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“Hold up. You see that?”

At Gunner’s question, Maverick and Apollo stopped and looked. Becker, who’d come up from behind after paying their tab for supper, ran into Maverick’s back.

“Shit, sorry, man. Why’d we stop?”

Maverick didn’t know yet. But Gunner had sidestepped into the alley, and instinct drew Maverick and the others into cover as well. They didn’t need to know why to be cautious. They trusted their brother that there was cause.

Looking over Gunner’s shoulder, Maverick focused on the storefront across the intersection—a mom-and-pop pho place that the Bulls frequented. One of those excellent little places that locals kept a secret. They’d actually bickered this evening about whether to eat there or at the burger joint they’d landed at. Beef and beer had won out.

A white Lincoln Navigator was parked at the curb, its high sheen reflecting the rainbow of Christmas lights that swagged across the streets in this part of town.

“That’s Derrick Ammons’ ride,” Gunner said.

Becker put his hands on Maverick’s shoulders and rose up on his toes, rubbernecking. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Look at the wheels. I’d know that bling anywhere. He treats that truck like a woman. Probably fucks the tailpipe.” The wheels were super-high-end chrome spinners. Even on the parked car, they threw light back like jewels. Gunner looked over his shoulder and met Maverick’s eyes. “They’re on our turf.”

Since Booker Howard had pounded his message into Wally’s head, the Bulls had been preparing for war. More than simply gearing up, they’d put Apollo on intel, and he’d dug deep. Derrick Ammons had been a mid-level operative in the Dyson crew, but he’d been promoted since Melvin Dyson’s ‘retirement’ and was now the distribution chief for Street Hounds.

Still leaning on Maverick’s shoulders, Becker said, “They’re still owed for Wally.”

If they moved on somebody that high up as retaliation for their prospect, it could set the fuse alight on the keg of gunpowder that sat between the Bulls and the Hounds. Maverick shook his head. “We gotta get to a phone, call D in on this.”

“I got this.” Apollo dug into his kutte and pulled out...a phone. Once of the cell phones Maverick had seen ads for on television. Nokeys, or something like that. He figured them as toys for rich businessmen. The guys who’d already had car phones.

Keeping an eye on the restaurant, Maverick heard Apollo’s call connect. “D, it’s Apollo. I’m with Mav, Gun, and Beck, over by Pho Ha’s. We got a situation.... We’re standing here looking at Ammons’ SUV.”

After a beat or two, he set the phone from his ear. “Anybody see a guard on that thing?”

“Not out here,” Gunner said. “They might have somebody keeping their eyes peeled inside.” He turned his whole body to face Apollo. “He wants us to hit the truck?”

Delaney had obviously heard that, because they could all hear him through the earpiece of Apollo’s toy. “GUN! SETTLE!”

Becker chuckled. Maverick couldn’t keep the smirk from his lips. Apollo beamed a grin bright enough to illuminate the alley. Gunner flipped them all off.

Apollo put the phone back to his ear. “What should we do, prez?” He listened, nodding, “What’s everybody carrying?” he asked, then held the phone out among them again, so Delaney could hear.

Maverick pulled his kutte open to show his shoulder holster. “My Glock, same’s always.”

“My Sig,” answered Gunner.

“I got my Sig on me,” said Becker. “But I got Boom Boom in my saddlebag.”

‘Boom Boom’ was Becker’s fifty-caliber Desert Eagle. A ridiculous handgun.

Apollo put the phone back to his head. “And I got my Beretta.” He listened again. “Okay, D. I’ll call when it’s done.”

Shoving his phone back into his kutte pocket, Apollo pulled his sidearm. “Everybody mount up and lock and load. And get Boom, Beck. We’re killing the truck.”

They mounted their bikes and rode up, spanning the street. Going through the intersection, they braked, aimed, and all at once, fired, unloading four mags into the Navigator.

Thunder exploded from Becker’s Eagle, and the SUV rocked and bounced with every bullet. Glass sprayed, tires exploded, water hissed from the engine. The alarm wailed until a bullet struck it and shut it up.

They fired fast and emptied their mags just as the door to Pho Ha flew open and four black men surged out, their guns already drawn.

In the sudden break after the Bulls ran out of bullets, Maverick heard Bing Crosby’s voice, coming through the open restaurant door. Ol’ Bing was dreaming of a white Christmas. The mounds of shattered auto glass on the street and sidewalk, glinting back the festive Technicolor of strung Christmas lights, seemed to be giving Bing what he wanted.

