Page 6 of The Santas Who Stole Me

With this viewpoint I get a better look at her large eyes surrounded by thick black lashes. Her heart-shaped face is stunning, and I memorize it, along with the dark wavy hair that frames her face, messy from her ordeal today. It looks pretty in Keeper’s hand as she stares back at him. My gaze trails her neck and the tiny rapid pulses of her heartbeat. The speed and rhythm please me but contradict my earlier prediction of fear. Is she excited? Surely not. Fear must be the dominant emotion that is the only logical choice.

“The FBI doesn’t want me. He wants me,” she says, creating an abnormal buzzing in my chest.

“Who is he, cookie?” Calum asks in his charming voice. He’s incredibly efficient at understanding people and what type of response works best for the situation. The opposite of me.

She doesn’t respond, and Keeper tightens his grip while twisting his fist into her hair forcing her to look at his brother. “Answer and this will be easier.” He runs his thumb down her jawline.

That buzzing returns to my chest when I see him touch her, but I stay quiet. My phone pings, and I pull it out of my pocket and open the message.

“Chad Porter, supervisory FBI agent, reports directly to the director. Been in the office for seven years. His record is squeaky clean, Lee says he’s being groomed for the director position. He’s friends with many powerful people in DC,” I tell them without looking up from the report.

“So why is he here in LA searching for you on rooftops?” Keeper asks, threading her hair in his hands once more, and I wonder how it feels against his skin.

A single tear falls down the side of her face.

His reaction is lightning fast. He lets go of her and crouches before her legs. Her head sags forward, and he lifts her chin up, the scene intimate even with Calum right there next to him.

Calum looks to his brother, worried. Whether his worry is about Keeper’s strange behavior or the girl he called cookie, I’m not sure. Something is happening because of that tear, and I move to stand next to the group, wanting to be part of it. That’s how it has always been with the brothers and myself. I’m always trying to be part of whatever they are doing. More tears fall down her face, but she stays silent. I assume she isn’t going to speak again when she releases a shaky breath, the words that come out of her mouth are whispers.

“Why were you on the rooftop with a gun?” she asks with more bravado than she should have for someone in her situation.

“I needed to kill someone, “Keeper tells her. The wide and round shape her eyes turn into at that response, are to my liking.

“Who? Why?” she asks.

“It’s our job, and no one that matters,” Keeper answers.

“Explain why he’s looking for you,” Keeper tells her, his voice softer, like he’s speaking to a scared animal.

“I’ll tell you. Judging by my surroundings with the tools and drain in the floor, I highly doubt I will be leaving this room. I guess you all are a bunch of freaks who just want my skin or something.” She lets out a nervous chuckle, and I think Calum finds it amusing. “When I got into that bag with you I jumped from the grease to the frying pan. I was so scared Chad would get me that I didn’t consider you being a worse threat. I’ve made another stupid decision about who to trust.”

Keeper’s glare hardens, his silence encouraging her to continue her explanation. But then I notice he strokes her cheek with his thumb, and she doesn’t flinch. Perhaps she doesn’t have the best gauge for danger.

“Chad was my fiancé. We dated for a year. Things started out well, he loved taking me to FBI functions in DC, dressing me up. You know how the story goes. Boy charms the girl then turns out to be a possessive asshole. Tricked me into quitting my job, being reliant on him. I’ve been trying to get away after…” She stops, and I’m grateful, unsure if I want to know what made her need to leave.

I assume it was bad if she ran across the country from the state capital and hid away with a bunch of assassins for refuge.

Calum tips his head at Keeper, and they have one of their silent conversations I never understand, then turn back to Georgia. “I’ll kill him,” they say in unison.

Chapter Seven

GEORGIE

I stare at the handcuffs, and my stomach turns at the memories of the monster I once thought I would marry. God, I’m such an idiot. Why do I assume anyone wants to help me, love me, or even want me? I don’t know what possessed me to get in the Santa bag, but something about him seemed trustworthy despite the sniper rifle and his dangerous air. I can blame my decision on desperation. Chad, the devil I know, had to be worse than the one I didn’t. Or so I thought until I ended up in what can only be described as a murder basement.

The trunk was awful, but a light stayed on back there, so I didn’t lose my mind completely. My eyes shut and more tears leak out. I realize then I am not scared of the chains or this weird torture room. I’m not even scared of the three deadly men in front of me. I’m simply done. I give up. The first time Chad hit me, I tried to go to the police, but it was dismissed. I tried to leave, then he found me, dragged me home, and locked me in a room for a week. Now I’m finally far from him, and he fucking found me again. It must have been my stolen wallet. Someone used my card or ID maybe. I don’t think my prepaid phone is trackable. It’s possible I was caught on camera, even though I’ve done my best to hide my face from the streets, but he has FBI resources, so I should be surprised he took so long.

“I’ll kill him,” Calum and the Santa who stole me both say in unison. I heard Calum call him Keeper earlier.

“I’ll help.” The beautiful one who gave the updated information on Chad says. He is looking at me impassively, but something glistens in his blue eyes under his brown wavy hair.

His jaw is chiseled like a prince in a Disney movie, and I realize I might be drooling when I take in his body in that Santa suit. It doesn’t hang on him like you would imagine. His suit stretches across his muscular chest and arms. Keeper is crouched in front of me and I take in his short blond hair and authoritative air. He has a hint of stubble on his face. I move my hand to touch, but the cuffs clink, reminding me to keep my hands in my lap. Calum’s abs and the ink covering his skin peek out from his unfastened Santa coat. He winks when he notices me looking, and my cheeks heat. I stare at them again, gorgeous, sexy, and cocky, all with eyes studying me.

Calum moves to my handcuffs, but Keeper puts out a hand to stop him.

“No, we have to discuss this. Don’t let her go.”

“She wants us to kill him, so she doesn’t have to stay locked up, Keeper.” They start bickering about what to do with me and I stare at my feet, finally finding a voice among their arguments.