Page 6 of Bad Santas

Because why am I suddenly not…scared anymore?

They start toward me then, the skull masks covering the lower half of their faces coming into view.Oh, fuck…Basic instinct begs me to move, to dash out the door and get to safety, but they effectively corner me in seconds flat and render me immobile. Nick shoves aside the coffee table and all, removing any possible blockade between us.

I gasp as he embeds himself in my personal space, caging me against the cushions.

“These are my sons,” he finally answers, the mask moving only slightly above his lips.

“I’m not your son,” one of them grounds out.

Nick rolls his eyes and sighs profoundly. “Fun, isn’t he? That’s mystepson, Klaus, since he insists on the ridiculous formality. And this here is Jack…” He motions to his side, on my right. “He’s flesh and blood.”

Jack tips his head when I glance at him but doesn’t speak an actual word, bulging arms crossed over his chest. Even in the dim lighting, it’s clear how similar his eyes are to his father’s.

Heart still rampaging, I take in each man surrounding me, and all I can think is—this can’t be happening. It’s a dream.

Or maybe a nightmare…

Who’s to say they won’t actually kill me? That I’m not the stupid girl who blindly trusted them because she has a masked man fantasy and a couple of screws loose.

“What did you mean when you said you were here for me?”

“I told you…” Nick leans in closer, nearly brushing our noses together. “You asked for three masked men, and here we are. Sonow,you’re going to run, and we’re going to catch you. And when we do, because we undoubtedly will—well, I’m not entirely sure yet. Let’s play that part by ear, shall we?”

“You’ll definitely scream, though,” Klaus adds, the deep register of his voice a blend of malevolent yet somehow seductive. “That’s the beauty of living out in the country… No one around to hear you miles.”

“And miles,” Jack concedes.

“And miles,” Nick finishes as he skims his lips along mine. “Better get moving, sweetheart. Santa loves a snack after delivering presents—and yours are starving.”

He eases back a blink later, right as Jack flips the lock on the patio door and pushes it open, allowing the frigid air from outside to crawl in and seep into my bones. Aroused, disturbed, I can’t tell which one I am more, frozen in place, my pulse thumping in my ears. There’sjustenough space for me to zip past them, but I don’t see how I’ll make it far without a coat or shoes.

Maybe that’s the whole point, though.

FIVE

Carol of the Bells - Christmas Classics Remix

I take off in a sprint,hoping speed will somehow prolong the inevitable ache of winter. But the snow comes up mid-calf and as my socks really begin soaking through, each step feels like hell. My entire body rattles as the arctic temperature stabs into every inch of my skin and sticks to the wild strands of my hair.

I can’t even scream. That’s how cold it is.

In the long run, the head start they gave me won’t make much of a difference. In fact, it’s only going to give them another leg up. I’m not built to run, and by the time they fall in pursuit, I’ll be exhausted, slowing down.

And that’s only if I don’t hurt myself in the process first.

It’s dark as hell and I don’t come back here often enough to know my way around blindly without running face-first into a tree or tripping over any low-lying brush. An injury would leave me the prey succumbing to the hunter far sooner than one would hope to be. Or perhaps none of it matters at all because the distant laughter now ringing out tells me the time has come, regardless. I’ve got a minute, tops, before one of them gains on me and pounces.

My stomach dips at the realization, but I keep it moving. Puffed clouds burst past my lips as I rally every ounce of strength I possess and book a sharp left, heading for the front of the house. There’s nothing at the back property line other than short fences and open fields that won’t shield me if I even make it that far. If I can get to the front, though, I can grab the spare key beneath one of the planters, snatch my car keys off the entry table, and drive the fuck off.

Lie to yourself. You aren’t driving off…

I can’t even scoff the thought away. For as brightly as fear wants to shine in all its should-be predominant glory, it’s second to excitement. There’s no denying it. I’m tickled-fucking-pink that my outlandish request was so titillating, Nick found himself wanting to play into it, too. So much that he went all out for it. I know trusting him after five shared minutes is foolish—fucking moronic, really—but deep down in my convoluted core, I don’t believe they mean me any harm.

At least not in the violent, end up on a true crime doc kind of way.

Am I really about to let three unfamiliar masked men fuck me, though?

“Keep running, Little Red. We love the hunt,” one of the three belts out, effectively pulling me out of my head.

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