Cold Killjoy (Mistletoe Montana Book 17)

by Esther E. Schmidt

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and stares down at me, anger flaring up in his gaze.

  “What’s going on?”

  Cold takes a deep breath and right when I think he’s going to pull away, he surprises me by spilling the words, “Bowie just called. He’s one of my brothers and one hell of a genius with numbers. We were done working in the clubhouse and all that was left was waiting on furniture so I asked Bowie to go over the books of the garage this morning. He just found out some shady transfers that have been going on for a while now. He called in a favor from our founding chapter to run a check to see who’s connected to the account the money has been leaking into…three guesses.”

  My heart is racing in my throat. I don’t have to guess three times. I know exactly who did it and it makes perfect sense why his father is sitting in the living room with a broken leg and arm.

  “You have to tell the sheriff,” I tell him, anger rising inside me. “You can’t let him get away with this. Miller needs to pay…and then pay.”

  “Oh, he will,” Cold states and how hot he made me a moment ago, ice is now flowing through me due to the cold and harsh look in his eyes.

  I swallow hard and take a step back from the intensity. His eyes hold mine. Calm. Collected. And yet there’s anger wafting off him in waves. Did I really just commit to a relationship with a man I hardly know?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  – KILLJOY –

  I knew Miller was a shady fucker the second I laid eyes on him. I’ve always been a good judge of character and have always followed my gut. Rarely people can surprise me and the rarity is standing before me.

  At first glance she gave off the stripper vibe and her cheerfulness stole the show, but it’s her feistiness that captured my attention. Her eyes hold her heart and it’s a straight window showing me she cares with the kind of emotion that screams loyalty and trust.

  And it’s for this reason I know this woman is old lady material. My old lady. She said yes to being mine and she might not completely understand what it entailed when she agreed, but I can tell it’s really starting to sink in.

  “I…I should go. You need to handle this.” She’s turning away and ready to run again, but I have her back in my arms with my next breath.

  Burying my fist in her silky, chestnut hair I stare into her eyes when I tell her, “No more running. We agreed. You’re mine and you’re coming with me to see how your man handles situations.”

  Her eyes bulge. “I can’t be an accessory to murder, I have other things to do today.”

  A sly smile spreads my face. “Like designing new dildo underwear?”

  “Ass action can be life enhancing while murder is life ending.” At this point she’s starting to glare at me while my smirk is now in place.

  My dick stands to attention with all this ass talk. “Oh, I am well aware, sweetheart. And I’ll be sure to enhance your life very damn soon. But not every biker ends a situation by killing, there are more fun ways to handle shit. Accidents for instance, happen more than you think.”

  Her forehead scrunches before her eyes widen and her nose wrinkles.

  “Could you fucking stop thinking up shit? I’m not going to shove something up Miller’s ass as retribution.”

  Her cheeks turn flaming red. “I wasn’t…okay, it might have crossed my mind, but it’s your fault with all the ass talk.”

  “Great,” I mutter to myself. “The woman designs and sells underwear with dildos stuck in it and it’s my fault she’s thinking about people using them. Figures.”

  She punches my shoulder and whispers underneath her breath, “You’re such an asshole.”

  “I love it when your mouth loses the jolly filter.” I chuckle and can’t help but tease her some more when I add, “Nice word choice, though. You really are fascinated with them, aren’t you?”

  I shouldn’t make her pissed but the woman is flaming hot when all of her focus is directed at me. Not to mention all this ass talk is making me painfully hard. Before she can say another word I take her lips in a hard kiss and grab her ass. I’m caught by surprise when I go from tongues battling to swallowing laughter.

  She pulls back, laughter still spilling over her perfect lips when she fake scolds me, “You’re not touching my ass, Cold.”

  I give her ass another squeeze. “I am, and I will. And you’ll let me and beg for more. Mark. My. Words.”

  Her eyes dilate and her breath comes out in shallow pants. She shakes her head as if to clear it from the fog of lust her head is wrapped in.

