A Honey Badger X-mas: The Ciphers MC (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 7)

by Faleena Hopkins

  A Honey Badger X-Mas

  Cocker Brothers Spinoff Novella

  Faleena Hopkins

  Contents

  Note From The Author

  1. Margaret

  2. Margaret

  3. Honey Badger

  4. Margaret

  5. Honey Badger

  6. Margaret

  7. Honey Badger

  8. Honey Badger

  9. Meg

  10. Meg

  11. Honey Badger

  12. Meg

  13. Honey Badger

  14. Meg

  15. Antonio

  16. Meg

  17. Antonio

  Oh hell yes! Bonus Scenes!

  JAKE COCKER - COCKY ROOMIE

  JETT COCKER - COCKY BIKER

  JAXSON COCKER - COCKY COWBOY

  JASON COCKER - COCKY ROMANTIC

  JUSTIN COCKER - COCKY SENATOR

  JEREMY COCKER - COCKY SOLDIER

  WEREWOLVES OF NEW YORK

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2016 by Faleena Hopkins

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Every man gotta right to decide his own destiny.

  Bob Marley

  Note From The Author

  Hello dear reader,

  I wanted to write a Christmas story because I love this holiday so much. I traveled into this charming, sexy world with Honey Badger and loved every minute of it. I hope you do, too. And I also hope that even if you’re reading this novella some time other than Christmas, that it will lift your spirits and melt all the ice that life sometimes bring our ways.

  Enjoy!

  xx,

  Faleena Hopkins

  P.S. This novella is a stand-alone spinoff of the Cocker Brothers of Atlanta novels and can be read first.

  Margaret

  What an intriguing and disturbing man. Why is he looking at me like someone would a Porterhouse steak when they haven’t eaten in five years? His eyes are darker than the black ink of my pen, his wild hair tied back in a bun he obviously raked together with his dirty fingers. That beard is reminiscent of Genghis Khan’s army. His neck is the size of my head.

  My eyelashes flutter away from our magnetized gazes so that I may return to the task of signing in the National Hotel’s latest guests, a tourist couple up from San Francisco for the holiday. With our infamous Victorian Christmas celebration, Nevada City, California gets a lot of these.

  “Isn’t it charming?” the yuppie wife smiles, tightening her hold on her husband’s arm.

  Proudly he returns, “Didn’t I tell you?”

  This time of year in our quaint little town – population 3057 – tends to transport people to a simpler age when words were more stilted, manners more kind, and smiles came in abundance.

  A time when miracles happen.

  But then, so out of place amongst the twinkle lights and green garlands, is that enigmatic man.

  As I hand the couple their iron key — no plastic room-keys in our hotel — his gaze locks once more with mine. I try to look away, but it’s so difficult.

  “Is it haunted? Have you ever seen ghosts here?” the wife asks me.

  Fluttering back to her I say out of habit, “There have been stories…”

  Trailing off after such a statement leaves more to the hotel guest’s imagination, so I always leave it at that.

  She starts tittering to her husband as they stroll across carpeting so old it’s a wonder it’s not as frazzled as my nerves.

  Oh my God.

  He’s coming over.

  His eyes are trained on mine like he’s trying to hypnotize me. Each slow, heavy step makes my heart speed up. At this moment fear and awe are one and the same.

  I cannot look away from him.

  He’s so thick and dark and the only thing soft about him is his lips.

  He licks them with an almost imperceptible frown forming.

  “Hello,” I whisper.

  It seems he’s about to say something. I can’t wait to hear what it is. But at the last possible second he turns on his weathered boot heel and heads for the exit to Broad Street. I almost call after him, but I’m stopped by the striking patch on the back of his leather jacket. In Old English font it reads, The Ciphers.

  Margaret

  The erected festival stands rest empty behind me on Broad Street as I trudge uphill to my car after work. Fresh snow crunches under every labored step. The town, just two hours ago overflowing with celebration, is now eerily quiet at this late hour. Twinkle lights still outline every building but with the howling wind and lack of people their lonely beams inspire only goosebumps of the worst variety.

  An unexpected noise startles me.

  I cut a nervous glance around the street.

  There’s no one here.

  Only me.

  Shivering, I continue onward, kicking myself for not arriving early so that I could find good parking. Since I was raised in this sleepy town I should have known better. Cars almost outnumber people during this particular holiday. Our festive reputation has spread far and wide, especially with the dawning of the Internet.

  But I felt lazy today, slow starting.

  I’ve been feeling lonely for some time.

  Even coffee didn’t spark my feet.

  With the United Methodist Church looming large as I turn right on Mill Street, I sigh with relief. Finally the wind will be blocked for a time. My car is just up ahead on Spring Street, so close I can almost see it.

  I’m already planning how to get the snow off my windshield when two men stroll out from the inset of a darkened doorway. Surprised, I glance between them and freeze as they block my way. I don’t recognize them, and I know most everyone who lives here. Terror launches into my limbs and torso. I try to scream but my voice has abandoned me. All that comes out is a squeak.

