Santa Daddy (Broken Boss Daddie #1)

Chapter 1 Blood And Jingle Bells

BLOOD AND JINGLE BELLS

DANI

Ihave a Kim Kardashian ass.

There. I said it.

One that made every pair of leggings I own scream for mercy, and right now it’s squeezed into candy cane striped tights that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

After losing thirty pounds (thank you, anxiety and celery) I finally convinced myself I could pull off the world's skimpiest elf costume for my seasonal mall job.

Sixteen-fifty an hour plus tips. Which, when you're staring down $87,000 in student loans and a studio apartment where the radiator sounded like it was murdering small animals, counted as a Christmas miracle.

Green velvet romper that barely covered my ass? Check.

Tights so tight I couldn't bend over without risking a workplace incident? Check.

Bell collar that jingled every time I breathed? Double fucking check.

This morning I looked in the mirror and gave myself a pep talk. You got this, Dani. You are a candy cane goddess.

That was six hours ago.

Before I spent my shift being groped by entitled dads who apparently think their Amex Black Cards come with complimentary sexual harassment while their sticky-fingered spawn scream at Santa about wanting iPads.

Nothing said Christmas spirit like assault set to All I Want for Christmas Is You.

Now it was past six, December darkness swallowing the city whole, and I was hauling ass through the parking lot because the 6:15 bus wouldn't wait and my student loans sure as hell wouldn't pay themselves.

Cold bit through velvet like teeth. My breath ghosted white in frozen air.

Behind me, the mall bled Jingle Bell Rock into the night.

Fa la la la fuck my life.

The shortcut through Pinebrook's tree lot would save me ten minutes. The difference between making my bus and freezing my tits off for forty-five minutes waiting for the next one.

Stupid? Absolutely.

But my feet were dying in these stripper heels, my phone was at 2%, and I'd been making terrible decisions since birth. Last Christmas I spent alone eating ramen, watching other people's families through my window. This year was supposed to be different.

Spoiler alert: it was worse.

The lot opened before me like a graveyard someone decorated. Hundreds of Fraser firs stacked in crooked rows. The vendor's shack sat dark, CLOSED sign swinging in the wind.

Empty.

Pine scent slammed into me, thick and green. String lights overhead blinked sickly yellow, half dead, casting everything in jaundiced shadows.

I was thirty feet in when I heard voices.

Deep. Male. Russian.

Just workers closing up. Keep walking.

Except the lot was already closed. And something about the tone made my skin crawl.

I slowed. Pressed my hand to the bells, trying to muffle them.

The voices got closer.

Then another voice. Pleading. "Please. I have—"

Wet impact. Fist meeting flesh.

Choking. Gurgling.

Run. Right fucking now.

My legs turned to stone.

Three gunshots cracked the air.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

I dropped.

Hit frozen ground hard enough to see stars. Snow burned through tights, biting my palms. My bells screamed.

Shut up shut up shut up.

I scrambled toward the dumpster on hands and knees, pine needles stabbing my skin. Garbage smell hit me—rotting food and something dead.

Then copper.

Sweet and thick.

Blood.

I wedged myself between dumpster and chain-link, gasping. My whole body shook.

Don't look. Don't you fucking dare—

I looked.

The body sprawled across snow. Expensive suit. Blood spreading like spilled wine, impossibly red against white.

His face turned toward me. Eyes empty. Mouth slack.

Steam rising from the holes in his chest.

My stomach heaved. Bile flooded my mouth. I swallowed hard, tasting peppermint and copper and fear.

A man stepped into view.

Alone.

Tall. Broad. Black coat that moved like water when he walked.

He crouched beside the body. Checked for pulse with two fingers.

Nothing.

Pulled out his phone. The screen lit his face for three seconds.

And I saw him.

Really saw him.

Fuck.

He was built like violence wrapped in a saint's face. Sharp jaw that could cut glass, dusted with stubble too perfect to be accidental. Mouth carved for sin and cruelty in equal measure. Dark hair swept back from a face made of brutal angles.

