Page 12 of Sinning for Santa

“What about that?”

Again, he doesn’t say anything, but spins on his heel and walks off with my phone in his pocket and my ID in his grip before speaking to one of his men.

What is he doing?

Dread unfurls in my gut as my mind races to come to a conclusion.

There’s no way I’m getting out of this unscathed. I witnessed him kill two men with ease. Not an ounce of remorse was on his expression as he took their lives as if he’s done it a thousand times.

I bet he has.

I shouldhave left the moment I recognised the aura of danger around him. Hell, I should never have gone back to that club. If I had just gone straight home after work and ignored the gnawing fire inside me then I wouldn’t have needed to come here and ask the Lord for forgiveness for my perverted sins.

The man that begged for his life before it was brutally taken called him Devon Marx. That detail and the part about some guy ordering those two men to come and kill him is all I heard before my heart beat so wildly that I fell deaf to anything but the rush of blood in my ears.

I’d come to church seeking absolution, but instead I found the devil.

Speaking quietly with one of the men that came rushing in after he killed the shooter, they both eye me as they converse, not trying to hide the fact their discussion is about me.

Devon hands the man my licence, before turning his gaze back to me, and I suddenly can’t swallow the lump that’s lodged in my throat.

He’s going to kill me.

A chill travels up my spine as he continues to stare, and hot tears prick the back of my eyes as I fight the need to cry.

Don’t let him see, Jaxcen. Never let them see.

If I’m going to die, then I’ll do it with dignity.

I jump with fright as the doors behind me fly open, and more men fill the space, moving to Devon like he’s their captain. It only takes a second to recognise that he is definitely the ring leader here as the men listen and take orders from him.

That’s when they start removing the dead bodies.

I squeeze my eyes shut as the lifeless eyes of one man come into view while two men lift him onto a tarp. There’s a bloody hole in the centre of his forehead that I just know I’ll never be able to unsee, along with the sound his body madeearlier when it thudded to the stone floor, the life ripped from him.

My stomach churns.

Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts.

My sister comes to mind. Her hair and looks similar to mine, looking closer in age to me than we actually are. She’s older, and much wiser, and has always had all her ducks in a row.

My ducks are an unsymmetrical zigzag of chaos that makes it hard to decipher, which is a never ending war inside my head.

Never quiet. Never at peace. Always disruptive.

“Are you alright Miss Summers?” My lids flash open at Father Peters’ voice, and I watch as he comes to sit by my side.

“No, Father,” I whisper, not trusting my voice to give away how close to tears I am. “That man is going to kill me.”

His smile is warm, as he shakes his head, his hand coming to rest over mine, which is trembling so obviously that I’m surprised I didn’t notice until now. “No, he won’t.”

“How do you know?” I lean in conspiratorially and he meets me halfway.

“Mr Marx may be the devil, but despite his reputation, he has morals.”

My brows hitch. “Could have fooled me.”

“There is no need to fear him, Miss Summers. All will be well.” He offers, and now I know he’s lying.

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