After a beat of shock, the Hounds aimed their own weapons, which, Maverick assumed, were not empty. “GO, GO, GO!” Apollo yelled, and the Bulls turned and flew down the street to a much less festive chorus of gunfire.

––––––––

~oOo~

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“We whole?” Maverick asked, once they stopped, tucked in an alley, out of range of danger. “Anybody hurt?”

No one was. Not a single bullet had hit them, not even their bikes.

“WOO-HOO!” Gunner crowed, laughing. “That was FUCKING AWESOME!” He whooped again and slapped Maverick on the back. “Damn!”

Maverick laughed. He’d forgotten how good the surge of adrenaline in a life or death fight could feel. He’d spent four long years in a nonstop life or death fight, but this something entirely different. When you had power in the situation and hope for the outcome, life or death was a choice. He chose life.

He was going to lean on Delaney to get Kevlar vests for the club.

––––––––

~oOo~

––––––––

Maverick smiled as Eight Ball picked Kelsey up so she could reach the top of the tree. When she couldn’t make the angel stand up straight, Eight put his hand over hers and helped. Cheers and applause greeted her success, and she looked around shyly, grinning and blushing, and then strangled Eight Ball in one of her death-grip hugs around his neck.

Glancing toward the bar, where Jenny sat with Willa, Leah, and Patrice, Griffin’s girlfriend, Maverick watched his lady watch their daughter and Eight Ball. Jenny didn’t care much for that particular brother. As far as he knew, Jenny and Eight hadn’t had any specific interaction that had gone bad. He supposed there might be something he didn’t know about, but he doubted it. Eight would never move on a brother’s woman, damn sure not the mother of a brother’s child, and he wouldn’t go out of his way to do wrong to a woman, either, not even one who’d abandoned a brother.

He thought it was probably that: Eight Ball didn’t go out of his way for women, period. Other than Mo—he had a mama’s-boy devotion to her—Eight barely noticed women at all. They had his attention when he was looking to get off, and they were invisible otherwise. Rumor had it that he had some freaky tastes in the getting-off department, too. A lot of women seemed to be able to scent that on him. Some of them liked it, and others did not. Jenny did not.

Fine by Maverick. But he watched her pay attention to how Eight Ball was with their daughter, and when she smiled, he felt relief. If she could find some trust for that brother, then she was well and truly settled in.

“Should I be worried about that?” Gunner sat down at the other end of the leather sofa.

Maverick finished off his glass of Jack. Tyra, a sweetbutt, was there in a flash, taking his empty away from him and sashaying to the bar to refill it.

“About what?”

Gunner nodded to the pool table. Gunner’s older sister, Deb, was playing pool with Simon. Maverick watched as Deb set up her shot, bending sidelong over the table. Simon’s eyes seemed to be focused not on her shot but well to the side, about the location of her ass.

“That’s a thing? Si and Deb?”

“I don’t know, man. I don’t think so. She hasn’t said anything about it. He sure as fuck hasn’t said anything to me. But he’s lookin’ at her like she’s laid out on a plate with parsley.” Gunner slammed his beer bottle to his lips and swallowed down a long pour.

Maverick took his refill from Tyra with a chuckle. “Easy, bro. She’s a hot chick in tight jeans, bent over a pool table. Si’s a red-blooded Bull. ‘Course he’s gonna look.”

“My sister is not a hot chick.”

Yeah, she was. Deb was about Maverick’s age, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t had a thought or two about her. He’d hooked up with Jenny not long after he’d met Gunner and his family; otherwise, he might have made a move on Deb.

“To answer your question, no, you shouldn’t be worried. It’s probably nothing. If it’s something, they’re both well over the age of consent, and Deb deserves some good times, don’t you think?”

“Not with a Bull, though. Not with all the shit goin’ on right now,” Gunner groused.

He had a point, and Maverick turned to his own family again—his pregnant wife, laughing with her friends. His little girl, helping Zach hang paper snowflakes on the twinkling clubhouse tree. On this Christmas Eve, the clubhouse didn’t seem like a clubhouse at all. It was a home, filled with family. There were even Christmas carols playing.

But outside, a storm brewed. Not the kind that might bring a white Christmas, but the kind that might bring a red winter.

“It’s quiet for now,” he said to his friend.