Ink crawled up his neck from his collar. Cyrillic letters spelling words I'd never understand.

Not handsome.

Lethal.

Stop staring at the man who just killed someone.

He pocketed his phone.

Searched the body with clinical precision. Not the pockets—inside the jacket. Pulled out a phone, wallet. Studied the ID. Took photos.

He stood. Brushed snow off his knees like he'd left a meeting.

My bells jingled.

Once.

He went predator-still.

No no no—

His head turned.

Gaze sweeping the lot.

Landed on me.

Our eyes locked.

Those eyes. Christ.

His mouth curved into something that promised pain.

He moved.

Stalked toward me like I was prey already caught. Each step unhurried. Confident.

I pressed against metal. Nowhere to go.

He stopped three feet away.

Looked down.

Up close, he was worse. That jaw. That mouth. Eyes so pale they looked colorless under the lights.

A scar cut through his left eyebrow. Another across his knuckles where his hand rested loose at his side.

And the scent rolling off him, gunpowder and cedar and expensive whiskey.

Old money. New violence.

"You picked the wrong shortcut, kotyonok."

That voice. Jesus. Russian accent just threading the edges, making the 'w' slightly harder, the rhythm different. Deep and rough like gravel over silk.

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

He crouched. Eye level now.

Close enough I could see snowflakes melting in his hair.

Close enough his breath ghosted across my face. Peppermint.

He'd been eating candy canes while committing murder.

"You saw." Statement. Not question.

I still couldn't speak.

His gaze raked over me. Clinical. Assessing.

The costume. The bells. The terror I couldn't hide. My hands shaking so hard I was leaving crescents in my palms.

He reached out.

I flinched.

His fingers found my jaw anyway. Warm. Callused. Tilting my face up with enough force to make my neck ache.

"Dressed like whore for children." His grip tightened. "Very American."

Fuck you.

The words stuck.

"You saw me kill him." Matter-of-fact. Like he was commenting on the weather. "That means you die too. Is simple."

My breath stopped.

"Unless..." He tilted his head. Considering. "Unless you are useful."

Useful? Useful how?

His thumb pressed against my pulse. Hard. "Heart racing. You are terrified."

Yes. Yes, I was fucking terrified.

"Good. Fear is smart." His eyes tracked over my face. "But you don't scream. Don't beg. Just shake."

He leaned closer.

Too close.

"Why?"

Because I can't. Because my voice is gone. Because—

Heavy footsteps crunched through snow.

Voices. Russian. Getting closer.

His hand dropped.

He stood in one fluid motion, hauling me up with him by my arm. The grip was iron. Bruising.

My legs didn't work but he didn't care. Just dragged me up until I was standing, my bells exploding with sound.

"Don't scream," he said against my ear, breath hot on frozen skin. "Don't run. You try either, I break your legs before I kill you."

Oh God. Oh God oh God—

Two men appeared through the trees.

Both armed.

Both stopped dead when they saw me.

The bigger one—face like someone took a cheese grater to it, eyes like a shark's—spoke sharp Russian. His weapon already rising.

The second man followed suit.

Both guns trained on me.

My bladder nearly gave out.

"Moya nevesta."

The words detonated like grenades.

My fiancée.

The scarred one choked on air. "Huh, Konstantin? Tvoya nevesta?"

He gestured at me with his gun. At the costume. At everything wrong about this.

"Eta?"

This?

Pure contempt.

"Yes." Konstantin's voice could freeze hell. "She's mine. My woman. You question me?"

Silence stretched.

The scarred one—Yakov—didn't lower his gun. "She's a witness."

"She's my fiancée."

"She just appeared at a cleanup—"

"She followed me. Romantic gesture." Konstantin shrugged like this was obvious. "Sweet."

The lie was smooth as glass.

Yakov wasn't buying it. Neither was the other man.

But Konstantin stepped between me and their guns anyway.

"Last warning. Lower your weapon or lose the hand holding it."

The promise sat in every word.

One second. Two. Three.

Yakov lowered his gun.

Holstered it.

