Page 16 of Hot Chocolate & Hitmen

“No one tells anyone about this.Ever,” I bark. “Not even Grace,” I mumble, my words likely lost to the wind. I palm my face, barely feeling the touch even though I know it’s happening.

“Wasn’t planning on it, brother.” Key hollers, scratching at the back of his head as we all turn and gaze at the evidence of our complete and utter stupidity.

An entire small family-sized cabin filled to the brim with firewood, a generator, and dozens of different sorts of supplies.

Of course there’s emergency supplies for guests here. Fuckingduh. The owners must be used to storms like this randomly passing through and appropriately prepared for their guests. We’re fucking idiots. Just…

Fuck!

I angrily kick at my now meager-looking sled of firewood, cursing as my wound smarts. Hopefully the stitches are still intact. I have a feeling Grace wouldn’t be all too happy with me busting a stitch just after she fixed me up.

Storming into the cabin, I growl out commands wanting to get back inside as soon as possible. Thankfully, the roar of the wind doesn’t reach the inside space, giving a reprieve to my voice that’s starting to rasp from all the shouting.

“Grab everything you can. We need to move it all inside before we’re completely cut off from it. There’s got to be somewhere inside where we can store it.”

Catching on quickly, Atlas and Key start to silently pile more wood onto the sled before grabbing what they can.

Locking up the cabin again, satisfied our haul will sustain us, we’re striding past the side of the house when I’m stunned to a stop.

Chapter Eight

Through the frosted windows I catch a glimpse of Grace dancing around the kitchen, and my breath leaves me in a rush.

She glides gracefully to a tune that I can’t hear, hips swaying enticingly as she carefully decorates sugar cookies. With gentle hands, she adds little candy accents, head swaying side to side, causing her hair to shimmer under the lights.

Watching her creates an ache in my chest. Even after the cruelty she's endured, Grace retains her warmth and joy for life. Her inherent sweetness draws me like a moth to a flame, making me crave to wrap her in my arms and shield her from all darkness.

When she notices us outside, her eyes crinkle up happily as she waves, beckoning us in from the cold. Needing no further invitation, I boot open the front door–completely decimating the door stop she had in place–and drag the sled in and off to one side with the intention of putting it somewhere proper later. Right now, all I want to do is bask in Grace’s sweet presence.

I pull off my snow-caked boots at the door before crossing to the kitchen, Atlas and Key right on my heels. Stopping in thearchway, we watch as Grace continues to dance and sing to the Christmas music she has playing from a speaker, a wide smile on her face and a joyful flush on her cheeks. She can’t hold a tune worth a crap, but I find my own lips quirking up at the sound–it’s beautiful coming from her.

Grace turns from the counter, catching sight of us before giggling and swiping flour off her cheek. "You boys look frozen solid! Come get warmed up while I finish these cookies."

The domestic scene feels strangely comforting.

"Here, taste!" Grace insists, holding out a crispy golden cookie for me to try. As I lean in, sugar and vanilla explode across my tongue, and her eyes widen with delight at my obvious enjoyment. "So yummy, right? I call them my Christmas Crack Cookies because they are totally addictive."

I can't resist brushing the smudge of flour from her skin, my heart skipping at her pretty blush.

"Can I help with anything?"

She chuckles, eyeing the three of us who have still somehow not moved from her side. “Uh, yes. Actually, you can. You can go get changed. You’re tracking snow and ice everywhere!” She tries to sound irritated, but the glint in her eyes betrays her.

She just wants us to get more comfortable.

“Yes, ma’am.” I salute her, slowly backing my way out of the kitchen without taking my eyes off of her until I have no other choice.

Nodding my head towards the front door, we fix the lock, managing to get it back on–in a fashion–before grabbing our duffles. Heading upstairs, we ignore the second bedroom where our two hostages are tied up, and head straight to the master bedroom. As soon as the door shuts behind us, I start peeling off my wet outer layers.

"Fuck, it feels good to get out of those frozen clothes," Key groans, flopping back onto the massive bed.

I toss a blanket at his head. "Don't get the bed wet, dumbass. That’s Grace’s."

Atlas stands glowering, arms crossed over his chest. I know that look on his face well.

"What's on your mind, Atlas?"

His lip curls in a snarl. "I wanna know how the hell we didn't realize there was an entire cabin full of wood ten feet away from the damn door."

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