Chapter 4
FOUR
Bad Santa - Grinch MR
An unusual creak.
A sudden gust of cold air.
My eyes snap wide open.
I’m used to all the sounds of the house settling and random drafts thanks to the deteriorating insulation, but floors don’t creak on their own…
Without moving so much as an inch, I glance around the near vicinity, noting I’m still on the couch. I must’ve fallen asleep after my Nick-induced playtime. It’s too dark to see much, though. The TV always turns off on its own after thirty minutes of inactivity, and the glimmer of the Christmas lights doesn’t illuminate a whole lot. Listening intently, I’m expecting to hear another squeak…but nothing comes.
Part of me insists I go back to sleep, that I’m only hearing things and it’s all a figment of my imagination. The other half, however, will not relent, tuned in on high alert. I may not be able to see it, but I feel it—a looming presence. Like someone’s watch?—
“I know you’re awake, Noelle,” a decadent purr booms, shooting me upright as a terrified shrill blasts free from my throat and I ball myself up into the cushions.
There, in the shadows, illuminated by nothing but the colorful glow of the Christmas tree, stands not one, but three darkened figures—the only obvious detail being their trimmed crimson cloaks.
Like three bad Santas.
“W-what do you want?” I scrape out, my fear stricken, thundering heart now lodged within the too-tight confines of my throat.
I’d offer them money, valuables, anything, but you know what they say… If someone breaks into your house in the middle of the night, they’re not after your belongings.
They’re after you.
“You don’t recognize me?” that same voice questions. There’s an underlying mirth to his query that strikes a familiar chord, but I’m too frightened to hone in on it for long.
I have no weapon.
Well, at least not close by. My granddad’s shotgun is in my closet and there’s no way I’m running past them to grab a knife from the kitchen. I’ll never make it. Not to my keys, either, where I have a few safety defense items attached.
I’m fucked.
I’m so fucked.
“I…” Please don’t kill me. “I have some money. In my wallet. It’s not much, but my purse is by the front door. Take it, take whatever you want,” I ramble, limbs quaking timorously beneath the shield of my arms.
As if that would actually fend these men off, should they attack.
“We’re not here for money, Noelle. We’re here for you,” that voice growls back.
And call me fucking crazy, but I swear it didn’t come out in a predatory fashion…
“Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me,” he continues in wake my silence. “Didn’t you tell Santa you wanted three masked men for Christmas?”
No.
There’s no way.
It can’t be…
“Nick?” I almost whisper it—in complete and utter disbelief.
This time there’s no mistaking the way he chuckles. All darkly and deep-seated. Mildly foreboding. “Mmm. You asked, I delivered.”
It is him.
He’s…here?
I’m almost too mind blown to speak, but the words somehow make it out of my mouth in a rush. “How…how did you know where I live?”
“I followed you, sweet girl.” He says it so simply, as if it were a completely normal thing to tell someone. “As the night went on and your little request played in a loop, the better it sounded. My mind was racing with the possibilities by the time you said your farewells. I had to see it through.”
He followed me…
He fucking followed me!
“And who are they?” I ask—like a dumbass.
Because why am I suddenly not…scared anymore?
They start toward me then, the skull masks covering the lower half of their faces coming into view. Oh, fuck… Basic instinct begs me to move, to dash out the door and get to safety, but they effectively corner me in seconds flat and render me immobile. Nick shoves aside the coffee table and all, removing any possible blockade between us.
I gasp as he embeds himself in my personal space, caging me against the cushions.
“These are my sons,” he finally answers, the mask moving only slightly above his lips.
“I’m not your son,” one of them grounds out.
Nick rolls his eyes and sighs profoundly. “Fun, isn’t he? That’s my step son, Klaus, since he insists on the ridiculous formality. And this here is Jack…” He motions to his side, on my right. “He’s flesh and blood.”
Jack tips his head when I glance at him but doesn’t speak an actual word, bulging arms crossed over his chest. Even in the dim lighting, it’s clear how similar his eyes are to his father’s.
Heart still rampaging, I take in each man surrounding me, and all I can think is—this can’t be happening. It’s a dream.
Or maybe a nightmare…
Who’s to say they won’t actually kill me? That I’m not the stupid girl who blindly trusted them because she has a masked man fantasy and a couple of screws loose.
“What did you mean when you said you were here for me?”
“I told you…” Nick leans in closer, nearly brushing our noses together. “You asked for three masked men, and here we are. So now, you’re going to run, and we’re going to catch you. And when we do, because we undoubtedly will—well, I’m not entirely sure yet. Let’s play that part by ear, shall we?”
“You’ll definitely scream, though,” Klaus adds, the deep register of his voice a blend of malevolent yet somehow seductive. “That’s the beauty of living out in the country… No one around to hear you miles.”
“And miles,” Jack concedes.
“And miles,” Nick finishes as he skims his lips along mine. “Better get moving, sweetheart. Santa loves a snack after delivering presents—and yours are starving.”
He eases back a blink later, right as Jack flips the lock on the patio door and pushes it open, allowing the frigid air from outside to crawl in and seep into my bones. Aroused, disturbed, I can’t tell which one I am more, frozen in place, my pulse thumping in my ears. There’s just enough space for me to zip past them, but I don’t see how I’ll make it far without a coat or shoes.
Maybe that’s the whole point, though.