  “Look at the pretty redhead, Bobby!”

  “Aren’t we lucky. Where ya going, precious? It’s kinda late for a walk.”

  “It sure is!” the other says, his grin so ugly I feel vomit rise.

  Maybe if I’m nice, they’ll move.

  Maybe this isn’t happening.

  Maybe I’ll be okay.

  Don’t upset them, Margaret.

  “I’m just going to my car,” I croak.

  They cock their heads and advance on me as I walk backwards matching their pace, but it builds.

  “Why don’t you take us with you?” one sneers, a knife appearing in his hand as if from out of nowhere. He’d been holding it behind his back, and at the sight of it I trip and almost fall.

  “Please leave me alone!”

  “Whoa now, careful! Wouldn’t want your pretty face all bruised up. At least, not yet.”

  “Oh my God,” I croak, turning to run. But two violent pairs of hands grab me into submission and drag my fighting legs back to the darkened doorframe where they’d been hiding. The church is dark and empty. As they laugh and mutter horrible things about the irony of where they’ve chosen to rape me, one yanks my glasses off my nose and crushes them so I can’t see. I cry out as my hair is pulled and my long skirt pushed up. They egg each other on with words that dull and blur. I’m going far away now, deep into myself, to a place they cannot touch…

  Honey Badger

  Fuck, this wind isn’t jus
t loud it’s snapping cold, too. I mean motherfucking gangrene toes falling off from frostbite cold. Gotta make sure she gets to her car okay though, and not freak her out in the process, so I’m staying far back. A block and a half of distance at least.

  I have a habit of scaring the shit out of women.

  Men, too.

  Don’t want to do that tonight.

  I want to protect her.

  Saw her leaving the hotel late last night, too. I’ve seen bad shit go down in my lifetime, man. This is not the hour for a lady like her to be walking by herself, even in a tiny-ass town like this one.

  Just over the hill are Meth users.

  A common pastime for losers who have nothing better to do but smoke that shit is to steal to pay for their habit. And who best to rob than a woman by herself when everyone who could hear her screaming is sleeping?

  What the fuck was that?

  Was that laughter?

  Adrenaline is a familiar comrade as I break into a sprint and tear around the corner.

  I got here in time.

  They both have their pants up. But she’s on the ground, her dress around her hips and her panties twisted at the strap from being pulled at.

  Two minutes later and these two demons would know what murder felt like.

  Fire shoots up my neck as I leap through the air and land right next to the struggle. Grabbing one guy’s collar I toss him into the street and simultaneously hammer-fist the other guy’s face into a wall.

  Not just once.

  Six times.

  Until he’s good and bloody.

  His evil friend charges me.

  I shoot my left leg in a back-kick and knock the motherfucker on his ass, spinning around to make sure he stays there. I kick his gut in, and then start pounding his face with my knuckles until he’s a pulp.

  Near death but not quite there.

  When his grunts silence and he passes out, I turn for her.

  How the fuck did I let this happen? I’d given myself too much distance. I’m so fucking stupid! I can’t believe I did this. And that wind, man, on the larger street it was deafening.

  The shy redhead I’ve struggled to get the nerve to talk to ever since I spotted her three nights ago is on the ground and it’s my fault.

  While I took those guys out, she’d pushed the long skirt of her Victorian costume between her legs for modesty, and silent tears are dripping off her chin. Her auburn hair is out of the bobby pins, the once-perfect ringlets crunched into odd shapes. The bonnet is hanging from its ribbon around her neck. Her glasses, that I thought were fucking adorable, are in fragments near her feet. She’s staring at me but I can tell she’s not in there anymore. I’ve seen that look too often on the many faces of victims I’ve saved.

  Pulling the hammer-fisted fuckhead out of the way, I kneel in front of her and ask, in as gentle a voice as I’m capable of, “You okay?” It sounds more like a growl, but I can’t help how I talk.

  She swallows and nods, blinking at me. Oh shit, she’s near blind as a bat, isn’t she?

  “I’m okay. They didn’t have time to…” she trails off, the rest of the sentence hanging between us like a bad smell.

  I don’t dare touch her without her permission, but I offer my hand in case she wants help up.

  “They’re not gonna hurt you no more. You’re safe with me.”

  She slips her hand in mine, and gives a strangled whisper. “You’re that man, aren’t you?”

  “Can you see me without your glasses?”

  “Just outlines, but there’s a feeling.” Her voice trembles as she adds, “I have a feeling about you.”

  This makes my heart pound because I have one, too. That’s why I stayed in town when my plan was to drive to San Francisco next, continue my search there.

  “I won’t hurt you. You wanna take my hand? I’ll help you up.”

  Her gloved fingers glide onto my naked palm and she whispers, “Thank you.”

