Cold Killjoy (Mistletoe Montana Book 17)

by Esther E. Schmidt

  “No need. I’m his son and I’m ready to work.” I cross my arms in front of my chest. “And the first decision I’m making is to give you your notice. You’re fired, if that wasn’t clear. Now get the fuck out.”

  I take pleasure in watching the fucker’s eyes widen as he starts to sputter but I ignore him and stalk toward the desk to take the chair he thought to keep warm.

  Driving my point home, I growl, “I said out. I’ll make sure you’ll get your last paycheck and handle everything else: your job here is done.”

  His face turns red but instead of seeking confrontation the little lizard slitters out of the office. I don’t care if he did a good job or not; I don’t trust the fucker and my gut tells me he’s the reason my father ended up in the hospital. Firing him is step one, getting the evidence of his actions is two, retribution will be last; the sweet icing on the cake.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  – JOYCELYN –

  I stare at all the grocery bags in my truck and wonder why I thought it was a brilliant idea to do some serious shopping. My breath flows out in a puff of steam while my gaze hits the pile of snow surrounding me. Right. The risk of getting snowed in, that’s why I need my pantry stocked.

  Huffing out another puff of cloudy white I grab the first bag and start to drag my massive food supply into the house. I’m on my fourth run when I hear tires screech and a crashing sound.

  I rush out of the house and come to an abrupt stop when I see a truck parked in Clark’s fence. Miller steps out of the truck and slams the door shut, stomping his way toward Clark’s house.

  I grab my phone but I realize I have no clue who to call. The sheriff? He hasn’t done anything other than crash against my neighbor’s fence. But am I really going to stand here and wait till he does something? Because Miller has murder written all over his face and it’s entirely different than being grumpy or even pissed off.

  My heart is racing as I remember running into Cold in front of his father’s garage. It’s worth a shot to call him if he’s still there. I’ve had the number programmed in my phone for quite some time due to Clark being my neighbor and all and if something would be wrong with the house or anything I could reach him at work.

  I hit the number and it rings three times before I hear someone rumble, “Killjoy’s Automotive.”

  “Is Cold there?” I ask.

  I wince at the force of Miller’s voice bellowing, “Open the door, old man. No more hiding, we’re going to settle this once and for all.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” My phone cracks.

  Great. I’m surrounded with people throwing out angry words.

  “You better get here fast or call the sheriff because Miller is angry and is beating on your dad’s door.” I can’t say anything more because Miller isn’t ringing the doorbell any longer; he’s pounding his fist against the door.

  Shoving my phone into my pocket I stalk over but keep my distance when I say, “Miller, what on earth do you think you’re doing?”

  “Stay out of it. This isn’t any of your business, bitch,” Miller spits.

  Bitch? How rude. I put my fists on my hips and very politely tell him, “That wasn’t very nice, Miller Beckander. What would your mother say if she heard you talking like that to a lady?”

  His eyes hit me and I have to swallow at the fury swirling in them.

  He takes a step closer and hisses in a low voice, “She wouldn’t tell me shit because she knows her damn place is in the kitchen instead of mouthing off. Something your father didn’t teach you. Now get your fat ass back in your kitchen and leave me to settle my personal business.”

  I should step away but my mind seems to have other plans when I jab my finger against his chest and reprimand, “How rude.”

  I don’t see Miller’s move until pain flares on my cheek from the harsh way he backhands me, knocking me off balance and making me fall to my side into the snow. I can’t believe he hit me. I’m still processing his rudeness and unnecessary violence when he starts to pound on the door again.

  Quickly dashing up, I stomp over to Miller, not liking the anger flowing through me since it’s been a very long time I’ve felt this angry. I manage to get his attention and maybe a split second of doubt hits me, but I’m too pumped up to care about it.

  “Miller, you asshole. You hit me and you’re standing on the porch of a man who took a bad fall and has a broken leg, a broken arm, and a concussion. What kind of person are you? It’s almost Christmas, a time to be kind, and you’ve made me very freaking angry. Angry enough to call the sheriff and make him charge you with assault. So, this is your last chance to get out of here before things go really bad for you.”

