When Santa Is Bad E-Book

Mia Kingsley

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

Seitenzahl: 171

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Christmas has never been so dangerously wicked…   I wasn't a fan of Christmas even before Santa Claus kidnapped me from a remote rest stop. He says that he wants my help while handing me an elf costume. However, he doesn't need me to distribute his presents. Instead, Santa is planning a dozen or so murders in which he wants me to lend a hand...   This is a dark romance.

Leseprobe

WHEN SANTA IS BAD

MIA KINGSLEY

A DARK ROMANCE

CONTENTS

When Santa Is Bad

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

About the Author

WHEN SANTA IS BAD

Christmas has never been so dangerously wicked…

I wasn't a fan of Christmas even before Santa Claus kidnapped me from a remote rest stop. He says that he wants my help while handing me an elf costume.

However, he doesn't need me to distribute his presents. Instead, Santa is planning a dozen or so murders in which he wants me to lend a hand...

This is a dark romance.

CHAPTER1

December 11

My jacket was much too thin. Unfortunately, I couldn't change this any more than I could change the fact that the bus ride had cost me almost all my cash. I knew what I had to do now, but the thought brought tears to my eyes.

However, crying had never gotten me anywhere in life, so I ignored the pressing need to cry my eyes out and instead pulled open the door to the diner.

The linoleum floor looked like it had last been mopped in the nineties, and my shoes made a loud squeaking noise that was mostly drowned out by the sports broadcast on TV and the voices of the truckers that filled the space.

I stood out quite a bit between all the men and the tired-looking waitress, and I felt the curious looks on me right away.

I'd had to walk quite a distance from the Greyhound bus station because the motel adjacent to this diner was the cheapest accommodation in the area. Since the next bus didn't leave until tomorrow, I would have to spend the night here. The other travelers who had gotten off in this godforsaken town had headed straight for the city.

I would have preferred to save the money instead of paying for a motel room, but I couldn't spend the night outside with the thick snowfall and freezing temperatures.

I pulled the hood of my hoodie over my brown hair and kept my eyes down as I walked to the counter and climbed onto one of the bar stools. The menu was laminated and covered in stains, but the prices were moderate, and I wouldn't have to starve until morning if I went for the burger—the cheapest dish.

"What'll it be, sweetie?" The waitress propped both hands on the counter and eyed me like she couldn't remember what women under thirty looked like. With the clientele here, it was no wonder.

"The burger."

"Just the burger?"

I pointed at the menu. "Burger and fries."

"All right. Anything to drink?"

I shook my head and stared at the counter. I was tired because I hadn't dared to sleep a wink on the long bus ride. Largely because I hadn't wanted to be robbed, but also because I was afraid Paul might be on my tail.

As soon as I'd eaten, I'd lock myself in one of the motel rooms, wedge a chair under the doorknob, and sleep for a few hours. The idea sounded heavenly. Even better than a hot shower.

"Can I buy you a milkshake with that, sweetheart?" a man asked, taking a seat on the stool next to me.

I stiffened immediately. "No, thank you."

"Come on, don't be like that. A pretty thing like you? You'd never have to pay for your food if you didn't want to."

I remained motionless, hoping that if I didn't respond to him, he would just disappear. Paul's words were still ringing clearly in my ears. How he would tug at the hem of my shirt and explain that it wasn't his fault I had such a pretty face and an even more alluring body. That men were powerless against me.

"How about that milkshake now?" The guy put his hand on my thigh and squeezed.

"Larry," said another voice. "Leave the lady alone."

"Stay out of my business, Carl."

I followed the exchange silently, not moving a muscle or making eye contact. Why did things like this keep happening to me? Why couldn't I just be left in peace?

Some days I dreamed of scarring my oh-so-pretty face with a knife, but I seriously doubted that would help. The loose clothes and lowered gaze had never helped either.

The waitress put the plate in front of me. The burger looked good, but my stomach was in knots because there was still a hand on my leg.

I could take the fork and ram it down...

"You heard him, Larry." The waitress smiled indulgently. "Just let the girl eat, okay?"

Since Larry dug his fingers deeper into my leg, I assumed he didn't much like the warning. Then, to my relief, he withdrew his hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the look he first gave to the waitress and finally to me. As soon as I had eaten, I'd make sure I got out of here.

Hastily, I shoved two fries into my mouth and chewed.

The tense mood eased a little when the door was pushed open, and two children came in, closely followed by their parents. They were quite young—the older girl was maybe six.

They talked excitedly about milkshakes and how their grandma would surely be happy about their surprise.

I looked over my shoulder and saw the parents shooing the two girls to one of the empty alcoves. Out in the parking lot, in the back between the trucks, was a large motorhome that hadn't been there earlier.

My heart was beating faster. As long as the family was sitting in here, I could sneak out and look around a bit. I struggled with a guilty conscience, but I had no choice. They'd definitely have money stashed in the RV, and if not, I'd at least be able to steal a warm sweater or two from the mother. And food. They must have snacks with them.

I ate even faster than usual, which was already faster than most, but I had grown up in countless children's homes and foster homes, and if you weren't a fast eater, you had to settle for leftovers. Or you had to deal with Paul.

I bit into the burger twice in a row, wolfing down the meat. I then helped myself to the fries, which had already been lukewarm when they arrived.

