Page 5 of The Santas Who Stole Me

Zee pulls up with the car when I walk out of the building, throwing the bag over my shoulder in true Santa fashion. Calum should be proud of me for embracing the holiday season.

“It will be a short ride. I can’t let you up front in the seats, we both know you’ll bolt. You won’t get hurt back here.” I set the bag down in the trunk, shut the door despite her protests, and round the car, sliding in the front seat. “That went well,” I tell the guys with a huge grin and pull off my Santa beard.

Zee gives me his typical impassive stare. Calum curses as we head home, telling me I’m a dumbass, earning a throat punch. A little one. Maybe I do have some of that Christmas spirit after all. We speed away from downtown, my day suddenly becoming much more interesting.

Chapter Six

ZEKE

I park in the driveway calculating all the ways we could have gotten caught from that job. Adding in the girl and possible FBI moves us to a 3 percent chance, and we only do jobs that I calculate at less than .09 percent. This is problematic. I’m good with numbers and strategies. It’s easy to do when your head isn’t filled with emotions all the time.

I turn to Keeper for instructions. Calum stays silently pissed, and Keeper is grinning ear to ear. Opposite of their typical personalities. Keeper is displaying feelings of happiness, grinning and a look of excitement. He hasn’t been this way in a while, so I offer to help him keep it up.

“Want to use my basement?”

His pupils widen, and his eyebrows go up momentarily. My suggestion pleases him, furthering what I assume is happiness. Not being able to recognize those feelings in myself, I became an expert in seeing them in others.

“Yes, thanks, brother. Calum, get her out and bring her down while we set it up.” He starts whistling Jingle Bells, and Calum flips him off.

“She’s gonna fight, so watch your balls,” he calls to Calum.

Calum scoffs and reminds us he’s a professional before flipping his brother off one more time and walking to the trunk. Emotions might confuse me, but as much as the brothers joke with one another they care for each other.

Keeper walks with a bounce in his step as we head to the garage and access the entry to the basement. I scan my hand to open the door. The scent of bleach reaches my nose with a slight burn. The room has concrete gray walls and a white tiled floor with a drain in the center. Vats of acid line the walls, next to a toolbox and shelf in the corner, all silver metal. The place is sterile and clean now, but it’s used for disposing of bodies or providing proof of death if needed. At times the risk is lower if we take the kill here. Rare but necessary.

Keep clicks his tongue to his cheek and pulls a small metal chair from the corner to the center of the room.

“How do you prefer to tie her down? The chain?”

His surveys the hook chain we have assembled that dangles from the ceiling. Its presence is enough to intimidate almost anyone. Keeper shakes his head as if it offends him. “The cuffs.” He seems unsure still, but before I can question him, his attention is pulled to the door.

Calum barrels in with a tiny girl over his shoulder. Her dress is up, showing off her ass and white cotton panties. They cut across her round cheeks, and I ignore my dick twitching in response.

“Put me down. I don’t want all this trouble. I was trying to hide. I won’t tell anyone what I saw on the roof. I’m going to leave town anyways.” She continues to plead and bargain while they wrestle her into the chair and put on the handcuffs. She kicks at them, getting Calum in the face with her boot. Red liquid beads at the split she put in his lower lip.

He smiles and licks the blood before speaking. “No more kicking unless it’s consensual. Be still, or I’ll tie your feet to the chair.”

That gets her attention, and she sits up straight.

“What’s your name?” Keeper asks as she tries to rearrange her arms on her lap with the cuffs.

“Let me go.” Her foot meets Keeper’s shin in a swift motion.

He frowns but steps back, putting more distance between the two of them.

“I said no more kicking.” Calum glares, and she swallows so hard the gulp can be heard.

“Georgia, Georgie Davis. Does it matter?”

Glancing around, she pales and slowly looks back at him. Her blue eyes turn glassy, perhaps imagining what happens in a space like the basement. I like fear on people. It’s one of the easiest feelings to read. On her, though, it doesn’t provide the same type of satisfaction. There is something else under her fear, an emotion that is hiding that I can’t quite name. Consider my interest piqued.

“Names matter,” Calum tells her.

“What’s yours then?” she asks, and I wonder if she wants to know my name as well.

“Calum.”

“Kitten, tell me about the FBI. Why do they want you?” Keep pulls her hair back, angling her face to him and forcing her stare.