  If anger could make someone’s eyes glow like the devil, Miller would be lighting up the whole sky with a red glow. I swallow hard and realize he’s going to hurt me again, but nothing like the way he backhanded me.

  No. All the fury he had for Clark is now aimed at me. Fear fills my body. His arm pulls back and I brace for the pain but the first thing I feel is an arm sliding around my waist before I’m pulled back against a hard chest.

  “Bad. Fucking. Move,” Cold says in a deadly tone. “Hitting a woman, Miller? You’re a real piece of shit. Now, get the fuck out of here before I show you what real men do with fuckers who mistreat women.”

  “I didn’t hit her and I’m not leaving until I speak to your father. You had no right to fire me without even giving a reason. Montana is not an ‘at will’ state. Which means the employer needs a valid reason to fire someone. Not to mention, you have nothing to do with your father’s company.”

  A low growl rumbles through Cold’s chest and I feel the vibration flowing through my back. And it’s then I realize Miller lied.

  “You did hit me, asshole,” I hiss and want to shove him but Cold is still holding me against his body.

  He’s suddenly spinning me around and cradling my face in his hands, his thumb slides over my cheekbone and if I thought Miller had eyes like the devil…Cold ripped out the devil’s eyes with his own pitchfork and is waving them around like a freaking trophy.

  Holy shit. Instead of fear filling my body this insane situation has my body tingling with a mixture of thrill and admiration at the way this man is angry for my sake. And I have to say, this look does make him sexy, in a menacing neanderthal way.

  Yikes, maybe my brain was rattled when Miller backhanded me and it’s experiencing hyperthermia because it’s insane to have these emotions flowing through me while Cold has been a complete asshole before.

  “You fucking hit her,” he rumbles low in his throat.

  His eyes slide to Miller but he’s addressing me when Cold orders, “Go inside, Joycelyn, and stay there until I come get you.”

  Normally I would tell him it’s rude to order me around, but in this situation my ass is moving before I can let one word fall over my lips. I close the door behind me and rush through the house to glance out of the window. I’m just in time to watch Cold punch Miller in the face. Miller falls back and crashes to the ground.

  Cold leans forward and seems to talk to him as Miller scurries backwards. Miller gets to his feet, jumps in his truck, and has to back up before he can take off. His truck slips a few times from the snow and speed as he peels out of the street.

  I rush through my house and swing the door open to find Cold standing on my doorstep. He reaches out and feathers his fingertips along the side of my face. His eyes are filled with concern and hold only a hint of the anger they were filled with a moment ago.

  “You should probably put some ice on it,” he rumbles.

  “I’m fine,” I croak and clear my throat. “I should get the rest of the groceries inside and you should check on your dad. Maybe he didn’t hear all of the shouting and turmoil but if he did, I don’t want him trying to get to the door and hurting himself.”

  “Go put ice on it, I’ll check on my dad and come back to bring your groceries inside. It’s the least I can do.” He might give me
sweet words but there’s a certain undertone to his voice, leaving me no other choice than to follow his demand.

  “Great, I’ll add pushy and demanding to your personality description because grumpy and assholery wasn’t enough of a mood changer,” I mutter underneath my breath and spin around to head for the kitchen.

  His laughter fills the air and my heart takes a leap. I slowly turn around and watch how his face is completely changed. Softer, enthralling, and so damn sexy with the honest smile lighting up his eyes.

  “I like you a lot more when you’re smiling,” I blurt without thinking.

  His head tilts to the side. His smile turns into a smirk before he tells me, “And I like you a lot more when you’re feisty and moody.” His face changes as he adds, “But for sure as fuck I don’t like Miller being the damn reason for it. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

  He grabs his phone as he heads out the door. I grab a bag of peas from the freezer and wrap a cloth around it before I hold it up to my cheek. Slumping down in the chair I debate making some tea when Cold comes strolling back into the kitchen with a heavy grocery bag.

