Page 3 of The Santas Who Stole Me

The chick from earlier and the race security guard crowd above me. He reaches out, indicating for me to take his hand, and I place mine in his. Eight, one thousand. Then pull it back, screaming and rubbing my hand on my calf, keeping my other hand on the councilman.

He shifts underneath me, trying to get out from under my weight, but with my next wail I lay my shoulder across his face to smother his words.

Nine, one thousand.

It’s a good thing I’m bigger than him, so I can easily hide my hand under the mass of my body. I shift again, attempting to get up. Ten, one thousand. That’ll do it then. I roll over, grabbing my leg. “I’m so sorry, sir. Cramp. I’m fasting. You understand how it is as fit as you seem to be.” I mumble some of the same words the runner chick told me about potassium and cramps and shit. See? I was halfway listening.

The security guard pulls him up and checks him over, seemingly satisfied he’s unharmed. Standing and dusting off his suit, he coughs and adjusts his beard. I knocked the wind out of him. Sucks, but that is the least of his problems. He looks down his nose at me on the floor and pushes past security and the fasting chick. She’s explaining to the bodyguard how fasting can cause cramps and that was normal. I like that she has my back, but I’m still not interested. He tilts his head in a nod at me, then quickly moves to follow the councilman. Why does this asshole need security to follow him anyway? He’s only a rich politician. Although I guess it is smart considering someone did pay me a ton to murder his ass. I smirk at that thought before remembering my role and start doing more stretches. A few people stopped to look at my fall, but it was so brief they moved on.

The chick grabs my arm, but I politely brush her hand aside.

“Better go get some carbs, wouldn’t want another cramp. Oh, no, now it’s in my stomach. I’ll catch up with you later.” I sprint off and make it look like I’m heading to the bathroom.

“Nice. Stomach cramps always provide an unquestionable exit,” Zeke comments, and Keeper grunts in agreement. It wasn’t the way we planned this out exactly. I learned a long time ago in this business the easiest way to get out of most situations is to make up some bullshit on the fly. Contrary to everything Keeper has ever taught me. If my bullshit won’t work, then I can charm my way out of it. If all else fails Zee and Keep have my back.

“Alright Keep, I’ll head to you in eighteen minutes.”

“You don’t need to head this way. I’ll pick you up at the rendezvous. The chemist doesn’t fail,” he grumbles, and I can hear him steadying his breath. I can imagine him hunched over with his finger on the trigger while he watches a large group of Santas take off. If that doesn’t spread the holiday spirit, I can’t imagine what would.

Keep is in a prime location, and when the councilman doubles back on the trail with the other runners it should be showtime. If the councilman doesn’t die this way he’s getting a shot to the head and we have an exit strategy. It won’t be ideal, but when is death ever really. The Vegas were adamant about the kill being public.

“Be there in a few, Keep. We gotta snap some shots for Grams with Zee.” I head down the street and ignore his orders and threats about the photo op. Time to spread some motherfucking cheer, starting with my big brother.

Chapter Four

GEORGIE

I was right. My case is steadily filling with cash as the runners enjoy my acoustic Christmas tunes. Despite my shitty situation, I love this time of the year with the decorations, food, traditions. Sure, LA doesn’t have a Christmas smell like back home, but it’s easy enough to pretend I’m surrounded by the smell of my favorite sugar cookie recipe. That’s what is getting me by these days. Pretense and false promises. The race starts and the crowd shifts away from me to the starting line, but I keep playing, remembering when I used to listen to my dad play this guitar. Music was always his passion, and I could listen to his voice for hours. It’s been years since I lost him, but every once and a while it will hit me like a rock and knock the wind out of me, reminding me of the hole left behind. I don’t mind it. Welcoming the pain of my loss, after all, is still a reminder of him. I cringe at what he would think of me now, sitting on a stool playing like this on the side of the street.

Marge let me shower and fix my hair at the diner again. She doesn’t know how bad things are, since I told her I’ve been sharing a hotel with a friend and showering at the diner is easier in the morning. She bought it. I borrowed some of her makeup, too, and this black dress with little candy canes all over it. Simple but edgy. She insisted on other shoes, but I decided against them in favor of my combat boots. I made the mistake once of wearing heels and trying to run and cringe at the memory. Nope. Fool me once and all.

The strums from the guitar fill the emptying street as the last of the crowd moves to follow the racers. The money in my case won’t be enough, but it leaves me with more hope than I had this morning. Fucking hope, that’s a big mistake.

My skin prickles, and that little voice in the back of my head warns me to wake up. I wish I could ignore it. I wish it wasn’t happening. I have no idea how he found me, but I know he’s here. Shit, my stupid self-preservation takes over and makes my feet move. I toss the guitar into the case and zip it up quick as possible. Scanning the buildings, my mind races, attempting to come up with a plan. The race area is my best bet, but I might have to ditch the guitar. My fists clench at the heartbreaking thought. I pull on the straps, refusing to let the bastard take one more thing from me.

Movement to my right gets me moving, and I bolt into the crowd that lines the caution tape marking the race area. Everyone is dressed in red making my black stands out, but I squeeze through people, pushing and not apologizing.

“Georgia?” he calls.

I hear him call out, and my blood starts to run cold with fear. He’s not far. I turn and look at him, unable to resist. He smiles. Not in a warm greeting way. Nope. His face has that sadistic smile he gets when he knows he caught me. You haven’t caught me yet fucker.

A tall building shadows the street ahead, and I sprint toward it and duck in the door. It’s some type of apartment building, maybe offices. Inside is a small unoccupied desk with silver elevators close behind it. I squeeze my guitar behind the desk and shove the chair in front, hoping that hides it well enough. I’ll come back for it.

The ding of the elevator button gets me moving when it opens. I run my hand across every number and jump out before the door shuts. A small attempt to throw him off. Maybe it will give me enough time to hide, stupid hope creeping up on me again.

Crashing through the service door in a small hallway next to the elevators, I’m met with concrete stairs. I crane my neck and see it’s about ten floors to the top. And I run. After all, that is what my life has turned in to: a constant fucking race to get away. My boots pound the stairs. I’ve been running as fast as I can for so long my legs don’t know anything else. Focusing on my breathing, I go up and up. His hunting game won’t go on forever. Eventually he will catch me, and it’ll all end. He’s the cat, and I’m the mouse backed into a corner. We both know I can’t win against him; it’s only a matter of time.

Chapter Five

KEEPER

The door opens behind me, but I stay behind the scope right as the councilman crashes to the ground. “Calum, you didn’t have to come up here. Honestly, Christmas is weeks away, we have plenty of time for a family photo,” I grumble, watching the scene unfold ten floors below me.

“Not me, brother. I’m not there yet. Stopped for a hot chocolate,” he says in my earpiece, and I whip around, grabbing the pistol from the back of my pants.

No one should be up here. The building was evacuated due to a fake gas smell we put in place. Staring down the barrel I see her, chest heaving, and her black hair whipping in the wind like a tornado.

Ocean-blue eyes take me in before cutting to my rifle set up on the ledge. She takes in the scene and my guns, and she scans the roof for an exit. There isn’t one. Shuffling backward to the door before turning her attention back to me, her hand releases from the door handle like she realizes that’s not an option.