Silent Night, Killing Night E-Book

Mia Kingsley

• Herausgeber: Black Umbrella Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 193

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Santa has never been so deadly…   Okay. So, you want to know what my plan is. Let me make a suggestion: Stay with me until New Year's Eve, shortly before midnight. If it was satisfying for both of us, I will let you go.    If not … If not, then it will be extremely interesting to see what happens once the clock strikes midnight.   This dark and twisted romance will definitely jingle your bells. Safe, with no cheating, and a guaranteed HEA.

Leseprobe

SILENT NIGHT, KILLING NIGHT

MIA KINGSLEY

A DARK ROMANCE

CONTENTS

Silent Night, Killing Night

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

About the Author

SILENT NIGHT, KILLING NIGHT

Santa has never been so deadly…

Okay. So, you want to know what my plan is.

Let me make a suggestion: Stay with me until New Year's Eve, shortly before midnight. If it was satisfying for both of us, I will let you go.

If not …

If not, then it will be extremely interesting to see what happens once the clock strikes midnight.

This dark and twisted romance will definitely jingle your bells.

Safe, with no cheating, and a guaranteed HEA.

PROLOGUE

DOLL

New York City, Christmas Eve, Three years Ago

"Merry Christmas, Doll," Reaper said, as he walked in with stretched out arms toward me.

I forced a smile onto my face while I got up from the chair in front of his desk. He had made me and Sythe wait for half an hour, like schoolkids who had been summoned to the principal's office.

I found his embrace revolting and each time it got more and more unpleasant. But Reaper was the boss, and bosses were not to be angered. At least not until one had the perfect exit strategy in place.

Reaper held me close for a tad too long, and when he finally let go of me, he cupped my face with his calloused hands instead. "Don't disappoint me, my sweet dolly. Understood?"

"Of course."

"I'll watch over her," Sythe said reassuringly, as he was standing next to me pulling up his jeans—like he always did when he got up, bending over, or was moving around in general. It was a mystery to me, why a man of his age would still dress like a teenager. Just because he had the slim build of a young boy, that couldn't really be the reason could it?

Aside from that, I had to keep from rolling my eyes. Contrary to Sythe, I was very capable of looking after myself. I hated working with him because he was unpredictable, and had a tendency to constantly get himself into trouble.

"Good," Reaper said while scrutinizing me before taking a step away. "It wouldn't be nice if the situation with Dove and Sugar repeated itself. I need to be able to rely on my girls."

The smile was frozen on my face. "Of course," I repeated like a small parrot, although I would have much preferred to tell him that I wasn't his girl. Nobody had told me what had happened to Dove or Sugar, since they had simply disappeared one day without a trace. I was smart enough not to ask. Just as I was smart enough to keep my head down and to not point out to Reaper that the working names he assigned to the ladies were not only stupid, but also sexist. He called me Doll because I had a pretty little doll face—those were his words, not mine. If it had been my choice, I would have called myself "Widow" or "Poison."

Since I had ended up with Reaper, I felt constantly alarmed, as if I needed an additional pair of eyes in the back of my head. I now slept with a gun underneath my pillow at night, didn't touch any alcohol in the company of my "colleagues," and didn't trust any one of them. Without exception.

Unfortunately, on the East Coast it was impossible not to run into Reaper because he had a finger in every pie. If someone just like me took a wrong turn along the way somewhere, they would end up working for him sooner or later.

I wasn't even thirty years old yet, but I felt like I was sixty. It was Christmas Eve, and instead of sitting in a sleazy motel with bad microwaved food in front of the TV, I was now wearing a cheap blonde wig and an even cheaper looking imitation of a Chanel suit. My face was hidden underneath thick cakey make-up; my eye color was enhanced with brown contact lenses; and my eyelashes had been covered with so many fake lashes that I found it hard to keep my eyes open at all. But this disguise served its purpose: Even my own mother wouldn't have recognized me if she had still been alive, and if she hadn't been high for once.

Reaper sat down behind his desk. "You should go now. We don't want you to be late for our Christmas Party later, do we?" Once again, his eyes rested on me. "Do we, my sweet dolly? It's about time you have some fun."

His gaze made my skin crawl, as if there were a thousand tiny insects creeping around underneath it. I wanted to jump into a shower and douse myself with boiling hot water until I wouldn't feel anything anymore. Feel nothing at all.

"We are already on our way, boss." Sythe pulled up his jeans one more time before he marched toward the door and left the office.

