Outlaw Xmas (Insurgents MC #10)
Chiah Wilder
Prologue
A blanket of fresh snow covered the neighborhood as the subtle crunch of footsteps blended with the whispering wind. Branches groaned with the weight of the snow, and the solitary figure in black wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck. The cold was bitter that night. Had he not spotted the house earlier in the week when he was taking in all the Christmas decorations, he’d be home with his feet up on an ottoman, a crackling fire in the hearth, and a glass of buttered rum in his hand. Instead, he was out in the wet, cold snow, slipping behind a trio of pine trees that stood stark against the winter night. Moonlight struggled through the dense gray clouds above.
Puffs of moisture blew through his parted lips as he breathed heavily, and then the frosted air forced its way into his lungs, stinging his eyes. He shivered and stamped his feet, wiping his watering eyes as he strained to peer through the cluster of pine branches at the house across the street.
It was two stories and had lights on every possible inch of its fa?ade. It looked out of place in the neighborhood where just a string of lights or a Christmas tree glowing in a front window seemed to be the norm.
He shook his head as he watched the house. The porch had two rocking chairs with two bright floodlights trained on them. Figures of Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus sat in them with a wooden table between them decked out in plastic cookies and glasses of milk. In every window facing the street, figures of snowmen, elves, and angels loomed, bright floodlights illuminating them even more. Two oversized Nutcracker sentries stood guard at the foot of the steps leading to the porch, and there were all sizes and shapes of various Santas scattered across the lawn. Added into the holiday mix were life-sized Tinkerbell and Peter Pan figures. It was one of the tackiest houses he’d seen this year.
Placing the baseball bat on the icy ground, he blew his warm breath over his hands as he kept watching the garage door until it opened. The Green family was going to the Pinewood Springs Community Center to watch nine-year-old Abigail clunk across the auditorium’s stage in a musical rendition of The Night Before Christmas. Most of the town would be squeezed together watching the annual Christmas show that featured kids from ages three to seventeen. He’d gone the previous year and had to leave because it was too kitschy.
As the red taillights from the Suburban disappeared into the swirling snow, he stepped out from his hiding place, baseball bat tucked under his arm. Plunging his hands in his pockets, he looked around cautiously, and after seeing no one around, he crossed the street quickly and headed to the back of the house.
To his amazement, the back door was unlocked. He paused before entering, making sure a snarling dog didn’t rush toward him. He’d brought dog treats laced with sleeping pills just in case, but after a couple of minutes, he stepped fully into the mudroom and closed the door behind him.
Without wasting any time, he went into the living room, raised the bat, and swung full force at the Christmas tree. The shattered ornaments, cascading pine needles, and mangled garland made him grin for the first time since he’d driven to the neighborhood. Shrugging off his jacket, he tossed it on a nearby chair, then continued the destruction of Christmas in the Green household.
The brown-eyed man stomped, smashed, and ripped anything that looked remotely like a holiday decoration. The brightly wrapped presents under the tree were demolished—he used the family’s kitchen knives to shred ties, scarves, and clothing. When he opened the larger boxes, he took special delight in demolishing the toys. Like a crazed Grinch, he dashed around the house, attacking the vintage snowmen and angels in the upstairs windows. After he’d destroyed the inside of the house, he went on the front porch and thrashed Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Breathing heavily, he leaned against the cold brick wall and laughed hysterically as he stared at the cracked faces of the figurines.
He straightened up and held his breath when he saw a car slowing down in front of the house, then stopping. The passenger window rolled down, and a woman’s voice broke the quiet of the neighborhood.
“You have my vote for the best Christmas decorations in town. Great job!” She waved, and he waved back. Then the car drove on.
A sneer replaced the Grinch’s panicked look from a few seconds earlier. He went back inside and headed into the garage in search of the breaker box. Finding it in one of the cupboards, he switched off all the circuits so darkness enveloped the residence, turning off the blinking and racing lights that littered the front yard.
Satisfied, he slipped away and walked to his car parked a few blocks away. Taking out a notebook, he switched on his phone’s flashlight and leafed through the pages. When he came to a page with numerous names and addresses, he located the Green family and marked a large X beside their name.
Another one down. Switching on the ignition, he pulled away from the curb and drove around different neighborhoods, writing down addresses of houses he would go back to. His habit was to look up the address on the county website to find out the name of the owners, and then he’d dig deeper. He normally settled on houses that had children because those homes were the best to destroy. Watching a child cry when she saw her presents destroyed, or the Christmas tree smashed and lying on the ground, was what excited him. It gave him an indescribable rush of adrenaline that lit his body up.
Cranking the heater higher, he rode around, biding his time until the Green family came home. He’d make sure to watch them from across the street with binoculars glued to his eyes so he could see each expression of shock, anger, and sadness spreading across their faces. The man would be honing in on Abigail and her seven-year-old brother, Connor. The scene would wipe all the joy and pride from the Christmas show off their faces, especially when they saw their foil-wrapped presents mangled and broken. They’d sink to the floor, picking up the broken pieces and crying sweet tears of anguish.
And that was what he lived for.
Chapter One
Chas
Chas woke to the soft rattle of the wind against the bedroom windows. From the dimness of the outside light, he figured it would be another gray, wintry day. He draped his arm around Addie as she slept and pressed himself closer to her back. His dick was hard and his hand slipped easily under her fleece nightshirt. Visions of them kissing, touching, and loving each other the night before made his dick ache more.
“Are you asleep?” he asked as he flicked his fingertip over her nipple, satisfaction coursing through him as it hardened under his touch.
“Mmmm… I was,” she said in a sleepy voice.
“I need you, precious,” he murmured against her neck as he nipped at it.