A Bloody Merry Christmas (The Naughty List #2)

Chapter 1

EZRA HUNTER

I huddled closer to the threadbare blankets wrapped around my thin shoulders.

The chilly wind whipped my cheeks, and I buried my face deeper into the material, holding my backpack of prized possessions closer to my chest. I’d found the blanket in a dumpster, but I was warmer than I would be otherwise.

I didn’t own much, but the objects in my bag kept me sane while living on the streets, and I needed every little piece of treasure I could find.

Snow fluttered around me, wisps tickling my face, the only skin I had visible to the night air.

I fucking hated the snow.

“Cold tonight, eh, Ezra?” Mrs. Lyle wobbled past me, her weak legs shuffling beneath her frail old body.

Her bony hands held on tight to her rickety walker, and various pieces of mismatched clothing hugged her reedy limbs.

She’d been on the streets for nearly fifty years, and I’d known her since the first night I’d curled in on myself against a cold doorway on Harper Street.

The same night I was thrown out of that doorway and onto the street by a raging old man who didn’t want to see a bum hovering near his home.

I blinked at her. “Freezing, Mrs. Lyle.”

She giggled and moved farther down the street, no doubt heading toward her favorite spot, the one near the patio heaters that belonged to a burger restaurant.

Sometimes they kicked her out, and if she didn’t leave, they called the cops.

Other times, depending on who was working, they would let her stay and even gave her a meal.

I hoped it was one of those nights when they were kind to her.

My belly growled, the hollow pain a feeling I was used to.

Christmas was coming, which meant people felt it was their duty to feed the homeless.

I’d have to wait a few more weeks before the Christmas spirit hit hard with carols and ho-ho-hoing Santas.

For now, like the rest of the year, I dealt with my unbearable hunger.

I didn’t beg for money because I was too proud for that. I preferred to steal and swindle what I could, taking from people who had too much cash anyway.

Tonight was another cold evening on the dangerous streets of New Gothenburg.

This was my sixth year here, and I found comfort in the people I knew.

An almost family. Across the street lay Miguel, a Vietnam veteran with horrible PTSD.

He couldn’t live the normality of his previous life, scared of flashbacks and dreams that led to violence, so he’d left his wife and children behind to protect them.

Farther down, past a small dark alleyway with weeds growing out of it, was Trisha.

She was barely eighteen and had been living on the streets since she was fourteen.

Her foster father had molested her until she couldn’t take it anymore and she’d packed up her shit and escaped. I applauded her for her bravery.

Then, there was me. Ezra. My history was none of anyone’s fucking business. Not even Mrs. Lyle knew where I came from and I preferred to keep it that way. Sharing meant opening myself up to people, and that led to being hurt. I couldn’t deal with that pain again, couldn’t handle another blow.

My stomach growled again, and I sighed. Maybe if I went to sleep, I could ignore the pain, but it was too early.

Something about tonight had my nerves frazzled.

The shadows were darker than usual, the moon nothing more than a blip in the starless sky.

The lamps shuddered under the wind as the gale thrashed through the narrow street, the electricity threatening to shut off with every hit the powerlines took.

The night was too loud to sleep anyway.

I shoved to my feet, tugging the blanket more firmly around my shoulders and holding my worn backpack tighter against me as I headed down the sidewalk.

“Where are you going, Ezra?” Miguel shouted from his side, concern in his voice.

I waved him off. “It’s too noisy.”

Miguel said something else, but I didn’t hear him over the whoosh of the wind.

I ignored him, heading into a back alleyway and to the street behind.

The grocery store I usually frequented was close to a suburban area, and I knew from experience I would find more warmth near cozy little houses and their flickering fires and the deception that came with them.

They left their curtains open, lights burning bright, and I always stopped to watch the scenes inside.

What I saw either disgusted me or made me jealous, depending on the night.

Families were a lie.

They wanted others to see something that didn’t really exist. Behind the closed doors, there wasn’t laughter or hugs or intriguing stories fathers told children, but while their family was on display to the outside world, they had a role to play.

I played that character once, the kid who looked up to his uncle. I smiled when Gary told me a story or laughed when he made a joke, until I couldn’t take the lies anymore.

