Page 2 of A Christmas Auction

“Holly,” I corrected, pushing my long blonde hair out of my face.

“Holly. That’s a nice name. Very Christmasy,” he mumbled around the napkins he’d pressed against his wound. “I love Christmas,” he moaned.

I snickered, wanting to tell him I had been referring to him as Christmas guy all night in my head but thought better of it. He might not see it as a compliment, and he’d already had a shit night. I got him a tall glass of water then proceeded to call him a cab. He was in no position to be driving and didn’t so muchas suggest otherwise. He simply brooded while I cleaned up the broken glass, picked up the empties, then put all the chairs on the tables for the cleaning crew that would come in the morning.

At least I didn’t have to clean the bar before I could crash. That was one rule I’d made when the owner offered me the position of manager. It came with a one-bedroom studio above the bar, and a cleaning service to wash the dishes, bathrooms, floors, and all of the tables before the first-shift bartender started at three p.m. Mac was the only other employee that worked at The Desert Shack. He came in early, made sure the kegs were full or changed out, all the brew was stocked, and inventory checked before we opened at five p.m. My shift technically started at six every evening, but I usually helped where I could. Mostly because I liked Mac. He was an ex-con and a biker that ran with the Las Vegas Hounds. He’d offered many times to take on the night shift, but that’s when the tips are the best, so I’d declined. Plus, I knew he liked to hang out with his club brothers in the evenings.

Mac treated me like I was his little sister, as did the many bikers from his club that came to drink, play darts, and jam out to 80s rock such as AC/DC, Van Halen, Aerosmith, and Ozzy Osborn. I loved those days, because 80s music was awesome. But, since it was the Friday after Thanksgiving, the club was spending time with their old ladies and the biker bunnies. Boy Mac would be pissed if he heard about the lumberjack sitch.

After I counted out the evening’s cash, while still waiting for the cab for my drunken customer, I thought about what I really wanted for Christmas this year. The answer was always the same…to open my own bar.

For the past five years, I’d saved every penny and tip possible toward achieving that goal. I’d taken business courses online, and flawlessly ran this rinky-dink place to the best of my ability, but I wanted more. At thirty years old, Ineededmore.

I wanted a real life. One I was proud of. A career of my own making. I had thirty grand saved but it wasn’t enough. The banks said I needed a few hundred thousand to open a new, hip bar in the city of Las Vegas.

What I really needed was an investor—or a miracle.

A honking horn broke me from my reverie. I grabbed my handy-dandy taser as I put back my rifle and clipped the taser to the front of my jeans. A girl could never be too careful exiting into a parking lot at night, and my drunken customer would need assistance.

“That’s your cue, my friend,” I said as I walked around the bar and held out my arm. He clutched me around my shoulders, a bit wobbly on his feet.

“I’m sorry I broke your glass, and I wasn’t much help with that guy,” he shared miserably.

I smiled at him as I helped him out the front door. “No, you were a perfect gentleman. But word of advice…” I said as he opened the bright yellow cab’s door.

“Yeah?” He turned bleary, sorrow-filled eyes in my direction.

“Lay off the Mariah Carey.” I grinned.

He burst into laughter but then immediately winced, pressing his handful of bloody napkins back to his lip. “Ouch. And noted. I’ll pick up my car tomorrow. Thanks for, you know, being kind.”

I patted his shoulder. “You too. Good luck.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it.” He groaned and his head flopped back against the seat as I shut the door and slapped the top of car.

The driver didn’t even spare me a glance before they jetted off.

A cool breeze cascaded along my bare arms as I took in the parking lot and breathed in the cool desert air. There were multiple cars left in the lot, which wasn’t unusual at a bar. Lots of people imbibed more than they should and caught a ridehome then picked up their cars the next day. Usually, by the time I left the building to run my errands in the late morning, all the cars would be gone.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and lifted my head to the sky, allowing the stress of the night to leave my body one quiet second at a time.

I wasn’t prepared for the arms that suddenly wrapped around me from behind. One hand covered my mouth while the other arm locked around my upper body, slamming my back into a male chest. Instantly, I started to fight against the giant who held me trapped.

“What did I say, you little tease?” The booming voice of the lumberjack sneered against my cheek, the stench of stale beer and something sour flooded my senses, while fear, caked in the need for survival, rose to the surface from within me.

I screamed behind the hand he held over my mouth, but no one remotely close would hear it. I was utterly alone and about to experience my worst nightmare coming true.

We were out in the middle of nowhere. But like a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel, I saw a pair of headlights headed this way from the direction of the old airport. Lots of rich men and women with private planes used that airstrip now that it had been revamped and was under new ownership after it had been the location of a violent mafia war.

Maybe the person in the car could help…

I kicked and scratched at the lumberjack with every ounce of energy I could muster.

He only held me tighter, one of his beefy sweaty fingers pushing between my lips. The taste of salt and grease made me gag but also gave me an idea. I took the chance and opened my mouth wider. As I’d hoped, his finger slid inside, and I bit down as hard as I could, tasting the metallic flavor of blood and feeling the crunch of bone.

My attacker howled in pain and let me go. In a flash, I spun around screaming at the top of my lungs while waving my hands in the air with the hopes of getting the attention of the car driving by. I started to run in the direction of the road, willing to put my body in front of that car rather than be left alone with my attacker. Before I could make it a solid fifteen feet, another man came barreling out of nowhere, and slammed the full weight of his large body into mine. I flew to the side, my hip and palms crashing to the ground as I skidded across the gravel, bits of rock and dirt digging painfully into my palms.

I ripped the taser from my pants and just barely got my trembling fingers on the trigger before I was yanked up by the roots of my hair.

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