Page 90 of Forbidden Billionaires: Vol. 9
“Of what?”
He lowered his eyebrows even more. “That your mouth. Belongs. To. Me.”
I loved when he acted all possessive. I was definitely going to let him fuck me again later when everyone else was taking an after-Christmas-dinner nap.
I plopped down on the couch between Ash and Slavanka.
“Ghostie thinks Isabella cut the…” I started.
“Whoa! Look!” said Ash, completely cutting me off. She pointed at the TV screen over the fire.
A news report was playing on a local English-language channel. And the breaking news banner at the bottom read: SANTA SIGHTING. Ash ran over to the TV and turned up the volume. I joined her and warmed my hands by the roaring fire.
“Now let’s go to Johanna Wolfenbergerdorff, live at the scene,” said the anchor.
The feed switched from the news desk to a blonde woman on a snowy mountain.
“Thanks, Heinrich,” said the reporter. “I’m here on the slope of the Royal Spielzeughersteller Hotel where all the presents were found.”
“Hey!” said Ash. “That’s our hotel!”
“It is,” I said. “And that’s the tower where we’re headed.” I pointed to a ruined stone tower in the background of the broadcast.
“Shhh!” she hissed and leaned closer to the TV.
“But that’s not all,” continued Johanna. “One young man claims to have actually recovered a piece of Santa’s sleigh.” She waved a guy on screen who looked like snowboarding was his whole personality. “Can you tell us why you think that the debris you found came from Santa’s sleigh?” she asked.
“Yeah, bro,” he said. “It has MADE IN THE NORTH POLE engraved on it.” He held up a piece of one the steel runners we’d jettisoned when Flash hit the eject button. The camera zoomed in on the engraving and then zoomed back out to Johanna.
“Well there you have it,” said Johanna. “Presents strewn all over the mountain, and a piece of Santa’s sleigh. Proof that Santa exists? Or a publicity stunt by the Spielzeughersteller Hotel to help perpetuate the myth that Santa’s workshop was…”
“It’s not a stunt, bro,” interrupted the snowboarder. “It’s for real. I was out here last night shredding the mountain. And I’d just stomped the sickest stalefish when these two sleighs flew right past me. Presents were flying everywhere. Santa was driving one of them. And the other sleigh was out of control. There was no driver. Just three snow bunnies wrapped in Christmas lights gettin’ some dick. It was totally gnarly, bro.”
“Ooookay,” said Johanna with a nervous laugh as she shoved the dude off screen. “Apologies for that graphic visual. Let’s talk to someone slightly more credible.” She waved a five-year-old girl over.
“Look at what Santa gave me!” the girl said with a huge gap-toothed grin. She held a brand-new doll up way too close to the camera.
“Can you tell us where you found that?” asked Johanna.
“Over there!” The little girl pointed up the mountain towards the tower.
The camera man zoomed in on some presents still littered on the mountain from our slutty sleigh ride. But what caught my eye were the people standing around the base of the tower.
One of them looked like…me. And another one had red hair. And another was definitely Daddy.
“Is that us?” gasped Ash.
“It can’t be. Right?” What kind of weird Christmas voodoo was this? First the sleigh on the balcony had disappeared, and now we were seeing ourselves on TV in a place where we definitely were not standing.
Before I could figure out what was happening, a dozen guys in yeti suits – big furry white things – skied into the top of the frame.
“Ah! Run!” yelled Ash at the TV as the yeti men all pulled Tommy guns off their backs as they approached the people at the tower. The people who looked like us.
They skidded to a stop, aimed, and fired.
The background of the news feed turned into chaos.
The impact of the bullets sent snow and rock and ice flying everywhere. Some nearby skiers fell over. Others turned and disappeared into the forest. Anything to get away from the Christmas morning massacre.