I shook my head, pushing aside the memories. It didn’t matter—I’d escaped. I didn’t care about these other families. I glared at them as I lumbered along.

Fuck them.

Fuck them all.

“Hey, you!”

The sharp voice sliced through the freezing air from somewhere behind me, but I pretended I didn’t hear it.

I didn’t need to glance that way to hazard a guess at what kind of guy was calling out to me.

They were always young, around early twenties, and there was a certain cockiness in their voice.

They wanted to be the show-off of their group, the one who made the other college-aged idiots laugh.

What was an easier way of doing that than picking on a homeless person?

He grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around.

I stumbled and my weak knees trembled beneath me.

I fell on my ass on the sidewalk, my palms catching my weight and scraping along the cement painfully.

The blanket fluttered to the ground, but I didn’t reach for it.

I’d been light on my feet once, so nimble that I’d floated across any surface with the grace I’d refined through dance.

Now, hunger weakened me. I was a fraction of the person I used to be.

Above me stood a man exactly like I’d imagined.

He looked around college age and wore a smug grin on his handsome face.

He had his blond hair combed back in a typical jock style and wore a simple chain around his neck.

I couldn’t see what was dangling from the necklace because it was tucked into the collar of his salmon pink polo shirt.

He also wore a heavy coat, jeans, and light brown boots.

Definitely the kind of thing an arrogant college jerk would wear.

Also like I’d expected, two snickering friends shadowed him.

My heart took off in a stampede against my ribs. I glared and gripped my backpack tighter to my chest. My most important possessions were inside, and I couldn’t let these pricks get ahold of them. I needed every single thing inside to survive. “Fuck off.”

I shoved to my feet, staggering as fast as I could down the street while trying not to slide on the icy sidewalk. Footsteps stomped behind me, the sound an ominous ringing in my ears, and the idiot shoved my back, making me stumble again.

“What are you doing around here?” The college jerk sneered at me when I spun on him.

I considered clobbering him with my bag, but that would put my few, important belongings in his vicinity and I couldn’t risk it.

“It’s a free country. I can go wherever I want,” I growled.

I didn’t have the strength to fight him.

My stomach ached with hunger, and my muscles stung with pain.

The cold bit my skin. I needed to find somewhere warm to sleep for the night.

At this point, I’d take anything. Exhaustion burned in my eyes and tears stung the corners before I blinked them away.

These bastards didn’t deserve to see me cry.

He laughed and glanced at his friends. “You hear this hobo?”

Idiot One and Two cackled along with him.

I shook my head and took a step back. “Whatever.” I turned on my heel, but instead of heading down the street, I stumbled into someone’s driveway. It was dark inside the house, so I didn’t think anyone was home, but I didn’t care either way. I needed to get away from these fools.

I followed the plowed driveway before shuffling alongside the house to get into the backyard.

The area was surrounded by a tall wooden fence, which was too high for the neighbors to see over or for me to escape.

The porch light was on, gleaming across the snow that covered the yard.

My stalkers wouldn’t follow me onto private property, right?

I sighed when heavy footsteps echoed and grew louder as they got closer.

Of course they’d come onto private property.

They were nothing but privileged morons.

Someone shoved me hard from behind again. I tripped, falling onto my hands and knees into the freshly fallen snow. My bag went flying. I grunted, landing hard on the ground, and pain exploded in my palms. The scrapes on my hands from my last tumble on the street stung violently.

“What the fuck?” I muttered.

Someone grabbed my hair, and I cried out as he tugged me to my feet. Misery shot through my body. The cold did little to numb the pain. He was pulling my hair from my scalp. I scrabbled at his hands, my brittle fingernails digging into the base of his palm. His hold tightened.

A punch landed in my gut, and I doubled over, a wounded gasp falling from my lips. Another punch slammed into the exact same place as the first, and I whimpered. My legs trembled. Even if I could reach him, I didn’t have the energy to fight back.

A slap across my cheek. A hard grip on my fragile wrist. Spit landing on my face as he laughed. Bending back my finger until I screamed in fear and pain.