  “Dad’s okay, he’s sleeping, probably from the painkillers. Where do you need this?”

  I point at the counter. “Just put it down wherever, I’ll put it all away in a minute. I might need some tea first.”

  “Where’s the kettle?” he questions and my eyes go wide.

  “What?” I squeak.

  The corner of his mouth twitches and he closes the distance between us. His hands go to either side of my thighs to grip the chair as he leans in, our noses almost touching.

  “I’m not used to chicks like you. But now that I’ve heard more about you and seen some with my own eyes, I’m starting to like you more and more. You stepping up for my father, calling to warn me, throwing yourself in the line of fire…which we will have another talk about later ’cause I’m not liking the fact you got hurt…I figure I owe you so I’ll start by making us some tea while I bring in the rest of your groceries.”

  “Okay,” I answer with the last puff of oxygen my lungs have because this man takes my freaking breath away standing this close.

  “Okay,” he rumbles and I swear I feel the vibrations strumming my clit.

  “Where is it?” he questions.

  “Between my legs,” my head in the gutter easily offers.

  Confusion washes over his face and my cheeks heat when I realize what I just said.

  Oh.

  My.

  Gosh.

  “On the stove. The kettle is on the stove,” I squeak and jump up, knocking my nose against his forehead. “Ouch. Shit. Dammit. Why?”

  Tears spring in my eyes while heat and pain flame through my nose. The peas crash to the floor as I cradle my whole face in my hands.

  Massive but soft fingers wrap around my wrists and pull my hands from my face. I keep my eyes closed to maintain some of my dignity. I feel how his touch leaves my wrist before he gently pinches my chin to turn my head and assess the damage.

  “Babe, give me your eyes,” he rumbles with a load of gentleness I’ve never heard in his voice.

  My body replies without thinking and my eyes flutter open. He isn’t laughing at me but the way his gaze is holding me captive makes me want to remind him of the place between my legs…again. Shit. Why does this man trigger my body, throwing emotions at every corner in my brain to bounce inside my skull?

  “You should leave.” I don’t even recognize my own voice when it comes out breathlessly instead of a firm demand.

  “No can do.” The words rumble from his lips while his hot breath strokes mine. “I’m here to stay. No longer a nomad but the president of a new chapter of Trigger Pull MC. The clubhouse is going to be the building right next to the garage. So you see, leaving isn’t an option.”

  “I meant out of my house,” I whisper, my voice faint because I don’t want him to leave.

  His eyes slide over my head and they narrow. “Fuck,” Cold snaps and he’s no longer inches away from me but is stalking out of the kitchen.

  Fuck indeed. Ugh. Why did I ask him to leave my house? I should have kissed him. Maybe reminded him about the place between my legs again. Wait. Is that the sheriff he’s heading for? Shit. Miller must have called him.

  And Cold just mentioned about the clubhouse, being a biker and here to stay. Oh, no. They don’t do so well with the law, do they? Or is that an “only in the movies” thing? Cold stalks across my lawn with determined steps, fists clenched beside him, anger is practically rolling off him. Movie or not, this is not good. Not good at all.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  – KILLJOY –

  Anger and frustration are flowing through my veins. If the little pecker thought he’d call the fucking sheriff to back him up and save him from my wrath he’s got another thing coming. Not to mention, I almost gave in to a deep need lighting up my body to kiss the fuck out of my father’s joyful neighbor.

  And I absolutely wanted to give in, no question about it, because wrapping my cock with joy sure sounds a hell of a lot better than dealing with a damn sheriff. The man gets out of his patrol car and gives a jerk with his chin in greeting as he walks around the vehicle.

  “Sheriff,” I grunt and offer the man my hand. “Cold Killjoy. May I ask what brings you around to my father’s house?”

  The man has a firm grip. He looks the same age as my father and seems faintly familiar. “Cold, mind if we talk inside?”

  “I’d rather not. My father had an accident two days ago and is recovering. What’s this about?” I manage to keep my face blank and my voice even.

