Santa’s Secret Keeper
SANTA’S SECRET KEEPER
TW: Adult content and language, murder.
DANI
Shit. Fuck. Apples. Oh, I’m so fucked. So, so, so very fucked.
The motherfucker is too fat, I can’t shove him inside the locker of the staff break room, and I can’t have him lying out here either. My heart is hammering in my chest so fast, I hear the thumping in my ears, which only makes the whole situation worse.
Quickly, I straighten my back and bite back the groan that’s fighting to escape me. “Quiet, Dani, you must be quiet,” I whisper to myself as I look around.
The room is comically small for someone his size, but I suppose it comes with the territory, given how shitty the mall itself is. Aside from the locker, there’s nowhere I can hide the body.
I could, technically, leave him here and slip away unnoticed, but that would get me into even more trouble, because then, everyone would find out how royally I fucked up.
Why in the hell did the target have to have a twin brother, and why, of all days, did both morons have to choose today, my hit day, to switch around?
“You had to go and kill the wrong piggy, you just had to,” I mutter to myself as I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots in frustration.
No, this won’t bring me down, it just won’t. Even the greatest of all have made mistakes before they reached said greatness, and I just happened to hit a bump in my road. Yeah, that’s exactly what happened—a little oopsie.
“Ay, Tony!” a man suddenly shouts, banging on the staff room door. “You naked in there, asshole? Stop jerking off and get your ass out there, the brats are already lining up to see Santa Claus!”
Panicking, I do the only reasonable thing anyone could do in my place—I lie. “Uh, yeah, almost ready. Don’t come in here, I have a bitch of a flu, don’t want you to catch it.”
“Shit, are you sure it’s the flu? You don’t sound like yourself,” the man says, and I hear him take a step back. “I can call Trina and tell her you need a replacement or something.”
“Already called someone!” I say quickly, dropping my voice as low as I can and hold my breath, waiting for the next comment or a pushback.
Thankfully, there’s nothing but a deep, grumbled “just make it quick,” followed by footsteps retreating.
“Wow, now you’ve done it,” I mutter and look down at the dead body. Just because I can, I nudge him with my foot—partly to check if he’s really dead and partly to get rid of the frustration of my own mistake.
Look at me, being versatile—went from a professional contract killer to a newbie messing up the targets, and then, just as casually, stepped into the role of a replacement Santa Claus for a rundown mall.
I need to fix this mistake, and I need to do it fast. After all, my reputation as a professional is on the line here.
There’s no way I’m okay with being known as “Vince’s mirror image” in the criminal circles. I followed my father’s footsteps and became a hitwoman only to prove those bastards wrong.
My family isn’t a bunch of fuck-ups, who always miss the hit or take down the wrong targets. Just because all of their successful hits were accidents doesn’t mean it’ll be the same case with me. No, no one will find out about this little mishap.
As I scan the room again, my eyes land on something shoved between the wall and the locker. It’s a red velvet sack, the same color as Santa’s suit. A slow smile spreads across my lips as I come up with an idea of how I can hide him and get to work instantly.
It takes me an embarrassingly long time to finally manage to fold the fat fuck up and shove him inside the bag, and by the time I’m done, I’m panting and sweating like a pig. At this point, I probably smell even worse than he does inside that bag.
Seriously, the stench is bad. Not only is he clearly someone who loves to drink on the job, definitely a heavy chain smoker, but also... it farts? Who knew dead bodies fart...
I’m wasting too much time, so I grab the suit, put it on and shove a few throw pillows from the couch under the clothes to appear bigger.
I hide my hair under the hat and glue the beard on my face haphazardly.
Finally, I step in front of the mirror, check myself out and practice the deepest voice I can manage.
Just as I force another “ho-ho-ho” out of my throat, the same man from earlier bangs on the door again. “Are you ready yet? The kids are starting to terrorize the elves, we need Santa Claus out there before they decide to start licking the paint off the prop candies again.”
Panic hits me harder than I thought it would. I look around the room, eyes wide, hands shaking. Fuck me, I can’t leave the nag here unless I want to risk someone peeking inside.
So, like the professional liar I am now, I double down and clear my throat. “Ready. I’ll be there in a minute.”
As soon as I hear his footsteps retreating, I grab the bag and start dragging it out of the staff room. The body inside is so heavy, I grunt every time I pull at the bag, but eventually, I manage to reach Santa’s chair, albeit probably red in the face and even sweatier than before.
