Chapter 5
FIVE
Carol of the Bells - Christmas Classics Remix
I take off in a sprint, hoping speed will somehow prolong the inevitable ache of winter. But the snow comes up mid-calf and as my socks really begin soaking through, each step feels like hell. My entire body rattles as the arctic temperature stabs into every inch of my skin and sticks to the wild strands of my hair.
I can’t even scream. That’s how cold it is.
In the long run, the head start they gave me won’t make much of a difference. In fact, it’s only going to give them another leg up. I’m not built to run, and by the time they fall in pursuit, I’ll be exhausted, slowing down.
And that’s only if I don’t hurt myself in the process first.
It’s dark as hell and I don’t come back here often enough to know my way around blindly without running face-first into a tree or tripping over any low-lying brush. An injury would leave me the prey succumbing to the hunter far sooner than one would hope to be. Or perhaps none of it matters at all because the distant laughter now ringing out tells me the time has come, regardless. I’ve got a minute, tops, before one of them gains on me and pounces.
My stomach dips at the realization, but I keep it moving. Puffed clouds burst past my lips as I rally every ounce of strength I possess and book a sharp left, heading for the front of the house. There’s nothing at the back property line other than short fences and open fields that won’t shield me if I even make it that far. If I can get to the front, though, I can grab the spare key beneath one of the planters, snatch my car keys off the entry table, and drive the fuck off.
Lie to yourself. You aren’t driving off…
I can’t even scoff the thought away. For as brightly as fear wants to shine in all its should-be predominant glory, it’s second to excitement. There’s no denying it. I’m tickled-fucking-pink that my outlandish request was so titillating, Nick found himself wanting to play into it, too. So much that he went all out for it. I know trusting him after five shared minutes is foolish—fucking moronic, really—but deep down in my convoluted core, I don’t believe they mean me any harm.
At least not in the violent, end up on a true crime doc kind of way.
Am I really about to let three unfamiliar masked men fuck me, though?
“Keep running, Little Red. We love the hunt,” one of the three belts out, effectively pulling me out of my head.
With adrenaline pumping hot through my veins, I keep on, jumping over branches and zigzagging through the trees. My pajama pants are soaked half way up, too, my feet growing more and more numb with every step forward.
“I can smell you, kitty,” another announces not far behind, and from what I heard in the house, he sounds like Klaus. “Peaches and cream drizzled with glistening fear. I can’t wait to taste you.” He sing-songs it breezily, but there’s no hiding the wicked intent behind it.
More laughter ensues.
More crunching snow and labored breaths.
Brief wisps of the wintry wind as it billows by.
I’m almost at the front, the trees thinning out enough to see the long driveway just a few miles away—until sturdy, chiseled arms lock around me in a vise, unleashing a guttural scream from deep within my throat.
“Got you,” Nick’s voice drips sensuously in my ear as he slaps a hand over my mouth.
And much like that scream, a flicker of genuine horror finally floods the forefront. I struggle against him, my heart rate on the verge of explosion, and wail into his palm. More still when he lets out a whistle for the boys.
“Calm down, sweetheart. This is what you wanted, remember?” he coos, trailing a hand to the undeniably heated space between my thighs. When he grazes my clit and a needy whimper breaks free, my body betrays me and falls completely lax against him. “That’s it. Just like that. Be a good girl and let go for Santa.”
Snow trudging and various twigs snapping grow louder somewhere beside us, but all I can focus on is that lone finger rubbing slow circles into my clit.
“She was trying to make a clean break for the front,” Nick tells them, spurring on a round of snickers.
“Oh, that won’t do,” Klaus purrs as he appears in my line of sight, sea foam green eyes glimmering. “That won’t do at all, kitty. Escaping isn’t an option.”
Jack slides up beside him then, piercing blues also flickering with a hint of malice. “What’s wrong, Little Red? The masked man fantasy too much for you now?”