  Though, I know very well what made the sheriff come here, but I’m not one to blabber about shit beforehand.

  “I’ve had a complaint about you,” the sheriff starts but a tiny body is suddenly in between us.

  Joycelyn gasps. “Nonsense. It was Miller doing the complaining, am I right? When I was taking my groceries inside, I heard him crash into Clark’s fence and saw how he got out and stalked to my neighbor’s door and started to pound on it. He was angry, bellowing how they were going to settle something. And when I walked over to ask what he was doing he called me a bitch.”

  “Fucking asshole,” I snarl, getting angry again hearing this while it’s still vivid in my brain how the fucker wanted to hit my woman.

  My woman. Where the hell did that come from? Joycelyn reaches behind her and pats my chest as if she needs to soothe the angry beast inside me. I’m still processing all of this shit when I hear the sheriff tell Joycelyn how I assaulted Miller and threatened to kill him.

  “If someone assaulted someone it’s Miller hitting me, look,” Joycelyn growls and the hand on my chest leaves so she can use it to point at her face.

  The sheriff’s features turn grim. “Miller hit you? Shit, Joycelyn, why didn’t you say so? Dammit, your nose is bleeding. Do I need to take you to the clinic?”

  Her nose is bleeding? I step around and catch her wiping a finger underneath it and for sure as fuck it comes out painted with crimson.

  “We’re done here,” I grunt and swoop Joycelyn up in my arms and stalk toward her house.

  She squeals and her arms surround my neck to hold on tight.

  “What are you doing?” she whispers in my ear.

  “I have no fucking clue but you’re bleeding and I’m not liking it one damn bit,” I mutter back.

  “Well, I’m bleeding from colliding with your forehead,” she whisper-hisses in my ear. “And I don’t need the horrific reminder of the most embarrassing moment of my adult life.”

  I chuckle and carefully place her on a chair in her kitchen. “Sweetheart, telling me to search between your legs isn’t embarrassing. Well, not to me it isn’t. And I’ll be happy to accept the invitation as soon as I’ve cleaned you up.”

  “How is she doing?” the sheriff asks from behind me.

  “I was just about to find out.” I step toward the counter and grab a cloth, rinse it with cold water, fo
ld it, and place it on her neck.

  I grab another one and gently clean her face and tell her, “It isn’t as bad as it looks. Not broken but the side of your face might have a bruise.”

  “He’s right, maybe her nose will be black and blue too. Gonna be painful for sure, you should put some ice on your cheek,” the sheriff says from behind me.

  I point at the floor where the bag of peas are which she dropped earlier. “She did before I saw you driving up.”

  “Any idea why Miller hit her or was knocking on your father’s door for that matter?”

  I toss the cloth I was wiping Joycelyn’s face with in the sink and face the sheriff. Taking those few seconds to think, but the only thing that comes to mind is the truth since I plan to settle here long-term.

  “Last thing my father remembers is a meeting in the office with Miller before waking up at the hospital. He clearly fell down the iron stairs leading to the office. When I went into the office this morning Miller was sitting behind the desk acting like he owned the place. In my opinion it seems Miller had something to do with my father taking a dive off those stairs but I can’t prove a thing. One thing’s for sure, though. I’m settling down here and will work in my father’s repair shop. First decision I made was to fire Miller. Needless to say, the asshole headed straight for my father and look what he did to my woman.” The last sentence comes out as a snarl, emotions getting the better of me.

  Joycelyn gasps but I hold the sheriff’s gaze. I can’t take the words back I just threw out, it would make him doubt my whole statement. Besides, a few minutes ago I told her I was taking her up on the offer to check between her legs, might as well make it official.

  The woman pulls on my every emotion, good and bad. I can’t think of another woman who managed to do that. All the others were just a fragment of the past to rub away the horniness. But Joycelyn triggers something more. She’s attracted to me and the feeling is mutual, why not act on it? I for sure as shit don’t share, hence her being my woman. It’s a simple explanation.