  “It’s what I do,” I shrug, slowly guiding her away from the scene. She nearly jumps out of her skin as she hears one of them moan. “They’re not dead,” I reassure her, because I don’t want her to think I’m a killer. Even though I am one, in a way. Depends on how you look at it. But I’d never hurt her. I’m selective about who breathes their last breath on my watch. “I left ‘em alive.”

  She whispers, “I wish you hadn’t.”

  My eyebrow cocks up as I glance to her profile. She’s staring forward, eyes heavy. Sniffling and shivering she keeps walking toward her car, but if she stays on this course she’ll run into that pine tree instead.

  Out of instinct I put my arm around her. “It’s this way. I’ll help you. You want me to go back and finish ‘em off?”

  She glances to me in surprise but, by the look that flashes across her pretty blue eyes, I can tell she’s seriously considering it. “No, thank you. My car is a dark blue Toyota.”

  “How you gonna drive it if you can’t see?”

  Fresh tears flow down her cheeks and she pulls away from me, covering her face. I shouldn’t have put my arm around her. She doesn’t know me. But it’s so fucking cold out.

  “Here’s what you’ll do,” I grumble, hating to see her upset. “Get in the car. Call the cops. I can’t let them see me, but I’ll hide where I can watch and make sure you’re safe until they drive up. They can take you home.”

  Blinking in thought she wipes her eyes and finally nods. “Okay, thank you.”

  “Stop fuckin’ thankin’ me. This is what I do.”

  “Sorry.” She digs in her coat pockets for her phone. Pulling out only her keys, she mumbles, “My phone’s not here! I had it when I left.”

  “You have a purse?”

  “No, I just used my pockets today. They’re so big.”

  I’ve got a cell but no fucking way am I calling the cops. They’ll want to take me in for the beating I just gave those evil fucks, and that’s a backwards situation I want no part of.

  “Hang on,” I tell her, sprinting back to the bodies.

  Where the hell are you, phone?

  There you are.

  You snuck off into the dirty-ass corner.

  Swiping if off the ground I stroll out with wary eyes scanning the bodies. Steam is coming out of their mouths, so they’re still breathing. The impulse to put an end to them is overwhelming. A less-experienced man who also had a childhood as shitty as mine wouldn’t be able to control this rage. I’m able to hold it at bay.

  I don’t want to scare her away from me.

  She might think she wants them dead right now – and doesn’t want to say it aloud – but she could change her mind and where would that leave me in her eyes? I’m not chancing it.

  Too bad though.

  Demons like them deserve worse than they got.

  Jogging back I tell her, “It’s just me. I found your phone.” Forgetting my own strength I slap the phone into her hand so hard her arm dips. Her eyelashes flit to my face and she almost thanks me but stops herself.

  Her shaky key fails to open the door. I can’t stomach watching her struggle anymore so I mutter, “Here,” and take it from her, easily sliding it into the lock and opening the door for her, something I’ve never done for anyone ever. She lowers herself in and tucks her full dress inside.

  “Is any sticking out?”

  “No. You’re all set,” I tell her. “Give me your phone again. I’ll dial.”

  As soon as I hear it ringing I hand it back and quickly shut the door, heading off.

  The wind’s picked up again and it’s colder than shit, but I’m not going anywhere until the police get here. They’ll never see me…not from where I’m hiding.

  Margaret

  The impulse to call in sick after what happened to me last night is weaker than the one to see him again. He might come back to the hotel and I don’t want to miss it.

  I don’t know where he came from to save me at exactly the right moment, but it was heroic and I must talk to him again. I
never got his name. I have no way of getting in touch with him. But if he was watching over me then he will return. Won’t he?

  I dreamt about him last night.

  It was a peaceful dream I didn’t want to wake from.

  When Officers Tom Danner and Dave Truett arrived and answered my call for help – two men I’ve known since I was a girl – they carried the rapists to the back of their patrol car behind the security wall where prisoners belong. As I watched I could not stop shivering, only able to make out floppy shapes. That was more than I wanted to see, but I could not look away.

  Tom and Dave told me the men were tourists. Their licenses were from Wisconsin, but after this they wouldn’t be allowed to leave California until they were tried for their crime. I hoped that was true. While the blistering wind swarmed around us I explained what happened. They wrote everything down.

  When Tom asked who saved me I told him the truth, “I don’t know who he was.”

  He delved deeper for a description.

  I said, “Blonde, short hair, blue eyes, lanky, and tall.” He was none of those things. He was taller than me but not a giant by any means. Every other description I used, he was its opposite.

  After what he’d done for me I longed to protect him. He was hiding from the police for a reason, but it had nothing to do with me.

  In my eyes he had only done good.

  He’d saved me.

  And this was the least I could do in return.

  Tom drove me home in my car while Dave followed us. I really didn’t like those guys seeing where I lived. They were unconscious but what if they were faking it?

  “Now try and get some sleep, Margaret,” Tom smiled.

  “I’ll try,” I told him with little conviction.

  He watched me ascend the stairs of the small Victorian home my parents left me, and I waved to him before I locked myself inside.