Page 2 of Naughty Santa Daddy

Just then, two other women I intern with come striding by us, giggling as they make their way into the garden of Santas. My eyes boggle out of my head at how short one of their skirts is—I mean, this is a kids’ event, right?

“Yeah, most of the volunteer elves aren’t here for the kids,” he says, picking up on my thoughts as he nudges my arm in an effort to get me moving toward the group.

“Are you? Or is it the draw of nurses and slutty elves?” I ask him, and he barks out a laugh as he scratches at the white stuff coating his natural facial hair.

Just then, a van emblazoned with the name of some medical supply company, its tires screeching as it turns way too fast into the parking lot, has terror shooting through my veins.

I stumble, trying to come to a dead halt while the sexy Santa at my elbow continues forward.

“No, no, no,” I quietly chant over the alarm bells going off in my mind as I turn on my heel. His hand grips my shoulder, trying to steady me, but I yank it off, keeping it in my grasp as Iturn to run back inside the relative safety of the garage. “Follow me!”

There’s no reason for the mask that I saw on the driver, other than the one I’ve been trained to look for since childhood. Or, really, since the days following the evening when my childhood was stolen from me.

We no sooner cross back into the opening of the dimly lit structure than the first shot rings out, followed by the screams of those in the courtyard.

“Get down,” I demand, pulling him between the cement outer wall and a beat-up Buick with a handicap placard on it. “And take that damn coat off.”

His eyes burn into mine as he raises his head up for a peek through an opening in the wall. Before his head clears it, a grouping of bullets hit the cement, spraying fragments everywhere.

“My brothers,” he growls, yanking the bright coat off to expose a leather vest over a wife beater. When he slides the pants down, I find myself searching his waistband for anything that might help us defend ourselves. “I’ve got to …”

“Stay alive,” I tell him, pushing aside the terror I’m feeling. “Are you armed?”

“No, my piece is in my… damn, babe,” he cuts off what he was saying the moment he looks at me. “You’ve got a cut on your cheek.”

That probably explains the tingling sensation I’ve had since they sent a spray of bullets our way,I think, reaching up to lightly prod at it just as he rips away the bottom of his shirt.

“There’s no time now,” I say, pushing his hand away when he reaches up. “My gun is in my SUV, but I’m parked on the other side of the garage. Follow me and stay low,Goliath.”

Just as his eyes narrow, one of his large hands reaches up to the patch with his name on it as he silently answers his ownquestion before giving me a nod. I immediately turn, crawling between the vehicles to get as far away from the scene behind us as possible.

“What’s your name?” he grunts, breathing heavily when I halt suddenly at the sound of footsteps running toward us from the main entrance of the hospital.

“Shhh,” I warn him, staying low until the security guards have passed us before turning to look back at him. His face is inches away from my bum, and I’m happy when he shifts his light blue eyes from there to meet mine. “Alex.”

Goliath

It’s been a minute since I’ve been in a shooting, and now I’m in my first mass shooting event. While it chafes my ass to moveawayfrom the gunfire behind us, the beautiful girl who caught my eye on the ride over here was right.

The only thing that would have come from me running into the fray would have been my death. Being my size, I’m nothing but a target.

When I clocked this woman walking through the garage and instantly fantasized about having her kneeling in front of me, as lovely as the view is, this isnotwhat I had in mind. She starts forward again, moving faster across an aisle that leaves us exposed, then freezes when we hear another group of footsteps coming in our direction.

“Check everywhere. Some of them got away,” a deep voice reaches us. When her large, dark eyes meet mine, it’s the momentary glimpse of panic that brings the faceless man’s words front and center for me.

This wasn’t random. These men are hunting.

I wrap my hand around her leather-encased ankle, and when she refocuses on me, I point my finger up over her left shoulder before mouthing, “Stairwell.”

Alex nods, releasing the breath she was holding before starting in the direction I indicated.

Every scrape we make against the concrete seems magnified to me, but we manage to make it to the opening without being detected. Unfortunately, it only leads to a staircase going up instead of an alternate exit.

Left with no option, she proceeds up the steps, carefully peeking out when she reaches the next level. At this point, I’m grateful to be upright as we cross to the side that leads to a door into the hospital.

Too soon, I hear boots on the stairs behind us, causing me to grab her arm and pull her in between an SUV and a pickup with a camper lid over the truck bed.

If I couldn’t feel her pulse racing under my grip, I’d think she was cool as a cucumber. That, and I’ve begun to understand that her deep exhales are how she releases her stress. When Alex slides her hand into a small slit at the top of her leggings, I’m more than a little disappointed when she only pulls out her key fob attached to a Swiss Army knife, roughly the length of her pinky finger.

---