects and you know it, asshole. We don’t have time to prospect a bunch of snot nosed kids and turn them into goddamn bikers. We need men, now.”

  Pounder opens his mouth to argue, but I beat him to it. “For what, exactly?” I ask. “I mean, we’re not at war. The Rejects stay on their side of the county line and we stay on ours. So, what’s the hurry? Why are we abandoning the club bylaws to put our patch on more men?”

  “Because I fuckin’ said so. That’s why,” Rover seethes.

  “No, not good enough.” Pounder stands from his seat and looks around at the rest of the men. “I motion to have the patches removed from these men, right now. And I put forth a second motion to put forth a vote on whether or not Rover here is gonna remain president of this club.”

  I watch wide eyed as Pounder does something that rarely happens in the world of motorcycle clubs and defies the president.

  “All in favor of taking the patches off of these mother fuckers?” Pounder says. Everyone but Rover raises a finger and says, “aye.” Pounder moves from around his chair and approaches the men. “No disrespect,” h
e tells them. “But we don’t know you. And we didn’t vote you in. This isn’t how this club runs shit.”

  Each man stands and removes his cut, handing it over to Pounder without a word before leaving the room. Pounder closes the door behind them and turns back to us.

  “Now, all in favor of a re-vote to Rover’s presidency?” Rover’s glare penetrates every one of us as we each cast our vote to possibly remove him from his position. “That settles it then,” Pounder says. “We’ll vote next week. If you’re voting to remove Rover, you best decide by then who you’re gonna nominate to take his place.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Rover growls, his fists clenched at his side. A vein under his eye throbs as he attempts to hold back his rage. “This won’t stand.”

  Pounder yanks open the door and looks back at the man raging at the head of our table. “Looks like it just did.” And then he walks out.

  Three

  Emery

  I’m just about finished running the wiring for the master bathroom when Xander comes in. “Emery, hey. I have that incident report about Randy written up. Was wonderin’ if you could sign it for me?”

  I put down my screwdriver and turn to take the papers from his hand. As soon as I’m facing him, he steps back. “Jesus.”

  Embarrased, I lift my hand to my cheek to cover the very dark, very large bruise I know he’s staring at. “I’m fine. Really.”

  I hold out my hand and motion for the papers. He hands them to me and it only takes me a moment to read through them. The whole thing is pretty straight forward. In long hand writing, Xander had explained the incident that had happened with him and Randy before I came along, and followed it up with Randy taking a swing at him and landing a blow on my face instead.

  “Got a pen?” I ask him, leaning over to place the paper on the counter. He fishes a pen from his pocket and hands it over to me. “What’s gonna happen with him anyway? Randy.”

  Xander sighs and sits back against the counter beside me. “Who fuckin’ knows. Mitch, our boss, is Randy’s uncle. He babies the stupid ass. Gives him more chances than he’d give anyone else. But when I told him he’d punched you in the face …” He shakes his head. “Let’s just say Mitch didn’t sound too thrilled with his nephew after I told him that.”

  I shrug and hand the signed paper back to him. “He’s not the first asshole you’ve likely had to work with, and I can pretty much guarantee he won’t be the last.”

  Xander chuckles. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  I pick up my screwdriver and go back to the light switch I’d been finishing up, thinking the conversation is over, but Xander has other ideas. His hand comes up and sifts through his hair as he gives me an adorable lopsided smile. “Uh … I was thinkin’. Would you like to go out one night? Maybe grab a beer?”

  I freeze, staring without seeing where the screwdriver is still lodged into the head of the screw. This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked out by one of the guys at work, but it is the first time I’ve actually wanted to say yes. But I can’t.

  If I want to be taken seriously on the job, the last thing I need is to earn a reputation for dating the other contractors. Or God forbid, if the date didn’t go so well and a whole slew of new rumours were to circulate around the job site.

  I finally look at Xander, who has lost that adorable smile and now just looks uneasy. “I’m sorry, Xander. I can’t.”

  I don’t offer any more than that, and he doesn’t ask. With a small smile, he nods and turns to leave the room. “Have a good day, Emery,” he says before he disappears around the corner.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Xander

  “So,” Nutsy asks as the waitress hurries off to fetch us our beer. “How you think this vote is gonna go?”

  I look to Pounder who just shrugs and sits back in his seat. Muff and Mac sit across from him, neither one ready to volunteer their thoughts.

