Page 83 of Santa's Girl
They were waiting for us.
Diesel unholstered before we even killed the lights. Jinx and Pico rolled up behind in the second truck, fans whispering as the engine cooled.
I stepped out slow, kutte heavy on my back. No weapon in my hand — not yet.
Didn’t need it.
My voice was enough.
“Which one of you pissants forgot how boundaries work?”
A tall bastard in a snakeskin jacket stepped forward. Big boy. Leaned on swagger like it made up for the patch he wore. His cut said “Vice President,” but I already clocked him as second-rate.
“Just saying hi,” he said with a grin that made me want to break his jaw.
“You say hi inmytown without calling first, you’re not making friends,” I said. “You’re starting a war.”
“We ain’t looking for trouble?—”
I cut him off. “Then get the hell off my mountain.”
He opened his mouth again, but I was already moving.
Three steps forward.
No warning.
I grabbed his jacket, spun him around, and slammed him face-first into the side of his own damn SUV.
Hard.
Metal dented.
He grunted like a stuck hog.
I leaned in close, voice low and venom-slick.
“See, I’ve got two lives. One with a woman who thinks I’m worth something. And one with men whoknowI’ll die for them. I will not—will not—let either get burned because some jumped-up city crew wants to swing their dicks in my woods.”
I let him go.
He slumped like a bag of wet cement.
The others started moving, reaching for pieces.
I drew first.
Didn’t fire.
Yet.
But the message was clear.
“Back in your cars,” I barked. “And next time you come near our border without notice, you don’t get a warning. You get a burial.”
One by one, they backed off. No more smartass grins. No sudden moves.
I stood there and watched them turn around and drive back the way they came, snow spitting from their tires.
