Page 29 of Hot Chocolate & Hitmen

The three bastards are sprawled on a leather couch barely big enough to hold them all, with Grace tucked comfortably in the middle beneath a soft blanket. My teeth grind, seeing her tiny form enfolded by thickly muscled arms on either side as some romantic Christmas movie plays out on the large projector screen.

I linger just inside the doorway, jaw clenched. The giant notices me first, his heavy brow lowering over his beady eyes. A territorial glint enters his stare as his arm tightens around Grace, hand spanning almost the entire width of her waist. She glances over next, lips parting in surprise.

"Oh, Jason! Come on in, we're going to watch all the Christmas classics," Grace invites brightly with only a hint of unease.

As if I'd ever lower myself to cozy up with my girlfriend and her new harem.

"This looks cozy," I infuse the words with as much disgust and sarcasm as possible.

An awkward beat passes where Grace bites her lip, a pretty flush staining her cheeks. The man on her other side leans in then–the one who snapped my finger–and whispers something in her ear that has her embarrassment shifting to shy pleasure.

My hands fist helplessly at my sides as I watch Grace duck her head with a breathless laugh, the intimate moment fueling my already simmering temper. These thugs think they can just slide into my place and take what’s mine? Like hell!

I take a menacing step closer, unsure what my actual plan is, when the leader–Teddy, I think–pins me with an icy look.

"I suggest you keep your distance," he says mildly. Too mildly. My courage falters under the weight of his stare, promising swift retaliation if I take another step.

I pivot and sit on another couch, not sure why I’m even still in the room.

If I’m here, maybe it will prevent them from putting their hands all over her. Or maybe I just want to be in the back of her mind, preventing her from being able to actually enjoy herself in her whorish ways. If I can’t be happy, neither can she.

I sit stiffly on the couch, refusing to relax into the plush leather. On the other couch, Grace rests her head on the giant's shoulder, looking up at him with those big doe eyes that used to gaze at me with such love and tenderness.

Now she directs that affection at these criminals without hesitation like a fucking slut. The sight turns my stomach.

The one who broke my finger–I think his name’s Key–says something that makes Grace erupt in giggles as she hides her flushed face against his chest. His hand strokes up and down her side in a familiar, possessive way that has fury burning through my veins.

That should be me holding Grace close, touching her soft skin, drawing sweet laughter from those pouty lips. Instead, I'm relegated to this pathetic observer role, forced to watch helplessly as strangers paw at my girlfriend.

Teddy takes Key’s spot as he gets up from the couch. Keeping my focus on the trio, I watch as he tilts Grace's face toward him, brushing his mouth teasingly over hers. She sighs against his lips, body going pliant, hand fisting in his shirt to draw him closer. The disgusting pig looks so smug when he finally releases her swollen lips, Grace still clinging to him like she can't bear to pull away even as Blondie nuzzles into the hollow of her throat.

Completely focused on them, I whirl around when I sense movement over my shoulder, finding Key leaning casually on the back of the couch. Mischief and the promise of pain glinting in his tawny eyes.

"Enjoying the show?" He asks with a smirk. "I know we certainly are. Our girl is exquisite—so responsive. I can see why you wanted to keep her all to yourself."

His goading words spark my already smoldering temper, and I move to surge to my feet when his strong grip clamps down on my shoulder, holding me in place.

"Ah ah, let's not interrupt." His calculating gaze bores into me. "Tell me, does it turn you on seeing her come undone for us? Hearing those breathy little moans that you could never pull from her?"

I jerk in his hold, straining furiously, but his hand is an iron manacle forcing me to remain a helpless witness. Behind him, Grace whimpers and arches her back. From the way she reacts, it’s not difficult to deduce that one of those heathens has slipped his hand between her thighs.

Key chuckles caustically. "I'll take that reaction as a yes. But that’s just. Too. Bad. You could have had this forever if you weren’t such a vile piece of shit," he growls, tightening his gripon my shoulder in warning. Releasing his grip, he saunters back to reclaim another spot with Grace–right between her legs–before I can spit out the venomous curses crowding my tongue.

I shake with impotent rage and disgust, nails carving crescents in my palms nearly hard enough to draw blood as I stand and leave the room. Grace doesn’t even notice, too caught up in her whorish ways.

This game ends now, one way or another. They've taken this too far.

Chapter Twelve

Ilounge back comfortably on the plush couch, enjoying the warmth from the fire and occasional sips of my steaming mug of spiked hot chocolate. In my hands, the knitting needles click steadily as I work on my newest project. The soothing, repetitive motions help me relax and enjoy my cozy Christmas surroundings, even as shouts drift down the hallway from where the guys continue their intense interrogation of ourhouseguest.

I know the harsh business they need to conduct is necessary if they're to rescue that poor kidnapped girl. But hearing the pained cries puts a bit of a damper on my holly jolly mood. Still, I have every confidence Atlas, Teddy, and Key will get the vital information they need. Then we can all get back into the holiday mood, seeing as it’s the Christmas season.

I try to focus on my knitting, but another agonized wail has me fumbling my needles. Sighing, I set the half-finished project aside, my previous relaxed mood evaporating. I'm tempted to cover my ears to childishly block out the unpleasant sounds, but I know Teddy and the others are only doing what's necessary.

Still, all that screaming is seriously harshing my Christmas spirit.

I debate trying to lose myself in a movie or book, but restlessness keeps me from settling. I need a distraction. My gaze lands on the heaping platter of fresh-baked cookies cooling on the counter.

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