Page 168 of Gangsters and Guns


Font Size:  

The sleek Jaguar is waiting for us, with an impeccably dressed Frederick standing outside to let us in.

“Mr. Dixen, Ms. O’Brien,” he greets, pulling open the back door.

“Merry Christmas, Freddy,” Rogan says, slipping a wad of cash into Frederick’s jacket pocket and patting it before climbing in behind me. I scoot to the driver’s side, but Rogan isn’t having that, and instead he pulls me onto his lap as I laugh.

We sit quietly as Christmas music plays softly in the background, bringing back long forgotten memories of my family decorating the Christmas tree. Tears sting my eyes as I think about them. That desperate place in my heart still aches for them to come back, even though I know they never will, but I also find healing in my pain. It’s not as despondent as it once was. No. Now I also find hope there, and I know it’s because of them…

My guys.

The Dixen men.

It’s just about noon as we drive out of the city to more rural areas of suburbia. Cookie-cutter communities fly past, the driveways filled with cars as family members gather together to celebrate. Grandmas and grandpas unload trunkfuls of presents into festively decorated houses, while little kids jump for joy behind glass doors, waiting for them.

It’s absolutely magical.

“Can I get a hint?” I ask as the driver turns down a street I haven’t been down before.

“Nope,” Rogan answers. “But we’re almost there.”

Tall streetlights line the wide road, and I catch the name Dixen Ln. on the street sign as we pass by.

Really?

They have a fucking street named after them?

Good fucking grief.

“Where are the houses?” I inquire as empty lots filled with trees fly by, their empty branches filled with snow instead of leaves.

“There’s one, and it’s right up here.” Rogan points out the front window, and sure as shit, a home comes into view at the end of the road. Tall pillars rise on either side of the driveway, and an ornate iron arch stretches across from one to the other. The arch is decorated with evergreen garland, complete with white and red lights, making my chest warm and fuzzy.

We drive by a frozen pond that has a little dock jutting out into the water, and I imagine how pretty it is here in the springtime. The house beyond the long driveway is elegant. Light gray stone covers the exterior, and a bay of garages sit perpendicular to it, housing at least six cars. The dark roof compliments the stone, making the home look modern yet welcoming. Peaks and a faux turret give the house a grand visage and show off how truly massive it is. But that’s not my favorite part, no, it’s the large covered porch on the front, which is decorated with more garland and Christmas lights. Reindeer made of white lights move their heads in front of sprawling windows, and mature evergreen trees are decorated with red ribbon and lights.

The whole place is breathtaking.

“Whose house is this?” I ask as the car comes to a halt. I reach for the handle to get out, but before I can open the door, he stops me.

“You stay put, Hellcat. I just have to run inside for a few minutes. I won’t be long.”

He lifts me from his lap and sets me next to him, kissing me softly before he opens the door and scoots out.

“Just wait here,” he says before shutting the door and walking inside. I’m totally fucking sad right now, just sitting alone in the car on Christmas. I was excited driving up to this place, thinking maybe we were actually going to a Christmas party or something, but to be left in the car like this, well, it just plain sucks.

My mood festers as the minutes trickle by. I fold my arms over my chest, glaring at the house as I watch for any sign of movement. I’m just about to storm inside and demand that he come back when my text tone chimes. Reaching into my purse, I unlock the phone and read a message from Rogan.

Rogan:Can you come inside and help me with something?

Deflating a bit, but still angry, I almost say no, but I tamp down my pride. It’s Christmas, I need to be jolly and all that shit.

Me:Okay, be right there.

I press send as I reach for the handle and open the door. I climb out and shut it behind me before Fredrick even can get out. My boots crunch down on the freshly fallen snow as I trudge up to the house, ready to tell him exactly how I feel. Anger rising, I don’t even knock, I just push open the door. I find myself in a grand foyer. Soft gray tones coat the walls, which are adorned with beautiful artwork that looks oddly familiar, but I can’t figure out where I’ve seen them before. A huge staircase with dark wood steps and black iron railings sprawls upwards, and there’s a gorgeous crystal chandelier hanging from the lofted ceiling.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs is an impeccably dressed man holding a single red rose. He’s wearing soft gray slacks and a pale lavender shirt, and his blond hair is stylishly messy. He smiles at me with a roguish grin that only he can pull off.

“Alistair?” I question, walking up to him. “What are you doing here?”

He hands me the rose and kisses my lips. “For you. Merry Christmas,” he coos.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like