Nearby, the kids are standing in a neat line, eagerly waiting for their turn to meet me, apparently, all of them grinning like they’re experiencing a real Christmas miracle.
I try to appear as casual as I can as I set the bag next to the massive chair, straighten up and force out a deep, “ho-ho-ho, Santa’s running a little late, but don’t worry, I always deliver.”
The kids cheer, parents grin, and the security guard frowns as he watches me. I can’t properly see his face from this far, but he does look pretty funny with the reindeer antlers attached to his cap.
Well, the antlers and his stance, which radiate nothing but distrust and suspicion, are what really do it for me.
Instead of raising more suspicion and paying too much attention to the guard, I sit down on Santa’s chair and slip into the role I’d never agree to take if it wasn’t for my own royal fuck-up.
As soon as my ass hits the chair, kids, one after another, rush to sit on my lap. Each one has a list of wishes—some small, some bigger and others downright impossible.
Some of the kids are genuinely nice, while others are crotch goblins that pull at my glued-on beard, and one particularly nasty brat tries to ‘kick me in the nuts’ when I gently scold him on behalf of his parents. Needless to say, I’ve never been this grateful in my life to not have male genitalia.
By noon, I’m beat and ready to haul my ass out of here, but the line with the kids only keeps growing longer.
“Next!” I call out and adjust the beard that I swear smells like meatballs.
A little girl runs up to me and climbs into my lap, her eyes almost as wide as her grin.
I force out a deep, “ho-ho-ho, Merry Christmas,” as the girl’s mother leans closer to me and whispers her name in my ear.
“Are you on my nice list this year, Emily?” I ask her, playing up the role of the happy fat dude.
Emily grins like I just handed her the greatest gift in her life and reaches into the pocket of her coat to pull out a list of demands, sorry, wishes.
The moment that list rolls out like toilet paper, I barely bite back a groan.
I swear, kids these days.. Who the fuck needs that many things? Since when is a toy or two not enough?
While she lists off all the colors of tiny cars she wants, I use the moment to look around. The security guard has stepped closer and is still watching me, but this time, when our eyes meet, he gives me a smirk and a wink.
Great, of course, the hottest man in the near vicinity has to flirt with me while I’m posing as an overweight man with a kid on my lap.
When Emily finally reaches the end of her list, I reach over to grab a candy cane from the elf, and the stupid glove, that totally isn’t ten times bigger than my hand, slips off and falls to the floor.
Because the security guard has great timing, he walks over just then. With a smile that could operate any woman’s legs like motion doors, he picks up the glove and hands it over to me. “Everything okay here, uh… Santa?”
Awesome, not only is he stupidly hot up close, even with those silly antlers on his head, but his voice just has to be wet-dream deep. And the dimples, fuck my life. Of all days, God just absolutely had to drop this sexy piece of man-meat right in front of me today.
“Perfect,” I grumble and quietly thank the stinky beard that muffles my voice. “Spreading joy, granting wishes and performing miracles. Just a regular Thursday, you know.”
The security guard laughs at my answer and nods at the elf who stands near Santa’s chair. “Take five, I think Santa over here would appreciate a moment to rest too.”
“Thanks, Ben,” the girl beams and rushes to tell the parents and kids still waiting in the line that Santa’s Corner will take a quick break.
As grateful as I am about a chance to get away from the tiny demons that keep farting on my lap, I’m also scared to leave the seat unattended because of... well, the bag. It’s not like I can go to the bathroom and drag the bag with me without raising eyebrows.
And again, the security guard somehow manages to choose the worst moment to try to hold a conversation. He leans closer and offers me his hand, “I’m Benjamin Harris, but everyone around here calls me Ben.”
Since this man had managed to make me forget I’m a grown woman, I feel like a puddle of teenage hormones instead. Because of his smile alone, I blink at him like I’m stupid and don’t offer my name back.
Ben clears his throat awkwardly, pulls back his hand and mutters a quiet, “right,” before he looks around, then returns his attention to me. “That bag of toys,” he nods at my bag of mistakes, “smells rather... funny.”
“Trade secret,” I blurt out before I can think of a logical answer, and of course, end up sounding like an absolute moron. Great, Dani, another point in your garden—now the security guard will totally fall for you. Not.