  Clearing her throat, she says, “You need to go handle the Miller situation.”

  “I will, but you’re coming with me.”

  Her mouth opens and closes and she glances down at herself. “I’m going home.”

  I’m about to argue again–fucking tiring but she’s worth it–except, she surprises me again by saying, “I can hardly come with you wearing my pajamas.”

  “Go, I’ll pick you up in a few minutes. I’m gonna make sure my dad’s okay after I tell him what I found because I need to hear his side of the story. Fuck. I don’t even know if he’s aware of what Miller exactly did. Maybe he is and that’s exactly why he ended up at the bottom of the stairs.”

  “Please stay calm and be careful. Your dad is still healing. You didn’t inherit the grumpy, angry vibes from a stranger.” She places her hand on my chest and lifts herself on her toes to place a kiss against the side of my mouth.

  Her lips and hand leave my body but I grab her wrist to keep her in place.

  “Thanks for the reminder, I appreciate it,” I tell her in all honesty because anger was yet again set to overtake me and she’s right; my father’s health is a damn priority.

  I get a small smile as she heads out the door. Walking out of the kitchen and into the living room I come to a stop when I see my dad engrossed in a book Joycelyn brought him. A thriller of some kind.

  “Dad, I gotta ask you something.” I take a seat in the chair across from him. “The meeting with Miller, do you know what it was about?”

  “Leave it alone, son. You fired him, it’s done and in the past.”

  Fuck. “You remember what happened, don’t you?”

  He lets out a deep breath and slowly closes the book. “It came back to me in fragments over the last few days. But I want you to leave it alone. Miller is gone and the business is still running. You’re here so it won’t happen again and I won’t lose you over some brainless fucker.”

  Double fuck. “Great fucking advice to give to a new prez. Hell, the paint in the clubhouse of our new chapter isn’t even dry yet and my old lady just mentioned she’s not in the mood for murder. You telling me I have to leave it be…what example would that set off? They need to know not to fuck with us. Miller stole cash right under your nose.”

  “Right,” my father snaps in anger. “My nose. My business. It happened before you stepped foot back in your hometown. And I know you’re a prez now but you can’t fuck things up before you even started. The sheriff was here, in our damn house. If Miller goes missing now all arrows will be aimed at you, and at the damn club. And how do you think that sweet girl next door will feel when the sheriff brings her in for questioning too? That asshole already hit her and you’re damn lucky the sheriff took your side and didn’t even allow Miller to file a complaint because he attacked your girl. He could have, and you know it since you were the one punching him. Now, I’m telling you. Leave. It. Be. Consider it my dying wish or something.”

  “Your leg and arm are broken and you’re still breathing. I’d say you’re not even capable of putting one damn foot in the grave,” I mutter.

  My dad snickers. “Well, then let’s throw it on me wanting to see grandkids. And with you in jail or out of town I won’t be getting that any time soon.”

  At this point I can only gape at my old man. Hell, I was young when my mom died but seeing my dad sitting here asking me about grandchildren is as if my mom is whispering shit in his ear.

  “You do rea
lize I just claimed her, right? I haven’t even put my–” I shut my mouth and slide a hand over my head. “Pretty sure the woman wants kids and I never even thought about it till now. Wait…you did that shit on purpose didn’t you? Making me think about the future to get me to back off Miller.”

  He damn well shrugs. “Worked didn’t it? Made you think. So, you think some more, son. Because if shit goes wrong all you can ever do is think. Behind bars, or worse, stop thinking all together because you’re six feet under. There’s a reason I left the club and moved here with your mother. She was it for me and I didn’t want to risk anything. Stone is a good president, like his grandfather was. A lot of shit went bad when I was a prospect but his grandfather was set to turn things around. I knew it wouldn’t be easy and it would take years. Years I’d rather spend with your mother without danger eyeing us at every corner. Now I ain’t saying you have to ignore anything else thrown at your feet, but this? I keep repeating myself but it happened before you got here and even if you’re my son, I’m not a part of the MC.”