I was forced to follow him through the long hallway and the adjacent "lounge"—a pretty sounding euphemism for a somewhat tavern-looking entrance room, where numerous dubious characters would hang out all day, passing the time by drinking themselves into oblivion. When we were almost out the door, a true hulk of a man peeled himself out of the shadow in a corner and made his way to Reaper's office. I frowned and looked over my shoulder. This man was a giant with arms like tree trunks and a back so broad that he was almost forced to have to go through the door sideways. His jeans were held up on his hips by a belt—something Sythe could learn from. I had never seen this guy before, and I couldn't help but shiver at the sight of him. Sometimes, my preference for big strong men was a little too obvious.

Sythe stood right beside me and I could feel his warm breath on my ear despite the wig I was wearing. "That's the new one. Must be a pretty fucked-up guy if Reaper calls him Psycho." Right after that, he made a very loud snorting noise with his nose before he turned away. "Are you coming, Doll?"

Did I have another choice? With one last glance toward the new guy, I followed Sythe to his car, the inside of it reeking of fried food and stale cigarette smoke. Only three or four more hours, I thought, then I would be able to finally wash off yet another day.

Another day, another sin, a few dozen lies.

I leaned back in the passenger seat and could have almost closed my eyes for a bit if I had trusted Sythe. But I did not trust him, which is why I was watching him surreptitiously the entire time.

Snow fell in big flakes from the sky and actually gave the town a truly Christmassy ambience. Tonight, countless children would look through their windows up into the sky, waiting to catch a glimpse of big old Santa Claus.

Nobody would be looking down into the streets, where people like Sythe and I would sneak around to rob a jewelry store whose revenue hadn't been collected so shortly before the holidays. I didn't have the slightest clue where Reaper gathered his information from, and I didn't even want to know.

It wasn't my job to ask questions, and curiosity wasn't too well received by his organization, particularly from women. My job was merely to use my pretty little face to get us inside.

Today, I was portraying an elegant lady from the Upper East Side who had decided to buy an expensive Christmas present at the last minute. Since she wasn't used to being turned away, she would pound on that jeweler's door for as long as it took until the poor security guard who was alone on his shift tonight—it was Christmas Eve after all—would open the door wide enough to be able to ask if she was alright. Once the door was opened, Sythe would force their entry at gunpoint.

We would overcome the security guard, bind him with zip ties, empty the safe and delete the recordings of the surveillance cameras. Literally child's play.

At least in theory, because having Sythe by my side meant that anything could happen. I had once even seen him kicking an absolutely sweet and harmless dog. And he kept at it until the poor dog had bit him, and in the process probably got infected with rabies from this crazy guy.

On another occasion, Sythe had attempted to casually jump over a railing, completely oblivious to the fact that we were still on the third floor at the time. It would have been so much easier to run away from a couple of angry and armed drug dealers, from whom we had just stolen ten pounds of heroin, if I didn't have to drag away an additional 160-pound toddler who had just broken his ankle.

I wasn't worried about the break-in; I could do that with my eyes closed. The ticking time bomb in the driver's seat was a far bigger problem.

My thoughts drifted back to that huge dude who was apparently called Psycho. I tried to remember the last time I had had a decent fuck, and I decided that it had clearly been far too long if I actually had to think about it in the first place. That new guy seemed to at least have a strong grip, which in my opinion won half the battle already. Maybe I would pop in on Reaper's Christmas Party after all and get a better idea whether Psycho's front would actually match his promising back. Every now and again, I was able to use my pretty doll face for my own benefit. The idea of Psycho's (hopefully) strong fingers closing around my throat, just before he would ram his (hopefully) large hard cock into me, made me press my thighs together and immediately improved my mood.

At least until Sythe had to open his mouth to talk. "Why so quiet, Doll?"

"I am concentrating."

"On what? This will be a walk in the park. We are a winning team, you and I." As he had been instructed by Reaper, he parked the car on one of the side streets.

"If you say so." I stared through the windshield because we were able to see the store from here.

Sythe reached behind my seat and handed me a fake designer handbag which contained a couple of zip ties, a taser, and for the worst-case scenario—a gun.

"Absolutely. You and I work great together, baby."

"Do not call me that."

He put his hand on my thigh. "Don't be like that."

I was still furious about the fact that I had made the mistake of sleeping with him shortly after I had arrived in New York City. Although quite a few years had passed since then, it didn't deter Sythe to try again and again every few months.

