“Fuckhead,” Moon said but moved away from the cookies.
“Fuckwad,” Hennessy shot back, about to smart off to Reaper, too, if he reached for a cookie.
The fucker didn’t just take one; he took three.
Hennessy kept his silent curse to himself as the brother dared him with his eyes to say something.
“The milk is on the counter if you want some” were the only words out of his mouth until Reaper went down the sidesteps to the basement.
“That brother has major problems,” Hennessy ground out in aggravation.
“No shit,” Jack agreed, lowering his own voice in case they could be heard downstairs. “None of the new recruits picked him to get in the club. I’d rather join the girl scouts than fight that brother.”
“Wimps.” Moon grabbed a bag of chips off the counter and went to sit at the table. Putting his feet on another chair, he started munching down.
“You’d pick him if you had to do it again?” Jack asked.
“Fuck no. But I wouldn’t talk about it in front of the other brothers.”
“Who did you fight when you joined?” Hennessy didn’t know why he was curious as to which brothers Moon chose, but he was.
“Knox, Razor, Lucky, and Shade.”
“Why didn’t you pick Viper?”
Hennessy could tell that Jack was second-guessing his decision about who he had chosen.
“Because I wanted to get in.”
“Fuck.”
Hennessy felt a rush of sympathy. It was obvious Jack wanted in the club.
“I get off early tomorrow. If you want, I can work with you for a couple of hours,” Hennessy offered.
“I’d take him up on that offer,” Moon advised. “You’re going to need all the help you can get. Viper doesn’t stop fighting until he wants to. He likes to get someone to time him to see how long a fight lasts. He’s trying to beat his record. No one has outlasted him.”
“I should have picked Cash or Reaper.”
“Cash would have been the better choice, but he wears his brass knuckles, and they fucking hurt. And if you had picked Reaper, you wouldn’t haven’t gotten in anyway. You’d be dead.”
Tossing a sponge into the sink, he was about to go upstairs to ask Arin if she needed her back washed when Viper came in carrying an easily recognizable suit.
Viper laid the red velvet suit on the table. “Which one of you wants to play Santa tonight?”
“Fuck no.” Moon took off with his chips.
Viper looked at him.
“Hell no. You want to give a bunch of kids nightmares?”
Viper could be just as intimidating as his brother when he wasn’t in a good mood. “Shove a fucking pillow in your suit.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
Hennessy shut his mouth.
Using his elbow, he nudged Jack in the ribs. “You want my help? Play Santa,” he muttered.
“I’d rather lose. I hate kids,” he muttered back. “Sorry, Viper, I switched guard duty with Nickel. He wanted to finish his Christmas shopping.”
“I guess it’s you, then, Hennessy.”
“No.” Hennessy crossed his arms over his chest. “Ask Reaper.”
Viper crossed his arms over his chest, too, just as stubbornly. “You go ask him.”
Yeah, that wasn’t happening.
“No.” Hell would freeze over before he put on that fucking suit. He had an image to maintain. The brothers would give him hell down the road if he put on that fucking suit.
“I’ll take one of the coals out of your stocking.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck!
“Give me the fucking suit.”
Hennessy stared at himself in the mirror. He was never going to live this down. His badass image was going in the crapper. Sitting down on the bed to put on the vinyl boots was just adding insult to injury.
Reaching for the green sweatshirt that had been on his pillow when he had come in his room, he raised it to his nose, hoping to catch the lingering scent of who had put it there.
“Bad Elf,” Hennessy read aloud. I’m going to show her a fucking bad elf if Arin is my Santa, he thought to himself.
At a knock on his door, he stood. “Go away.”
“Quit sulking. They’re ready for you.”
Arin’s voice on the other side of the door made it even worse.
Instead of opening the door, he went to the window. It was a big drop, but if he was careful and hung off the windowsill, he might not break a leg.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Caught, he turned around. “I didn’t say come in … You’re wearing that downstairs?”
His curvy cutie looked sexy as fuck as she twirled, making her green skirt flare out.
“Of course. I’m dressed the same way as Jewell, Stori, and Jet. We’re Santa’s elves.”
Going to the bed, he picked up the sweatshirt to give it to her. “Put that on,” he demanded.
Arin laughed, tossing it onto the bed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous. Are there any little boys down there?”
“Of course.”
“Then put on the fucking sweatshirt.”
“Why are you complaining? It’s not lowcut, and the skirt isn’t too short.”