Said something in Russian that sounded like he was swallowing glass.

Konstantin's hand found my arm again. Yanked me forward.

"Move."

He dragged me through the trees. I stumbled after him, bells screaming, barely keeping my feet under me.

I tried to pull free. "Let go—"

His grip tightened. "You want me to let go?" He didn't slow. "Fine. I let go, they put bullet in your head. That better?"

No. Fuck. No.

I stopped fighting.

We reached a parking structure. Black Mercedes SUV waiting in shadows.

Yakov climbed in front. The other man beside him.

Konstantin opened the back door. His hand between my shoulder blades, shoving.

I tried to resist. Planted my feet.

He didn't ask twice.

Just picked me up and tossed me inside like I weighed nothing.

The leather was ice against my thighs.

He slid in beside me before I could scramble away.

Too close. His thigh pressed against mine. His arm stretched across the back of the seat.

Caging me.

The locks engaged.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

I lunged for the door handle.

It didn't budge.

"Child locks," Konstantin said, pulling out his phone. "You think I'm stupid?"

We pulled into traffic.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I pressed them between my knees but the trembling spread through my whole body.

Konstantin typed on his phone. Ignored me.

"Let me out." My voice cracked.

He didn't look up.

"I said let me—"

"I heard you." Still typing. "I'm ignoring you."

Bastard.

"Your men don't believe you."

"They will."

"They know I'm not really—"

"They know what I tell them to know." He finally looked at me. Those ice-water eyes pinning me in place. "As will you."

Through the window, Christmas lights blurred past. Families walking together. Normal people living normal lives.

I watched it disappear.

That was you two hours ago. Mall elf. Bus rider. Now you're—

"What's your name?"

The question cut through my spiral.

I didn't answer.

"I asked you a question." His voice dropped. "Answer."

"Dani."

"Full name."

"Daniela. Daniela Morales."

"Daniela." The way he said it, accent just touching the edges, made it sound foreign. Like it belonged to someone else. "You live alone?"

Why did that matter?

"Yes."

"Family?"

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

"No."

"Good." He went back to his phone. "Makes this easier."

Makes what easier?

We passed a church. Nativity scene on the lawn. CHRISTMAS EVE SERVICE - ALL WELCOME.

All welcome except witnesses to murder.

"You're shaking."

I didn't look at him. "You just killed someone."

"Yes. I did." He pocketed his phone. Turned to face me. "And you watched.”

“Now you understand? You belong to me. My fiancée. My problem to handle."

"I'm not your—"

His hand shot out. Grabbed my jaw. Forced me to look at him.

"Say that again."

The threat in his voice made my stomach drop.

"I'm not—"

He leaned closer. Close enough I could see the exact shade of his eyes. See the complete absence of mercy in them.

"You are mine, Daniela. Mine to keep. Mine to use." His grip tightened. "Mine to fuck if I want. Or mine to kill. Your choice which you prefer."

Neither. I preferred neither.

"So." His thumb pressed against my jaw. Hard. "You be good girl and play fiancée. Or you be dead girl. Simple."

He released me.

Turned away.

Like it was decided.

My jaw throbbed where he grabbed me. I could still feel the imprint of his fingers.

He was going to kill me. Maybe not today. But soon.

The thought should have terrified me.

It did.

But underneath the terror, something else whispered.

Something about the way he stepped between me and those guns. The way he said 'mine' like he meant it.

Stop. Stop looking for humanity in a monster.

We turned onto the highway. Leaving the city. Everything familiar.

Gone.

Konstantin pulled off his coat. Dropped it over my lap without looking at me.

"You're cold. Put it on."

Not a request.

The coat was heavy. Warm from his body. Smelled like cedar and money.

I didn't move.

"Now, Daniela."

The way he said my full name made it a command.

I pulled the coat around my shoulders because I was freezing and because defying him over a coat seemed stupid when he'd already threatened to break my legs.

The city slid past outside. Christmas lights everywhere. Families. Joy.

A little girl waved from a window.

I didn't wave back.

Couldn't.

Because I was already gone.