Booker Howard hadn’t retaliated for Ammons’ SUV. Though the Bulls remained vigilant, Howard seemed to have decided that the truck wasn’t worth escalating trouble too quickly. He’d spent the past few weeks building up his organization, transitioning Northside from the defunct Dyson crew, cleaning that house, establishing relationships. Melvin Dyson had been an important man on the north side of Tulsa. Howard likely had to tread lightly to build up the support he needed. He couldn’t just lay waste and claim the rubble.

The Bulls watched carefully as it happened. Delaney and Dane were doing what they could to strengthen the club’s relationships, ensuring that their friends stayed friendly, and seeking Volkov support.

And they were arming themselves heavily, preparing for battle. They had vests now, too, and wore them whenever they were out in colors.

Out in the open, Tulsa seemed like its usual self, but anyone who moved in the underworld was on alert for war. DEFCON 1.

“Won’t be quiet for long, though,” Gunner said. “You heard D—they’re probably waiting to hit us on the next Russian run. When we’re scattered.”

Every eight weeks or so, Russian guns came in, and the Bulls split up to handle the north and south legs. Generally, in a peaceful Tulsa, they left one man or two at home, just in case, and the rest of the club went on one leg or the other. Normally, that was good sense, with enough coverage everywhere. But in a civil war, it made them weak at home and on the road both.

Maverick would not live his life in fear. Not now, not when he had everything he wanted. He shifted his seat so he could face Gunner straight on. “Then we won’t be scattered, Gun. We’ll work it out. We’ll figure out a new schedule and keep everybody whole. We’re strong, and we’ve got stronger friends. Trust D. Howard is a hemorrhoid on the asshole of the world. He won’t win. We will.”

After a contemplative silence, Gunner sighed. “Okay, yeah. We need more men, though. I’m thinkin’ of putting a name in.”

A beam of pleasure lightened Maverick’s mood again at once. Sponsoring a prospect was serious business. A prospect’s success or failure landed on his sponsor’s back. Maverick had, a few times, worried that sponsoring Gunner, the human tornado, would end his own time in a Bulls patch. Now Gunner had settled down enough to think about mentoring, shaping, another Bull. That was real growth. He slapped his friend’s back. “Yeah? You got somebody in mind? Hangaround?”

“Nah. He’s been to a few parties, and Dane knows him, but he doesn’t hang around. Somebody I know from the races. Osage Indian kid. Caleb Mathews. He’s cool.”

“Yeah—bring him up in church next. That’s great. You’re still racing, huh?”

Gunner shrugged. His attention had moved to the bar, and their women. His woman in particular, Maverick had no doubt. Pretty little Leah. “Yeah...sometimes. Not like I used to.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Now I’d mostly rather just be home.”

Maverick’s eyes landed on Jenny, and she looked over right then. Their eyes locked, and she smiled.

“Yeah. I know what you mean, Gun. I know what you mean.”

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~oOo~

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Maverick came into the bedroom and stretched, pushing his fists into his lower back and arching over them. “Damn. The people who make assembly directions on toys need to take some English classes. I don’t know why they bother putting those worthless sheets of paper in the box at all.”

Propped up in bed with a book, Jenny smiled. “Did you get it all together?”

“Yeah.” He stripped down and slid in beside her, and she set her book aside. “It looks pretty great out there. I can’t wait for Kelsey see it all for the first time.” He brushed his fingers over her forehead. “How’s your head?” She’d gotten one of her ‘auras,’ signaling a migraine on the way, while they were at the clubhouse.

She caught his hand and brought his fingers to her lips. “Good. I got home to bed quick enough. It only lasted like an hour. Thanks for handling all that. I almost came out to help you with the toys after, but there was swearing, and I thought you were probably better off on your own.”

“Yeah. The parts on some of those things weren’t machined too well. Muscle and cussing was required to make ‘em fit. I’m glad you’re okay.” He laid his head on her belly and slid his hand over her hip. “How okay are you?”

Her muscles shook with her laugh, and he felt her fingers dance over his neck, down his spine. “Very okay. Very very.”

“That is very good news.” He hooked an arm around her and dragged her down flat on the bed. “Very very.” He bent his head and tasted her sweet mouth, soft and willing under his. As he shifted a leg over hers and brought his hand up to cup a breast and tease a nipple, she pulled back—not far.

Her lips brushed his as she said, “Mav...you can tie me up if you want. We haven’t done that since...”