  “What Rover’s doin’ is wrong,” I tell them. “We all know it. An MC would never survive if you just start giving away patches like Halloween candy. Colors need to be earned. Worked for. There’s no pride in something that just anybody can get their hands on.”

  Muff leans forward, his hands planted on top of the weathered table. “I get that, but callin’ Rover out in the middle of church, in front of everyone wasn’t the way to go about it.” He nods his head toward Pounder who simply smirks.

  “What he did the other day took balls,” I inform him. “He didn’t say anything the rest of us weren’t fuckin’ thinkin’.” The waitress comes back and hands us our beers, tossing each one of us a flirtatious smile. Mac grins and watches her as she sashays her way back toward the bar. I keep my gaze on Muff. “You can’t tell me you agree with the way Rover’s been runnin’ things?”

  “I don’t,” he admits, and shoves his chair back before standing. “But Pounder disrespected our prez. I don’t agree with that either.” He pats Mac on the shoulder and heads toward the pool tables on the other side of the bar.

  Mac stands and grabs his beer, but before he follows his friend, he looks to Pounder. “I dinnae blame ye fer doin’ what ye did,” he says in his thick Scottish accent. “Seems to me Rover be disrespectin’ all a us by bringin’ them tadgers into the clubhouse without getting’ our vote first. And I’m glad ya said what ya said.”

  With that said, Mac holds his beer up and nods his head before following Muff to the other side. “What the fuck is a tadger?” Nutsy asks on a laugh. “I never know what the fuck he’s sayin’.”

  Pounder grins. “Mac’s a good shit. Muff is too, and I get his point. I could have done that a little quieter than I did, but there was no way in hell I was lettin’ those fuckers sit in on an official meetin’ before I even knew who the fuck they were.”

  The three of us sit in silence, drinking our beer and watching a group of women shaking their hips in front of the jukebox. I barely see them though. All I bring myself to think about is how different this club has been since our prez was killed. We’d gone from a brotherhood, to a group of feuding siblings that would rather draw blood than work things out the way we used to. And Rover was the reason why.

  An MC needs a good leader to be successful. My father had taught me that. The leader needs to be bold and strong and tough as nails. He has to have a thick skin and a handle on his own temper in order to lead a group of men that exude testosterone with every breath they take.

  Rover took over as prez with the attitude that he had become our boss. That what he says goes and if we don’t like it, then we can just go fuck ourselves. But that’s now how it works. That’s not the purpose of a president in an MC. We’re not a dictatorship. We’re a fucking brotherhood. We have bylaws and regulations. We do things for the good of the club. Not just because we damn well feel like it.

  “Pounder,” I say, dragging his attention away from the woman in the short skirt. “I’m nominating you as prez. Just thought you should know.”

  Pounder gapes at me. He got his nickname for being a scrapper. He loves to fight and I’ve never known him to lose one once he’s started it. But I don’t think either one of us had ever realized his potential as president to the club until he stood up and spoke his mind the other day.

  “Me too,” Nutsy adds, leaning forward to clink bottles with Pounder. “Now let’s stop talking about this shit and see if we can get those chicks over there drunk enough to show us what they got under those skirts.”

  Four

  Emery

  Irun the roll of wire along the wooden frame and around the corner until I reach the beam that carries all of the wires to the breaker panel in the basement. Normally this is a two-man job, but Ron had called in today with a case of the flu, so I was on my own.

  We had just one more week to get this entire place wired and ready for the walls to go up and I was already working my ass off even when Ron was here. It was going to be a tight squeeze to make the deadline, but I always do.

  As I slowly back along the hallway, unspool
ing more wire with each step, I come to a stop when my body backs into a solid wall of muscle. I glance over my shoulder and my heart sinks when I see Randy grinning back at me.

  “Nice bruise ya got there, sweetheart. I guess next time you won’t be so quick to jump into a man’s business. That’s how little girls like you get themselves hurt.” I don’t bother with a response and attempt to step around him, but he moves to the side and blocks my path. “Not so fast. I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.”

  His words say he’s trying to fix it, but the look in his eyes has my body on high alert. I glance around the hallway, hoping to see someone else, but there’s nobody. It’s almost noon and from the silence that surrounds us, I can only assume that most of them are outside already, enjoying their lunches in the afternoon sun.