I looked at his hand and raised an eyebrow at him. "You really do have strange timing."

"We are fifteen minutes early."

"An entire fifteen minutes? So what are we supposed to do for the remaining thirteen and a half minutes? Providing that you manage to hold it together for ninety seconds…"

He removed his hand and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You don't always have to act as if you are hard to get."

"I never said I was hard to get. But you were simply too bad in the sack for me to repeat that underwhelming experience with you."

"Watch what you are saying."

I slowly turned my head and looked at him. "I know, the truth hurts."

Without warning, he reached back and slapped me hard across the face.

I could immediately feel the burning on my lip, but on the outside I didn't even flinch. "You should be more careful. How will you explain to Reaper that we did not manage to get into the store? My pretty face is the ticket to getting us in."

His nostrils flared as he balled his hands into fists. "The one who should be careful here is you—or have you never wondered what actually happened to Dove and Sugar?"

Sythe only had two temperaments: he was a completely pretentious retard or he was quiet. Quiet and evil, which could very well become rather dangerous.

When he smiled at me, it was the evil kind. "It had been a nice party back then. But too often they didn't do as they were told by their boss, and he had had enough of them. It's already difficult enough as it is working with women, however, when they are naked and tied up on the pool table, they are much more fun."

I felt nauseous, and it was only my survival instinct that kept me from shuddering with disgust.

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and once again put his hand on my thigh, but this time he pushed it underneath the skirt of my fake Chanel suit. Despite the pantyhose I was wearing, I could feel his touch as if it were on my naked skin. "Be nice to me or I will tell Reaper how you were behaving. I will fuck you one way or the other—the question is—whether it will be alone right now, or after fifteen other men have poked around in your pussy. My guess is that we both prefer the first option over the second."

I didn't say anything, just so he would clearly hear the quiet noise my folding knife made when it snapped open. Sythe swallowed when he felt the blade poke him near his kidney. This time it was me who smiled overly sweetly. "I am neither Dove nor Sugar. You have exactly two seconds to take your filthy hands off of me, or I will tell Reaper that you just threatened me. Just in case you haven't noticed, he is hoping to fuck me himself. I assume that you can figure out who his priority is right now. At the moment, there are roughly five hundred disgusting little hustlers like you and exactly one pretty doll face."

He pulled back his fingers as if he got burned. "Bitch!"

"You should be happy that I have myself so well under control. The knife would already be stuck in your flesh, if it wouldn't result in you leaving a sickening amount of blood behind." I flipped down the sun visor and checked myself in the mirror. Fortunately, the cut on my lip was very small. But it would be a smart idea to refresh my makeup a little anyway.

I took my time, and when I was finished we got out of the car. Sythe was obviously sulking which was fine by me. The less I had to talk to him, the better.

Just as I had feared, everything was going according to plan until Sythe joined us. After I had gently knocked first before I started pounding on the door, the security guard had turned up to tell me to go away. I had to go as far as stomping my foot on the ground for him to open the door. Not even a second later, Sythe was holding the gun against the man's forehead and pushed him back inside the store.

We had closed the door behind us and I was searching around my handbag for the zip ties. "Stay calm and nobody will get hurt," I assured the security guard.

When I lifted my head, holding two zip ties in my hand, the shot almost burst my eardrum. Blood spattered across my face, my wig, and my neck while everything else landed on my clothes.

The security guard fell forward onto the floor and a puddle of blood spread around what was left of his head.

It stank of gunpowder. The horrible ringing in my ears made me aggressive. "What the fuck was that?"

"No witnesses." Sythe shrugged his shoulders. "It's better that way."

"You really are such an asshole," I said while stepping over the dead body. I felt sorry for the man because he had died for no reason whatsoever, but I would soon feel sorry for myself if I didn't deliver the money from the safe to Reaper.

We ignored the displayed jewelry, which could amount to a few million dollars, but it would be impossible to fence the jewels later without raising any unwanted suspicions. So instead we walked around the showcases and aimed straight for the back room.

Sythe went directly to the safe, while I pushed open the door to the room containing the security equipment, so I could delete all the recordings from the surveillance cameras.

There was a mug on the table with steam coming out of it beside a plate full of cookies. My heart immediately started beating faster, because right next to it was an identical set of a mug and a plate, just smaller. Smaller—as if for a child.

I swung around and ran after Sythe. "Wait," I said.

