A Very Cerberus Christmas (Cerberus MC)

Biker.

Bad news.

And he’s standing beside my son.

Who is not in the car, but straddling a damn motorcycle. There are two others standing near, but neither speaks. Their presence feels like a warning. Bikers are known to travel in packs. I know this from experience. Where there’s one, there’s always a couple more lurking about.

“I told you to stay in the car,” I snap.

I normally don’t have to chastise my child. He’s very well behaved, but right now I could twist his ear for not listening to me. I get that he’s only six, and after this, I’ll never leave him alone in the car again. I locked the door, worried about people getting in, not him climbing out, because he promised me he’d stay put. Leave it to the temptation of a motorcycle to draw him out. Where puppies may be the pull for others, damn bikes are his.

“Do you see this, Momma?” Harley leans forward, his arms too short to reach the handlebars, but he looks adorable as he tries. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a wide smile on his face.

I hate that I’m the one that’s going to be the one to crush his good time, but the kid just doesn’t understand the trouble he could be getting into. He doesn’t know that his father got tangled up with bikers, and that’s where all of Robbie’s problems began.

“Harley, you—”

“Indian,” the man says once again.

“His name is Harley,” I hiss, not bothering to look over at the man.

“Really?”

I chance a glance at him. It’s not really fair for a man with a wind-blown beard to have such an alarming smile. His leather vest is worn and well used—SNAKE—on a patch near his left shoulder. Charming. It seems like a warning, and one I’ll heed.

“Get in the car,” I tell Harley, reaching for him. I know how hot the parts of a motorcycle can get, and I don’t want him burned. I just paid for gas with nickels and dimes. The last thing I can afford is a hospital bill.

“Listen to your momma, little man,” the guy says when Harley looks up at me with pleading eyes, reluctant to end his fun so quickly.

I usher Harley into the backseat, nodding when he apologizes for getting out. I start to climb into the driver’s seat, and nearly cuss out loud when I remember I stopped to get gas. For some people, driving off without getting their eight dollars in gas wouldn’t be a big deal, but it would wreak havoc on our lives. I couldn’t get to work or pick Harley up from school in the afternoons for the rest of the week.

“I can pump it for you,” the man says, his smile still in place, despite how short I’ve been with him.

“I’ve got it,” I tell him.

To his credit, the man doesn’t reach for the gas nozzle, and he keeps his distance.

“He seems to really like motorcycles.”

I start to pump my gas, keeping my back to him, but my eyes are on his reflection in the window. I don’t know where his friends went, but I know they’re around here somewhere.

“We’re not bad guys, ma’am,” he says. “We wouldn’t hurt him.”

I turn to face him at this declaration.

“So it’s just normal for three bikers to talk to children when a parent isn’t present?” I glare at him.

He smiles down at me, and I notice for the first time just how much bigger he is than me.

“I was swiping my card to get gas. I turned around, and he was sitting on my bike. Should I have picked him up and thrown him off? You showed up like fifteen seconds later. I can promise you, there wasn’t anything creepy going on.”

I swallow. It doesn’t go unnoticed that he doesn’t point out that I left my small child in the car alone. Many people would, and maybe it’s natural to point the finger and blame others. I shove down the realization that these guys sound more like how Robbie is now—a changed man than the bikers he used to hang out with—and maybe that’s just my own justification I’m trying to calm myself with for leaving my child and having him end up in a dangerous situation.

“Well, I’m sorry he bothered you.”

“Didn’t say he bothered me, ma’am.”

The gas pump clicks off and despite the embarrassment it may cause, I hold the hose up just in case it helps. I don’t know if it makes the gas left in the hose end up in my tank, but if it does, I’ll take all that I can. I won’t ever see this man again, and I refuse to let him derail my week.

“Thank you for not yelling at him. Have a good day.”

I climb into my car and drive away.

Chapter 2

Snake

“You can’t tell me you didn’t see it coming,” Skid says as he climbs off his bike, picking up the conversation right where it left off before we pulled away from the clubhouse.