  I hear the front door and a few breaths later Joycelyn steps into the living room. Black boots, blue jeans, and a thick sweater with Santa covering her tits and he’s staring right at me. The woman is obsessed with Christmas but she sure pulls it off as adorable.

  “Ready?” She throws a concerned look at my father and that right there also opens me up to let her have a piece of my heart.

  Because any woman who has the kind of persistence to force my dad to push past his grumpiness and force a “good morning” from him and eventually keeps him company by making his breakfast sure is a rare gem in my book.

  “Yeah,” I croak and stand.

  My father taps his temple, reminding me without words I need to “Think.”

  “Try not to die, Dad,” I dryly reply.

  “I won’t…as long as you let your woman jingle your balls and give her pussy a white Christmas so I can have a grandkid next year.”

  Joycelyn’s jaw drops while I groan.

  “You did not just say that,” Joycelyn gasps, eyes still wide.

  He sure did, and now it’s all I can think about. But first things first, I need to head over to the clubhouse and talk with my brothers to see what the exact amount is that Miller stole from my father. I grab her arm and drag her out of the house.

  The ride to the clubhouse is short but enough time for me to pop the question I’m sure both our minds are occupied with. “You want kids?”

  Her head swings my way at the same time she releases the seatbelt. “In the future? Sure. But I’m not ready to jingle your balls and have a white Christmas party in my womb. No matter how much I enjoy a white Christmas…or the jingle part for that matter.”

  A bark of laughter escapes me and I reach out to cup the back of her neck and drag her toward me to take her mouth.

  Pulling back, I murmur, “Don’t ever fucking change. And for the record? I’m looking forward to both the jingle part, and the white Christmas. Along with a kid or two in the future.”

  She snorts a damn adorable non-feminine snort. “Right. You’re too grumpy to enjoy the real thing, you’re just using it to dirty talk. Hate to say it…but it is working.”

  Laughter rips from me and with it another piece of my heart belongs to her.

  “Come on, let me show you the clubhouse so you can meet the guys.”

  We get out and stroll over to the new clubhouse. Joycelyn’s steps falter once we’re through the door. Her eyes slide over the new interior. There’s a bar in the corner, mirrors behind it and the thing is filled with all kinds of liquor.

  Four large couches take up a lot of room but also create a square in the right corner to create a sitting arrangement. On my left the door to church is open. It’s a large space with a big round table with chairs around it. A place where meetings can be held in private with just club members.

  Otis and Bowie stroll in from the back. We have a few rooms here. Otis, Bowie, and Reed have taken full residency here but there are a few spare rooms in case nomads or members of other chapters come to visit.

  “Our first old lady. I gotta say, Prez. You did good.” Bowie takes in my woman and a low rumble flows through my chest.

  I feel Joycelyn step closer to me, placing a hand on my chest.

  Bowie smacks my arm and laughs. “She’s already soothing the beast. Like I said, you did good.” His attention slides to Joycelyn. “Nice to meet you, sweets. Why don’t you look around and decide where the Christmas tree should go while we talk business?”

  “Not happening,” I snap, allowing all eyes to land on me. “No tree.” I guide my woman toward the couches. “Bowie, can you bring us up to speed about the exact number Miller stole from my father?”

  Reed walks in through the front door and lifts his chin. “Prez. This her? Nice.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” I grumble and plant my ass on the couch, pulling Joycelyn over my lap. “Enough talk about my old lady, she’s going to be here for a long damn time.”

  “He pumped twenty grand from the company’s bank account into his own. Fucker wasn’t subtle about it either. Good thing your father’s company is healthy enough he won’t miss the cash, but that shit is just wrong,” Bowie says.

  Otis hands me a file. “Details are in here.”

  “Decide what you want to do with the fucker?” Reed questions.

  I shake my head. “I’m going to have a long discussion with my father since it’s his company and that shit happened before our asses landed here. We’ll discuss it in church tomorrow.”

  “Are we going to discuss the party too?” Bowie grins.