As he turned around to me, a door in the hallway opened.

"Daddy?" A small boy walked out from the men's restroom and stared at us, terrified.

What kind of damned retard would bring their child to work with them on Christmas Eve? For the little boy, it had probably been a fun adventure to accompany his dad and stay up all night waiting for Santa Claus to arrive.

Sythe raised his gun which led me to stand in front of him.

"Have you lost your mind?" I asked.

"Out of my way, Doll," he grumbled. "No witnesses."

"I will not stand here and watch you shoot a child."

He took a step to the side and his finger curled near the trigger of his Glock pistol. I didn't think, I just reacted. With one quick movement, I kicked my leg up and hit Sythe's arm holding the weapon. At the same time, I turned around with my knife in my hand, ramming it straight into the side of Sythe's neck. When his shot hit the ceiling with a loud bang, the blood was already pouring out from his wound. I kicked the weapon away beyond his reach and watched him fall to the floor.

Not only was the gunshot ringing in my ears, but the screaming of the child almost made my eardrums explode.

I grabbed the child by the arm and dragged him into the security room. Sythe was wheezing behind us, but I assumed that he didn't have a good chance for survival.

I deleted the recordings from the surveillance cameras with just two clicks and handed the little boy a phone. "You will count to one hundred and then you will call the emergency number 911, do you understand?"

He stared at me with his big wide eyes. "Yes, Ma'am."

I almost would have laughed, if it hadn't been so very sad. "I am truly very sorry, little man."

On the way back to the front sales room, I kicked in the glass to get to the emergency ax in its cabinet. I destroyed a few of the showcases and counters, then grabbed as much jewelry as I could, stuffing it into my bag until it was full, before I finally escaped the scene.

I had to get as far away from here as quickly as possible—particularly away from the streets—since I was literally covered in blood. The wig and my mobile phone, the one Reaper had given me, ended up in the closest trash can.

Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do to disguise my footprints that I left behind. Only when I reached a fire escape would they—just like me—disappear into thin air.

1

PSYCHO

December 1st

With a well-calculated jerk, I tore off another fingernail with the pliers. Sneaky Stevie screamed like a banshee and only stopped when Reaper punched him straight in the mouth, before he spoke with a disgusted look on his face. "Don't be such a pussy. They are just fingernails. They will even grow back, if we keep you alive. For the last time: Who set the fire?"

"I don't know," Stevie sobbed.

Reaper sighed and nodded toward me. I shrugged and bent over to adjust the pliers in place again.

"Zhadanov," Stevie yelled. "It was Nikon Zhadanov. He offered everybody who would help him, five thousand dollars."

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" Reaper patted Stevie's face. Then he turned back to me and said: "Continue."

I did as I was told and felt nothing, while Stevie began howling like a siren once again. In all honesty, I was bored. Working for Reaper had sounded a lot more exciting than it actually was. His leadership skills left much to be desired, hence the reason he constantly had problems keeping his people under control. Although this meant a continuous stream of victims for me—after three years of the same lame work, day in and day out—I had grown tired of this shit.

I dropped yet another bloody fingernail onto the floor and wondered if I should start working as a surgeon again. After all, it had been lucrative to magically provide gangsters with a new face. And it had been even more fun, when their competitors then paid for making these patients disappear into thin air altogether.

Besides, I found the mentality of New Yorkers very draining. Everyone here was permanently stressed, rushing around and tense. Maybe I should try my luck in Los Angeles instead.

My gaze fell on Reaper. I could not imagine that he would let me go voluntarily. On the other hand: What difference would it make if I killed one more?

Reaper handed me a scalpel, which was usually a sign that he would allow me to have some fun and do it my way, before he pulled out his phone from his pocket. I would never get used to the fact that he had—of all things—"Walking On Sunshine" by Katrina & The Waves as his ringtone. With his phone pressed against his ear, he left the room.

"Hey, hey, hey," Stevie whispered. "I can give you money if you let me go. I will disappear to South America. Reaper will never know."

I weighed the scalpel in my hand. Its light weight was so familiar to me. "How much?"

"Right now I could get you seventy thousand dollars, or even more, if you help me get to some of my buddies."

I pretended to think about it. Normally, I would have already been busy cutting up his face, but …

All of this didn't do it for me anymore.

"Ninety thousand if I borrow some cash," Stevie rambled on, without noticing that I wasn't really paying any attention to him.