Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I ’m already moving the second I see Key turn toward me, practically tossing Grace in my direction. She stumbles into my arms, her breath coming fast, eyes wide as she clings to my shirt for balance. Key’s gaze locks onto another attacker, and I know he’s about to throw himself back into the fight that has somehow migrated to the living room.
“Stay close to me, Sugar,” I murmur, steadying her. My grip on her tightens as I scan the room, calculating. More of these bastards are coming in, their footsteps heavy as they flood the place. Well, if they want a fight, I’m more than ready to give them one.
One of the guys closes in on us, weapon raised, and I glance around for anything, anything at all. My eyes land on the string of Christmas lights hanging above us, their multi-colored glow casting shadows along the walls. Perfect.
Without hesitation, I push Grace down low behind the tree, out of the line of sight. I yank the strand of lights from the wall, the bulbs snapping and crackling in my hands as I pull them down. Wrapping the string around my fists, I step back into the open, swinging the lights like a makeshift garrote, ready to strike.
The first guy lunges at me, gun drawn, but I twist to the side, looping the lights around his wrist. He tries to pull away, but I yank him forward, the glass bulbs digging into his skin, shredding his sleeve as he yells out in pain. I tighten my grip, pulling him closer until he’s face-to-face with me.
“Merry Christmas, asshole,” I growl, jerking the lights hard, and his weapon clatters to the floor. With a quick spin, I use the lights to fling him into the wall, watching with satisfaction as he crashes into a display of decorations.
The second guy is already advancing with his fists raised, and I know I’ve only got seconds. I duck under his swing, wrapping the string of lights around his neck and pulling tight. The bulbs pop and crack, a burst of multi-colored lights sparking in the dim room as I drag him back, the lights cutting into his skin. He claws at his throat, struggling, but I hold him firm, pressing him back into the corner.
“Atlas!” Grace’s voice pulls my attention, and I see another guy heading straight for her. Fury surges through me, and I toss the guy in my grasp aside, watching him crumple before I lunge across the room, sliding between Grace and her attacker.
The guy’s eyes flick to me, gun raised, but I’ve still got the remnants of the lights wrapped around my hands. With a quick, fierce movement, I swing the string at his face, the shattered bulbs slicing into his cheek, blinding him with a flash of sparks and pain.
He stumbles, so I charge forward, landing a brutal punch to his jaw that sends him crashing to the ground. I keep my gaze fixed on him as I stalk forward, using my boot to stomp on his face until I’m sure he won’t be moving anymore.
Turning back, I see Grace watching me, her eyes wide, her expression somewhere between awe and shock. I reach for her, grabbing her hand, and pull her close. “You all right?” I ask, my voice rough but steady.
She nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”
“Good.” I wrap an arm around her, holding her tight against my side as I survey the room, my jaw set. “Then let’s finish this.”
I barely get a second to steady Grace before another guy charges around the corner right towards us. I keep Grace behind me and glance around, searching for anything I can use–and there it is, a gaudy, glittering Christmas wreath hanging on the wall. I rip it down, the fake holly and berries scratching at my palms as I swing it like a shield.
The guy closes in, but I slam the wreath into his face, the prickly branches scraping his skin. Losing his footing, I’m on him before he can right himself. With no hesitation, I shove the wreath around his neck and yank down hard. He chokes, clawing at the branches digging into his throat, his face turning red as he tries to free himself. With a grunt, I twist until it’s so tight around his neck that it won’t budge. Kicking him as hard as I can, I send him stumbling into a pile of broken glass and holiday debris.
“Nice touch,” Key calls, smirking as he ducks under a punch from another attacker. He’s bleeding from a cut above his eyebrow, but the grin on his face says he’s far from done. He grabs a loose garland from the floor, snapping it like a whip, and swings it around his attacker’s legs, tripping him with one solid yank. The guy crashes to the ground, and Key pounces.
The sounds of shouts, grunts, and the occasional pop of breaking Christmas lights fill the room, and I spot a stack of candy canes still intact on the side table.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
I grab one, breaking the tip between my teeth until it’s a jagged point, and then I plunge it into the neck of a guy who didn’t see me coming. He howls, pulling back, blood dripping from his hand as he stares at the crimson-streaked candy cane encased in his palm. “What kind of psycho?—”
“You walked into the wrong house tonight,” I growl, kicking him back as he tries to steady himself.
Teddy, meanwhile, has gotten his hands on a string of jingle bells and is using them like a flail, swinging the heavy metal orbs against the skulls of the men unlucky enough to get close. Each impact is punctuated with a loud jingle, an almost absurd soundtrack to the chaos around us. One particularly unlucky guy takes a bell to the temple and goes down hard, his head likely ringing with the cheery chime.
Through the haze of flying fists and broken decorations, I catch sight of Grace again, crouching behind the Christmas tree, her eyes wide but alive with a mix of fear and determination. She’s gripping an ornament like a weapon, ready to strike if anyone gets close.
I charge toward her, cutting off another attacker who’s got his sights on her. In one fluid motion, I pick the entire tree up, ornaments and all, and use it like a battering ram. He falls back, tangled in the lights and branches. I press my foot against his chest to keep him pinned, before lifting the tree and slamming it down on his head again and again. Checking the bloody pulp underneath, I figure it’s his time to tap out, so I throw the tree aside.
Yeah, definitely dead.
“Atlas!” Grace’s warning comes just in time from her new hiding spot behind the sofa. Glancing in the direction she’s looking, I spot another guy pointing a gun at me. I dodge to the side, barely avoiding the shot, and grab the nearest thing within reach–a handful of tinsel. I rip the lid off, flinging the silvery strands into his face, blinding him for a moment as he loses his footing, getting tangled in a sparkling mess.
Not giving him time to recover, I charge forward and grab a large nutcracker from the mantel, before slamming it down on his head. He goes down, and I keep going, glancing around to see if any more are coming.
The room is littered with wreckage, the air thick with the scent of pine, smoke, and the metallic tinge of blood. The floor’s a chaotic mess of torn decorations, fallen bodies, and dark streaks of blood. My pulse is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears, drowning out the sounds around me. Every instinct is screaming to keep moving, keep fighting, and–most of all–to keep Grace safe.
Then, through the haze, I hear them. More footsteps, coming in fast and heavy from the hall. The next wave of attackers, and they’re not coming empty-handed. I see the glint of gun barrels through the doorway as they crowd in, and every muscle in me goes taut.