Page 27 of The Santas Who Stole Me

Our hands stay linked until I stop at the truck and unlock it with the key fob. Getting the door, I help her in, and she puts her hands on my shoulders and gazes down at me. I lean in for her touch. Her mouth opens for me, and her sweet taste bursts inside mine. We break apart and I give her another quick kiss before buckling her in and shutting the door. I know this is a bad idea, but despite my better judgment we go to the diner like she asked. Zee has a visual on it. We have no indication the feds are watching. Thank fuck for Lee. We couldn’t do any of this shit without her. I’d never admit that though. She’s an asshole like the rest of us and doesn’t need any ego stroking.

The diner doesn’t have a fifties design like I imagined when Georgie described it. It has a modern storefront with large windows framed in black iron. The building is brick with cedar trim and a neon sign with the word ‘diner’ sits on top of the steel roof. There are two entrances: one for the dining side and one for a to-go area of some sort. The shelves look bare.

Georgie moves to get out, but I grab her hand, and her eyes snap to mine. I can’t shake that something is off with her, and she looks guilty and bites her lip.

“Marge might just fire me for being gone. She doesn’t have any bakery items in the window, see?”

That eases my nerves. She’s guilty about not doing her job for her friend. “Does she know about your ex?”

“Some. Not all the details, but she’s smart enough to figure things out.”

I scan the lot again and confirm nothing seems threatening before I unbuckle her and kiss her temple.

“This will be quick,” she assures me. Or herself, I’m not sure.

We walk into the diner lined with black leather booths and tables with metal chairs. A lone customer is eating in the corner. It’s not yet lunch and past breakfast, so perhaps we missed the morning crowd.

I search the room for staff when I feel it, that prickle under my skin that says shit is about to stir up. “Georgia.” My tone is sharp and I shove her behind me, pulling the gun from my back and holding it up. She stumbles with my force. I forget she is so small.

My neck is met with a cold hard blade.

I twist my hand to the side and rotate the gun so the barrel is flush against his forehead.

His feet shuffle forward, but I feel nothing when the knife pierces my skin.

A woman with brown hair pops her head out from behind him, and he growls at her using his free arm to add another obstacle between us.

It’s useless. I could kill them both and be out of here in forty-six seconds.

“Georgie, are you alright. B, what do we do?” the woman says from behind the soon-to-be-dead man staring at me.

“Don’t fucking move if you don’t want me to smear his brains on your dress,” I order her, and she glares at me peeking around his arm. This must be Marge. I take in the woman in a tight yellow dress that shows off her shapely body and high heels. Her lips are big and bright red. She’s attractive but nothing like my little kitten.

Her eyes dart to me then back to Georgia, like seeing a man held at knifepoint aiming a gun isn’t disturbing. “Thank the Gods you’re here,” Marge tells Georgie.

They are both peeking from behind us.

“B, what the hell? Put down the knife,” Georgie pleads.

I know she wants to go to her friend, but I want her to stay behind me.

“No can do little G, Marge said this asshole hurt you?” His chest rumbles with anger at the thought of her being hurt.

I can sympathize with that. “I would never,” I mutter, not that this guy would trust me. At that Marge must believe me because she leaves B’s back and holds out her hands for Georgie.

“B, don’t move,” Marge says, her tone deadly.

I can’t help but smirk.

His stare cuts from me to his window reflection, and the distorted image of the red dot calms my nerves. It’s in the center of this fucker’s chest. Zee is outside.

“Knife in a gunfight, dumbass,” I gloat.

“B, no, it’s not like that. Keeper would never hurt me.”

My lips turn up at the sides at the sound of Georgie’s confidence. She seems tense, but she isn’t scared like she was in the basement. Maybe because she knows this guy. Either way, pride bubbles in my chest at how strong she is.

“Mags?” the guy asks her for direction before adding pressure to the blade.