  “We’re out of here,” I chuckle and stand, taking Joycelyn with me.

  “Dude, you just got here like a second ago.” Otis shakes his head. “Pussy whipped already.”

  “Dick on a leash,” Reed adds.

  I hold up the file. “I got what I came for and you three can entertain each other while I take my woman out for some coffee. Talk later.”

  “Later, Prez,” they all echo as we leave the clubhouse and head for the diner across the street.

  My father was right about one thing; focusing on Joy is much more important than handling business. Even more when my brothers now have my back and Miller isn’t high priority. Doesn’t mean the fucker will jump away from retribution. It just means I have my priorities straight and will wait till the time is right to let him know how bad he fucked up.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  – JOYCELYN –

  “I think this classifies as a first date.” I grab my blueberry muffin and pluck a piece off to pop it into my mouth.

  Cold raises one of his eyebrows. For anyone else glancing at this man he might have a grumpy appearance but I’ve been noticing more and more how he’s a pro at plastering a detached mask in place for the outside world. His eyes might seem dark but when he looks at me, they take on a warm glow and I can definitely see the lines around them soften.

  Not right now, though. Right now, those lines around his eyes clearly state he’s laughing on the inside. “Nah, babe. This is just me and you, exactly how it’s going to be from now on.”

  I feel a smile spread my face and study my muffin while I mutter, “Best early Christmas present ever.”

  Cold groans. “Nothing to do with Christmas, unless we’re discussing the white Christmas I’m happy to treat your throat to.”

  I can feel my cheeks glow and quickly glance around me, hissing the words, “Shut up.”

  Cold rumbles a laugh. “Fuck, you’re cute.”

  “You won’t be telling me that when I shove a Christmas tree–”

  “Do not say ass or I’ll drag you over my knee and redden it right here, right now.”

  “I was going to say ‘through your father’s door,’” I huff. “Because it’s only a few weeks before Christmas and you guys don’t even have a tree or any decorations for that matter.”

  Cold grimaces. “There won’t be a tree or any other shit. Be hap
py he tolerates you adding sneaky shit into the house like the pillow and that god-awful snow globe you put on the cabinet yesterday.”

  I narrow my eyes. “It’s a homemade candle holder made from a wine glass.”

  “It’s got a little light, snow, a candy cane, a little snowman, and a fucking miniature Christmas tree. The thing might function as a candle holder but it’s Christmas shit. Shit you probably sell in your little shop, homemade or not.” Damn that man and his raised eyebrow.

  “Why is it such a big deal? I don’t get it, everyone who lives in Mistletoe Montana loves Christmas. The whole town thrives on it all year round and it is a very big deal once we’re getting close to Christmas. You need a tree especially now that your father is at home healing from his injuries so we can cheer him up.”

  “My mother was in the kitchen preparing my father’s favorite dinner when she died on Christmas Eve. Believe me, getting in the spirit of Christmas is a fucked-up thing the both of us won’t fucking do ever again.” His cold and unattached voice is as empty as the look in his eyes when he stares right through me.

  “I didn’t know, I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my throat clogs up as tears start to sting my eyes.

  Silence surrounds us until a voice from my left rumbles, “Cold. Joycelyn. How are you today?”

  “Sheriff,” Cold grunts in greeting.

  All I can do is offer him a weak smile, my head is still processing the loss Cold and Clark suffered all those years ago. Sadness fills my chest just thinking about Ella. Clark has mentioned her a few times, and the fact that she died, but not all the details. I did know she loved Christmas because Clark remarked in a grumpy way how I reminded him of the way his Ella was obsessed with it all year round.

  “How’s your father doing?” I hear the sheriff ask; my eyes slide to the file on the table–next to Cold’s forearm–before looking up to be pinned by Cold’s gaze.

  Cold mutters a few curses underneath his breath and eventually grunts, “Grab a seat sheriff, this might take a while.”

  The sheriff grabs a chair from the other table and turns it to sit backwards on the chair to lean his arms on the backrest.