Page 33 of Festive Fugitive
“You fucking feral monster! No wonder Sullivan kept you on a leash!” Lyle yells, and I can’t help but look back. Even if I made such a bad romantic choice, my heart screams not to leave.
I turn my head in time to spot Cesar grabbing the head of another man and slamming it against the hood of thecar so hard blood spills over the polished yellow. When the guy waves toward Cesar, trying to grab him, Cesar pulls his head up and slams it into the car again, somehow with even more force. This time, the guy slides off the vehicle and into the snow.
Is this really the man I’ve fallen for?
But if he’s doing this to protect me…
Lyle takes a step back and fiddles with something in his pocket, his face redder than the blood surrounding them. It must be a gun, but the other goon next to him is faster. As soon as he pulls out a firearm and aims, Cesar is on him, a wolf cornered yet fighting with his teeth bared.
The gun goes off, my heart stops, but Cesar manages to kick it away in time, so he’s not shot. He uses his bulk to throw himself at the shooter, and as soon as Cesar has him on the ground, he grabs his head and twists it with a crack. There’s no hesitation. He’s done this before.
Cesar turns to Lyle, bouncing back up, but the stranger pulls out a… piece of paper? He’s standing with his back to me when he reads out a nonsensical combination of words.
Cesar freezes.
Then drops to his knees in the wet mud.
“That’s more fucking like it, you murderous dog! You will do as I say!” Lyle yells, breathing hard, and leans forward, placing his hands on his thighs. He was terrified. But now he isn’t.
He pulls out a gun.
What did he do to Cesar? My man is panting, covering his head with his arms and rocking back and forth like he’s having a panic attack or some kind of PTSD reaction.
All because of something this fucker’ssaid?
The cold air fills my lungs as I inhale and squeeze the hammer. Maybe I have a death wish when it comes to the men I pick, but I’m not leaving him.
Chapter 14
Eli
Ihavenoideawhat’s going on. Nothing about the scene playing out below makes any sense. Even the blood staining the snow to form a surreal pattern seems out of place outside the cabin where Cesar and I have led such a peaceful existence for what feels like weeks.
But one thing is certain, whatever’s happening below is not right. Cesar killed those men to protect me, and he doesn’t belong on his knees, twisting in pain. He deserves so, so much better, and while I know he would want me to run, I can’t leave him like this.
In one quick move, I slide down the roof like snow sports are in my nature. All I can see is the gun pointed at Cesar, and the monster who’s turned my man into a helpless creature. So what if Cesar is a beast too? He’smybeast.
When I drop to the ground, my fall is cushioned by snow, but my barely healed ankle gives way with a nasty crack that makes bile rise in my throat. Heat shoots to my face as I stifle a cry of pain, stumbling toward a catatonic Cesar and the man watching him with strange satisfaction.
My heart thrums like an engine at full throttle, and I’m spurred on by the memories of Cesar smiling at me when he showed off his first Christmas paper craft.
The guy turns his gaze to me in shock, and he’s in the process of aiming his gun my way, but he’s too slow. I’ve come at him out of nowhere, and I might not have skill, but I have a hammer, and surprise is my only advantage.
I slam my weapon right between his eyes with all the force I can muster, and when bone breaks, he collapses like a puppet dropped by the hand holding its strings. There’s a dent between his brows now, where the claw of my hammer head went in, and when I rip it out, he makes a strange noise, shaking like a fish out of water. But as erratic as the bastard’s acting, he is surely stronger and more capable than me, so I don’t waste any time and bring the hammer down once more.
I’m in a daze, and right now, he’s not human. He’s a cockroach I need to exterminate. His limbs twitch a few more times, but once he stills, I freeze with the tool raised over my head, and only now sense sticky heat on my skin. I must be covered in blood.
I’m heaving as I look around at the five dead men, their blood coloring the snow like wine spilled on a pristine tablecloth. But then my attention turns to Cesar, still on his knees as if he hasn’t even noticed me. He’s rocking back and forth, making the tiniest little whines and covering his head.
I don’t know what to do.
This must be some extreme PTSD or a panic attack of some sort.
I kneel right next to him, unsure if I should touch him right now, but I place my hands on his arms. “It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re fine,” I say, even though nothing is fine. This is a catastrophe. There’s five dead men in our yard, my ankle’s so numb I can barely feel it, and the one person I can trust acts as if I’m not there.
“Cesar, it’s me, Eli. They’re all dead, you’re safe,” I try, rubbing his shoulders, which are now covered by blood-soaked fabric. I should be disgusted. I should be afraid, but Cesar’s safety takes precedence and I attempt to hug him.
Again, no reaction.
