Page 1 of Festive Fugitive
Chapter 1
Cesar
Youknowhowtheysay to not gift a puppy for Christmas? This rule should be extended to not giving away your child to erase a gambling debt, but my parents already did that, so I don’t get a vote.
At thirty-three, I’ve had a lifetime to resent the Holiday season, but this year is especially aggravating.Thisyear was supposed to be the Christmas when I get my freedom back from the man who took me in, trained me, tortured me, and made me his favorite weapon.
The man who’s been refusing to take my calls and left my messages on ‘read’, communicating through an assistant who can never give me any information. I’ve killed, maimed, and bled for him, but since I lost my eye, I’ve only been given menial jobs that don’t make full use of my skills, nor are worthy of praise.
At first, I thought it was because I lost some muscle mass during the rehabilitation period, but I’ve been determined in my training, and I know I’m ready to buy my life out with a final deed. If only Sullivan lets me.
That is why I am here, enduring the greens, reds, and golds, the cheerful music that reminds me of the last time I saw my mother. The air smells of pine, but it’s an artificial aroma originating from diffusers, and the undertone of fakeness it carries makes the protein bar I’ve eaten rise in my throat. My artificial eye feels particularly alien in its socket tonight. I haven’t worn it for days, but Sullivan doesn’t like it when I walk around with an eyepatch, so I bear with the discomfort for the sake of putting him in a good mood.
Sullivan loves to show off, so he paid for this grand gala to celebrate him becoming the new mayor. As his bodyguard—my replacement—trails behind him, I can see the mistakes he’s making from my spot on the mezzanine. To think I was tossed aside in favor of such a rookie… If Sullivan had more brains than cruelty in him, he’d have at least three guys like Lyle guarding him. This asshole was far too busy glancing at a woman in a short red dress to spot the man passing far too close to Sullivan. She smells of expensive perfume I can sense all the way up here. Women are not the kind of prey I seek, but the click of heels she makes with every step? As enjoyable as the ticking of a well-timed bomb.
My job tonight is being on standby, which pretty much means doing nothing but remaining on call. I’ve had enough of that and Iwilltalk to my boss. Face-to-face. I might have been a five-year-old sniveling kid when he took me in, but now I’m taller than him, bigger than him, meaner than him, and I could snap his neck if only—
Sullivan and Lyle disappear from my sight, so I move along to see them descend the stairs. They’re headed for the restrooms. Perfect.
Whatever happens, Iwillconvince him to set me free, to let me enjoy a future I’ve been preparing for years now. It’s the least I deserve after everything I’ve sacrificed for him. I might not know the exact debt my parents accumulated, but my work must have long paid it off. With interest.
I willnotbe ignored.
I push my way through a sea of guests and staff, including the waiters in Santa outfits. I’d call the way silver beards cover their faces a security risk, but I guess it’s not my job anymore. I snarl at someone who pops a cracker filled with glitter right next to me, covering the whole arm of my black suit in shiny particles.
Someone’s camera flashes close by, and I stiffen as the hair on my nape bristles. For a terrible moment, I expect lightning to go through my body, but we’re indoors, the weather outside is as perfect as it can be in December, and I have no reason to fear a storm tonight, so I ball my hands into fists and offer the guy with the cracker a fake smile. My boss would resent me if I slit this bastard’s throat, but I wish I could do it anyway. At least it’s just my glorified uniform, not something I wear because I want to.
When I can, my style of choice is much more utilitarian. A soft hoodie, a fitted T-shirt, a bomber jacket allowing movement, and cargo pants with many pockets to hide weapons, paired with combat boots to crush people’s toes with ease.
I have to accept the civilian’s apology, because I don’t want to lose Sullivan in favor of an argument I don’t truly care about. Shiny tinsel hangs over the restroom doors,as if pissing in December was somehow different from doing it any other time of the year.
When both men disappear inside, I stand with my back to the door and listen. I know Sullivan well enough to realize I shouldn’t give him too much time to think things through, so I only enter once I hear the splash of water. The two pairs of eyes stab my chest, but I ignore the sharpness of their gazes, remaining calm even when Lyle’s hand gravitates to the gun holstered at his side. Nothing good would come from a scuffle right now.
A part of me is pleased when Sullivan stiffens. It means that no matter how long he’s been ignoring me, he sees me as dangerous. Worth a degree of respect. So I give him a curt nod.
“Why are you here, Cesar?” he asks, shaking water off his hands. “You were meant to be on standby tonight.”
Like any other day in recent times. It did give me plenty of reading time, but each passing week feels like confirmation that I’m no longer needed, and that Sullivan wants to punish me for getting injured in the first place. As if I haven’t taken that stab in the eye for him.
A part of me knows his life should not be more important than my own health, but like every well-trained dog in existence, I can’t resist the compulsion to fight for my master.
“May I have a word, sir?” I ask, hoping Lyle takes the hint and leaves the two of us alone, but he remains in the restroom, watching me as if I’m an outsider.
Sullivan exhales, making me feel like even more of a burden. “It’s fine, Lyle, you can leave us, just stay outside and don’t let anyone in. This won’t take long.”
Another slap in the face.
Lyle gives me a dirty look I couldn’t give less of a shit about, and I’m finally alone with the man who prettymuch owns me. I should hate him, and sometimes disdain weaves its way into my heart, but it never stays long. He’s the closest thing to a parent I’ve ever had. It’s because of him that I have a life, plenty of money in my bank account, and the possibility of a future.
“So? What is it, Cesar?”
I clear my throat, ready to recite the few sentences I’ve memorized over the past few days. But when my mouth opens, it’s as if something’s wiped my memory clean. With sweaty hands, I nod, struggling to speak, even though I know exactly what I came here to say.
I’m a grown man. A pot-bellied seventy-year old with skin sunburned after his most recent skiing trip shouldn’t make me so flustered, and yet here I am, embarrassed like a child who’s broken his parents’ antique vase. He’s shorter than me, weaker, but something inside me still sees him as the towering figure who greeted me at his home so many years ago.
“I—I wanted to speak to you, sir. It’s been a long time, and another year’s gone by. I understand I’m not owed anything for the previous one, because of my injury, but I was active and ready in the past twelve months. I’d like to ask if you picked my tattoo yet.”
The last one, and we both know it. The only Christmas presents I ever got, etched into my skin from the year of my first kill at fifteen.
