Page 51 of The Santas Who Stole Me

My mouth opens to try pleading again; he likes when I do that, but words never leave my lips. Black slices my vision, when he whips the gun across my face. My head slams back, hitting the window, and I’m faced with my only fear worse than Chad. Dark, deep black swallows me along with the terror of losing the guys. It swirls in my gut along with the guilt of knowing the trouble they are going to be in because of me. My heart breaks, and I sink into the black, what I once thought was my biggest fear, this time not caring if I come out or not.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

CALUM

Everyone thinks being a hired hit man is all throwing stars and round-off kicks. In reality it’s a lot of recon and stalking. I do have a badass set of throwing stars, but sadly they have only been used once. It’s a real bitch to clean blood out of the grooves.

I shift in the car and push up my sunglasses. My ass is almost numb. I’ve been sitting for so long. How long does it take one fucker to leave for work? I’m sure he’s jerking off again. Yep, that’s one of those uncool parts of the gig, getting intel on someone’s routine means all of it. Including watching this asshole jerk off to some clown porn last week. As someone who watched their brother rail his girlfriend this morning, I’m in no place to judge a person’s kinks. Still, the red nose? I can’t unsee that shit. I blink my eyes hard a few times attempting to clear those thoughts from my head before the garage door opens.

Fucking finally, we’re about to get to the good part, and I rub my hands together.

He walks out, adjusting his junk before opening the door. The door slams shut and right as planned, the car lights in flames. I wait to ensure there is no way the fucker can get out, already knowing he can’t. Shame about that recall on electric cars, although here it really worked out for us. The backend explodes next and pretty sparks of yellow float in the air in the dark smoke. I watch for a few minutes while the black dissipates, making the air around the car a slate gray. Satisfied he’s burned to a crisp, I text the guys I’m on the way and update Lee about the status of the clown fucker.

A fire truck passes me as I pull out of the neighborhood. It’s a sketchy street, and no one has emerged to check out the explosive sounds. Reminds me of Gram’s street. No one saw anything, and no one spoke to the cops. I can’t wait for Georgie to meet Grams, which reminds me, I need to order our Christmas sweaters. I mentally go through the rest of my to-do list on the drive.

It’s going to be a busy holiday making sure Georgie gets her every Christmas wish.

I quickly ditch the car and send Lee the location for scrapping. She replies with a thumbs up emoji. When I climb into the truck Georgie’s scent fills my nose, and I see her sweater on the passenger seat. I’m so fucking crazy for her, I put it to my nose and inhale. Just her scent has me hard as steel. With a sigh, I drive down the alleyway where Keeper stashed it and make my way to my girl.

Putting the truck in park, I wonder what the fuck is happening. A large haul truck sits in front of the main entrance, and the backend is open while dozens of Christmas trees are being unloaded and stacked around the diner entrance. B and Keeper are outside. I don’t see Georgie or Zee. He’s most likely hanging from a tree somewhere like Spider-Man waiting for his senses to tingle something is wrong.

I walk up to the guys while B is glaring at the delivery men. “What’s happening?” I ask B with a jerk of my chin.

“Delivery screwed up. We ordered one tree, they said it was a hundred. This is only the first load, man, but the asshole won’t go and take them back.”

Christmas trees are being lined around the building laid against windows and any free wall space available. I’m guessing Marge said they couldn’t come inside. “Damn, it’s like the candy cane forest around here. What are you going to do with them? Where are the girls?”

“Marge is pissed, she went inside to call the store directly. Georgie is in the back working on the cookie order. I offered to end the guy but she said it wasn’t necessary. I’m going to be the one hauling all these trees somewhere, so I’m going to regret listening to her order to keep the fucker alive.”

B’s voice raises at the end of his thought, and at the same time one of the delivery men walks by. Color leaves his face, but he doesn’t stop unloading the truck. That is some commitment. I can admit B is intimidating at best, even as he stands here in a white apron over his tight black shirt and faded jeans. He swipes a hand through his hair and stomps to the back of the truck.

“Finish the job?” Keep asks. His eyes remain on the truck and quickly survey the parking lot.

My brother is on edge about Georgie.

“Yes, all done. Did you get our girl out of her head?”

“For the moment,” Keep replies with concern etching his face.

I love my brother and constantly give him shit because he worries too much about us, but he might be right to worry about Georgie this time. Sure, she accepts our lifestyle, I guess you could call it that, still doesn’t mean she is ready to be part of it. The plan for her ex might be weighing on her. She’s too good for us. Unfortunately, I want her too much to let her go, but I’ll shield her from the carnage we leave behind if that’s what’s best for her.

“I better go check and see how she’s doing.”

“Do that. I’ll go shoot one of these assholes. Enough with the trees, dick,” he shouts, and the guy jumps at his tone.

Leaving him to deal with that, I remove a tree from the entrance and notice the open sign is off again. I don’t understand how this place stays in business but whatever. My phone buzzes and I stop on my way to the kitchen to see a text from Lee.

Attached is a picture of a death certificate for Georgia Alice Davis. My brows wrinkle in confusion as I scroll the document. It’s dated today, listed as a suicide. What the fuck is this?

“Georgie,” I shout, running to the back.

Marge glances up from her phone where she’s standing in the kitchen. “It’s been twenty-five minutes,” she tells me as she paces behind the counter, my eyes searching again for Georgie.

I head to the freezer, check the storage closet, nothing. “Georgia!” I scream again. My tone is frantic, and I keep searching despite knowing she’s not here. She’s not fucking here.

“She told me to call after thirty minutes.”

My attention turns to Marge. Before I can get any words out of my mouth Keeper slams the kitchen door against the wall as he stalks over to Marge. “Where is she?”