Since before he’d gone away. Since before she’d gotten big with Kelsey. He’d loved tying her up, binding her to the bed with scarves or silky ropes, wrapping her wrists up together or splaying them wide, making her subject to him, under his control, at his whim...

He stunned himself by going soft, and not gradually. His cock deflated. Jenny felt it, too, and shared his surprise—he saw it in her frown and the flare of her eyes. He pulled away.

“Mav?” She held his arm, not letting him go far.

Allowing her to hold him, he turned and sat up. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” She sat up, too, drawing the sheet over her chest—in that move, he saw that he’d made her self-conscious.

So was he. But he had no idea why. He loved tying her up, seeing her sleek limbs pulled taut, her slender wrists and ankles wrapped with pretty silk, watching her hands twist and her toes curl as he found more and deeper places of pleasure in her body and kept at them until she begged and begged...

He shuddered. Jesus Christ, what the fuck?

“Mav—please tell me what’s wrong. Please.”

With a flash of image, he knew. He flinched against the memory and jumped out of bed.

“Mav!”

He had to tell her. He swore he’d never put it into words or sound, but now he knew, standing naked next to the bed she was in, their bed, in their room, in their house, on Christmas fucking Eve, that he was going to have to tell Jenny.

“I can’t do that anymore. Tie you up. It’s not...I can’t do that to you. Take control like that, where you can’t stop me.”

Her worry changed. She’d been afraid she’d done something wrong. Now she was worried for him. “Mav, it’s okay. You never forced me. I liked it. I trust you.”

That made a stabbing pain in his heart, and he flinched again. He had forced her. A little. He’d ignored her resistance, sure she’d like it—and she had. But first she’d been afraid, and he’d forged on, heedless in his arrogance. She’d liked everything he’d done. But what if she hadn’t? Would he have apologized?

No. He wouldn’t have. He would have tried harder, thinking she simply needed to relax and be more open to it. He hadn’t been worthy of her trust.

He’d been a fucking bully. A gentle bully, but a bully nonetheless.

“I can’t hold you down. I can’t.”

When she stood and blocked his path, Maverick realized that he’d been pacing. She cupped a hand over his cheek. “Maverick. What’s wrong?”

And here it was. He could make something up, deflect, lie, set it aside, leave it buried. Or he could tell her and hope—trust—that she would understand.

He turned his head and kissed her palm. “Something happened to me inside.”

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~oOo~

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“You gotta say something, Jen.”

He’d said it all, said more than he’d meant to, and now she just sat at his side. Tears streamed down her face, but she wasn’t crying openly, no warp of her features. Only those wet rills, dripping onto her bare chest. They sat on the side of the bed, both naked. Maverick felt far more exposed than merely his skin.

“Babe, please,” he pleaded when still she wouldn’t speak.

Without a word, she slid off the bed, to her knees. She pivoted until she faced him and maneuvered herself between his legs. He wasn’t ready for what it looked like she intended—he was soft and freaked the fuck out, and horrible memories slammed unimpeded back and forth in his head, let loose for the first time since they’d been made.

Carver had sure as hell been right about that: he would never forget any second.

“Jen—” He stopped when, rather than take hold of his cock, she bent forward, folding all the way down, and kissed the top of his foot. Her lips lingered on the highest point of his bridge. He could feel her tears wet his skin.

“Jen...” he said again, on a breath. He didn’t know what she intended, but her touch was gentle and calming.

She moved to the other foot and did the same thing. Next she moved to that foot’s ankle bone, and to the other. His shins. His calves. His knees—pressing a single, soft, unhurried kiss to each point, working her way up his thighs. As his brain finally began to push the memories back to their lockbox, he held her head, twisting his fingers into the fluid strands of her long hair.

His cock had begun to stir when she made it to the top of his thighs, but she moved away from it, scooting closer, pressing her lips from one side of his belly to the other, then up, over the center, finally to kiss each nipple. From her knees, she couldn’t reach any higher than that. Maverick lifted her face and bent his to hers until their foreheads touched.

She still hadn’t spoken, and tears still streamed, but he didn’t need her to say anything now. “I love you,” he whispered. “How many is that today?”

“Infinity,” she answered, and kissed him.

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~oOo~

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A few hours before dawn on the first Christmas morning he’d spend with his wife and child, Maverick sat alone on the sofa, a glass of whiskey in his hand, and stared at the glowing colored lights of their Christmas tree. Under the tree and for several feet around it sat the shiny packages that Jenny had so carefully wrapped, and the assorted toys that he had so intently built. They’d gone more than a little overboard with Kelsey’s presents—he had gone more than a little overboard.

