Ex-Mas

Prologue

The oven dings, barely audible above the Christmas music I’m using as psychological warfare against my neighbors.

They’re loud all the time, and one of them had the audacity to call me a boomer when I complained.

I’m twenty-two, I’m not a boomer. I just like to sleep for more than three hours a night.

So, fine. They want their kids snug in bed as Santa prepares to suck his fat, fairytale ass through their electric fireplace, I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.

It’s Mariah Carey on repeat for them.

But after a few hours of hearing the same song over and over again, I’m pretty done with it myself.

My tree-shaped chocolate chip cookies are done, it’s nearing midnight, and I need my beauty sleep if I’m going to convince my boyfriend to smile tomorrow.

Adrian Graves is hotter than hell with his sharp jaw, dark messy hair, and the tattoos sprawling down his impeccable physique, and he’s perfect in every way — he’s possessive, tall, protective, and still manages to make me laugh even when I want to stab him.

His only flaw is that the mere mention of Christmas makes him gag.

Maybe a brand new gaming console and a blowjob under the mistletoe will change his perspective.

So with that in mind, I close up the kitchen, turn the music off, and head to the living room to shut off all the lights. But where I should be hearing nothing but the sweet, sweet sound of silence, I hear... rustling. Bumping. Jiggling. Right outside my kitchen door.

What the fuck?

I know Christmas is a time that makes people desperate and stupid, I just didn’t think someone would be desperate and stupid enough to rob me on Christmas fucking Eve.

I might look like an easy target since I’m young, short, and a woman, but this motherfucker is about to learn the hard way that some women simply refuse to be helpless little victims. He can overpower me, I’m sure.

Hurt me, kill me. There likely won’t be anything I can do to stop the outcome and the inevitable headline that follows, but I can and will change the context.

I turn the music back up and grab the biggest, cuntiest knife I own before I creep toward the kitchen door as the idiot struggles to pick the lock.

It takes him so long I almost feel bad for him, but when the lock finally gives and a giant, lumbering man steps into the dark doorway, I don’t hesitate.

I swing my cunty little knife right at his cunty little neck, drop it, and run as he collapses to the ground.

I make it back into the living room and halfway to my phone to call the cops before I hear him speak.

“Fu-cking hate... Christmas.”

My heart drops out of my ass and lands somewhere on the floor as the adrenaline rush vanishes entirely. I know that voice. I know that giant, lumbering man.

Adrian.

I just murdered the love of my life.

Merry fucking Christmas.