Page 28 of The Santas Who Stole Me

It stings now. I can tell by his stance and body weight he knows how to fight and correctly hold a person at knifepoint. His fear isn’t for himself; he’s worried about Marge and Georgie.

Marge shakes her head at him, then turns to Georgie. “Is this the ex? Where have you been Georgie? Are you safe?”

“What do you know about the ex? Have you contacted him?” I ask.

Marge and Georgie share a look, and it’s obvious there is a secret there. I need to know about the text, and if she’s going to lead us to the feds. It won’t be the first run-in we’ve had. I might be getting too old for this shit as I plot four ways to get our attention away from the FBI. Lee will be pissed about three of them.

“This isn’t him; this is Keeper. He won’t hurt me or you.”

The asshole with a knife raises his eyebrow.

Well, that is not exactly true. If it’s them or Georgie, there is no question who I will or will not hurt. I will pick her. Every time. “Drop the knife and your brains can stay intact. Maybe they work better that way but I haven’t seen proof so far.” My words result in him lessening the pressure on my neck, and I realize I don’t want to kill him. Marge is Georgie’s friend, and she likes it here.

The dot appears back on his head. Zeke could have shot him twenty times by now.

I put my com on before I got out of the truck. I knew it was risky taking her here or out anywhere in LA. Zeke never makes rash decisions, but I know he’s holding back for fear this asshole’s death would hurt Georgie. I assume Calum went on the job alone, because if he had been outside, I’d have already been covered in brains.

“Shit, B, the laser moved. Back off.” Georgia marches right up to Marge and wraps her arms around her, genuinely glad to see her.

B doesn’t lower the knife that could easily kill me with its proximity. He chuckles with amusement. I doubt it’s everyday anyone gives him a fair fight. He’s my height and close to my size; his arms are huge, and he’s covered in ink from his neck to his fingers. He’s dangerous, and I don’t trust him around Georgie.

“B, you can let him go. This isn’t the guy.” Marge twists her lips like she is thinking. “I don’t think he’s a fed either.”

B grunts in agreement and lowers his knife.

“Keeper. It’s okay. Who’s outside? Is it Zeke? Tell him to stop.”

I nod and move next to her, pulling her into my side and holding her waist. He can hear her, and the red dot following B disappears. The scent of my body wash on her skin hits me, and I kiss her hair. Her pulse is going crazy, but she takes a deep breath when B moves behind Marge.

“You’re Marge?” I assumed she would be an older woman with gray hair and a cigarette hanging from her lips, but instead she’s this bombshell with a bodyguard who knows how to use a knife. He has a slight scar on the edge of his mouth, which turns down when he sees my scowl again. Eventually this fucker will get a fist in his teeth for pulling a knife on me, but not in front of my little kitten.

“Keeper, meet Marge.” Georgia turns to check my neck, her fingers dragging across the puncture. It’s merely a nick. I’ve gotten worse shaving, but I like her concern and how her soft fingers touch me.

“Nice to meet you, Marge. Georgie, let’s do what you need and get back home.”

She nods her agreement. “B don’t hurt Keeper. I need to talk with Marge.” She frowns at him.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” I assure her with a scoff.

“That blood on your neck tells a different story,” he adds with a smirk.

I step forward, but then Georgie is between us. She frowns at the six-foot-six man with his greased-back, jet-black hair under a hairnet. The white apron he has draped over dark jeans and a black T-shirt are a contrast to the thug underneath. A predator lurks beneath his surface.

“Little G, don’t be mad, you know Mags calls the shots, and we thought something was wrong. Are you alright?”

I want to gouge out his eyes when he runs them over her assessing for damage. I don’t like that he calls her by a nickname. I do that. The more I study him, I get a vague sense he seems familiar, but I can’t quite place his face.

Georgie nods. “I will be. Stay with Keeper, I need to talk with Marge in the back.” Turning to me, her eyebrow arches before asking, “Will you be okay here? B will get you pie. No fighting, Keeper, promise?”

I scowl at B, which is a dumb as fuck nickname, and he grins at me as we both decide how to play out the next part. He might have lowered his knife, but it’s still in his grasp.

“Kitten, I don’t think you should leave my sight. I’ll come with you.”

She puts up a hand to stop my movements, and this fucker steps to my side, and presses the knife to me again.

Having enough, I use my shoulder to slam into his chest, surprising him, so that he steps back. Too bad for the big man, I land my fist across his jaw and push Georgie at my back so fast the knife thuds to the ground.

“Enough.” Now both girls are in the middle of us, but it’s Marge who speaks first. “B, Keeper. Fucking quit. Georgie is fine with me in the back for a minute. Both of you go sit on either side of the diner. Do not make me tell you again.”