Jenny was worried that she’d be overwhelmed, that there was far more here than Kelsey could focus on, but Maverick didn’t care. His girls hadn’t had much these past four years, and he was going to make up for it now. He couldn’t wait for her to wake up and see.

She didn’t believe in Santa. Jenny had never told her about the jolly old elf; she had a bad history of that fantasy herself, and she didn’t want her little girl to feel the hurt of finding out Santa was a lie.

It hurt his heart. Santa wasn’t a lie; he was a gift—wonder and mystery and joy on Christmas morning. He’d never believed in Santa, either, but he’d been brought up in an orphanage, with no family or traditions. He wanted his little girl to have perfect Christmas memories, the kind that kids with families got to have.

So they’d have to start now and make up some that were just their own.

That was why he was awake at four in the morning. Not because he was tormented by those memories that had vandalized his brain earlier in the night. Jenny had kicked that shit right to the curb, and she’d done it with hardly a word. She’d simply lavished love and desire on him, adored his body with her own, until he had control over his memories and was hard again. Then she’d brought him off with her mouth, and again when she’d straddled his lap and taken him in.

He’d never thought before of Jenny taking care of him, only of him taking care of her and Kelsey. Everything about his love and his drive to make his family whole had been focused on taking care of them, on being Jenny’s husband, Kelsey’s father. Making the family he needed. But tonight, he’d realized how much of his desperate need was for himself. He needed somewhere he could be weak. He needed to be taken care of, too.

So no, he wasn’t awake with tormented thoughts. He was awake with anticipation. With happiness. He was fucking alive. He sat on his sofa and appreciated the view of his new, beautiful life. The quiet, glowing tree, its colored lights reflected in shimmers on the shiny paper Jenny had used to wrap gifts. The stone fireplace beside it, festooned with pine boughs and shiny red balls, three stockings hanging from the mantel.

Maverick had felt that tight twist in his chest when Jenny had pulled from a box a bundle of white tissue paper and shown him what was inside: the same stockings she’d brought home on their first Christmas together, matching, with their names embroidered on the cuffs. Now there was one for Kelsey—bigger, with a sparkly Christmas tree sewn on it. It bulged with candy and small gifts.

Jenny’s had a little something weighing down the toe of hers, as well.

Wrapped up in his Christmas reverie, Maverick didn’t hear Jenny come up behind him. He jumped when her hands slid over his chest and she kissed his cheek. “Hey. Are you okay?”

He smiled up at her. “Yeah. I’m good. Come sit.” He set aside his glass as she came around the sofa. She sat beside him and tucked herself under his arm. She’d pulled his t-shirt on; he loved it when she walked around in his shirts. “You remember our first Christmas? The real first?”

“You mean when I was pregnant?”

He nodded. They’d been dating the Christmas before that, but they hadn’t spent it together.

“Of course.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “I’d known I was pregnant for like two weeks, and you bought that ridiculous present for a baby girl.”

“It wasn’t ridiculous.”

“It was when we didn’t know what the baby would be. But you were sure she was a girl.”

“And I was right.”

She answered with a playful slap of his bare belly. Then her mood quieted. “I remember it all. I was still so scared about the baby, and you were so confident, like always.”

He winced. “I’m sorry about that. I should have listened.”

“It’s okay. You listen now. And I think...if I’m honest with myself...I think I needed it sometimes back then. When I get trapped in my head, I need help getting back out. That’s not nearly as true as it was, but back then, I didn’t know how to think for myself.”

“You sure do now.”

She laughed. “Yeah. Now I’m a mouthy bitch.” When he only chuckled, she poked his side. “You’re supposed to say, ‘No, dear, you’re not a mouthy bitch.’”

His silent grin earned him another poke, and then a nipple twist. Laughing, he grabbed her and flung her down on the sofa, lying on top of her, but he didn’t pin her. “You’re not a mouthy bitch, dear.”

Her arms looped around his neck, and they stopped talking or laughing or wrestling, or marking time.

When they came up for air, Jenny brushed her fingers through his beard. “You saved Christmas for me that day. You showed me what it could be, to have our baby together. Like you could see it. I wish we could have had that.”

He looked down into her eyes, which glimmered with festive lights, and possibly some new tears. “We do have it, babe. Now. This is what I saw. This is exactly what I saw.”