My plate was quickly emptied, and I pulled two bills out of the pocket of my black jeans. I had my backpack clamped between my knees, and that was all I had with me—I didn't own anything else.

The waitress saw me pull out the money and came over. She leaned over the counter. "Where are you going?" she asked quietly.

"Actually, I was going to get a room."

"Probably best if you climb out the ladies room window. Larry is... a piece of work when he's been drinking." The sad smile didn't reach her eyes, and I felt my stomach tighten. I'd give the diner a wide berth on my next stop since you could usually count on ninety percent of the customers being truckers.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Wait a moment." She took the money. "He's watching you, but his dinner's almost ready, so he'll be distracted."

I nodded, and my pulse beat faster because I hadn't thought that leaving the diner would resemble an action movie.

When the waitress came out of the kitchen with the three plates for the table Larry was sitting at, I got ready.

The door swung open, and the two young girls squealed with excitement.

"Mom, Mom—Santa’s here!"

They ran and threw themselves at the legs of the man in the Santa suit. He laughed good-naturedly and put down his sack. "Ho, ho, ho, who do we have here?"

The mother got up to get her children. "Lexy, Sarah, let the poor man go. I'm sure he's hungry too and wants something to eat."

Knowing I wouldn't get a better opportunity, I stood up. As I walked to the door with the toilet symbol, I passed Santa.

He raised his head, and for a split second, our eyes met. Above the artificial white beard, Santa's eyes were so dark brown that they seemed almost black—and ice cold. There wasn't an ounce of emotion in them. I almost flinched, but I had more pressing problems right now than wondering what kind of emotionally dead Santa Claus would stray into a place like this in full costume so early in December.

Not wanting to make extra work for the waitress, I didn't lock the restroom door from the inside. I pulled my backpack straps onto my shoulders and opened the window. With a firm grip, I grabbed the ledge and heaved myself up. I almost didn't have enough strength, but then I remembered Larry sitting in the diner and managed to swing my leg up. I wasn't elegant, but I was efficient.

The snow muffled the sound of my shoes as I hopped down the other side. I slid the window shut as best I could, then stooped to sneak through the darkness, avoiding the single streetlamp on the way back to the parking lot. Before I got a room in the motel, I had to break into the RV.

I wouldn't take much, I assured myself—just the bare necessities.

I finally felt that luck was on my side when I noticed that they'd parked the RV with the door facing away from the diner. That gave me a little more time to pick the lock. The road was behind me, but it was very quiet, with only a truck or two passing by every half hour or so.

My fingers were shaking both from cold and from nervousness, but soon I heard the latch release and was able to open the door. Inside smelled like warm cookies, which amplified the knot in my stomach.

As quietly as I could, I searched the storage compartments and the wardrobe, finding a bit of cash between two neatly folded suit pants. I only took half and put the rest back.

At the top of the wardrobe, I found a dark blue sweater that would probably fit me. I put it in my backpack and added a pair of socks at the last moment before closing the backpack and the closet. Not wanting to take the tin of homemade Christmas cookies, I had to settle for a bag of roasted peanuts because everything else was already opened. I grabbed two small plastic bottles of water and apologized to the family in my mind.

Cautiously, I glanced out of the RV, but all was quiet, and I didn't hear anyone coming.

Because my shoe prints might be a problem, I decided to go back the same way I had come and walk around the back of the diner toward the motel rooms.

I climbed down the small step and pushed the door into the lock as I heard a rustling behind me. Before I could turn around, I was grabbed and brutally slammed against the freezing cold side of the RV.

My attacker used his whole body to pin me down. I felt like a butterfly on a pin in a collector's box.

No matter how hard I squirmed and kicked, I couldn't break free.

"Did you break in, or was it unlocked?" growled a deep voice behind me.

"I broke it open." My heart raced, and I didn't know why I hadn't just lied. Probably because something in his voice compelled me to tell the truth. Was it the father? Had he caught me?

He laughed softly. "That makes you perfect for my purposes."

I froze. What purpose was he talking about?

His hand grabbed my shoulder with an iron grip so tight that I whimpered when he turned me around.

His other hand sprang forward and wrapped around my throat. I struggled to breathe while my brain processed that my attacker was Santa. His eyes seemed even darker than they had in the diner, and from what I could tell, Santa was strong as hell.

"Let go of me," I begged. "Please."

He squeezed harder, eliciting a breathless gasp from me. Dots were already flickering at the edge of my vision when he pulled out a knife with a sickening long blade.

"Here are the rules of the game: You do what I say, or I hurt you. Do you follow me?"

Desperately, I grabbed his forearm. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think straight. Just as the light was about to go out, he let go of me so abruptly that I slumped to the ground in front of him and coughed. I clutched at my throat and felt the snow soaking my jeans at the knees.

Santa pulled down my hood, reached into my hair, and yanked my head back. The cold tip of the blade dug into my neck, and I felt a trickle run down. Blood. This guy was serious. Santa was obviously going to kill me in a deserted parking lot in the middle of nowhere if I didn't do what he said.

"Do you have a name?"

"Sarah," I groaned out, to which he yanked harder on my hair.

"Your real name. Sarah was the name of the girl at the diner."

I surrendered. "Gray." Breath condensed in front of my lips, and tears burned in my eyes as I twisted my torso to ease the brutal tug on my hair. "Gray Miller."

"Miller? Really?"

"Default name because the orphanage couldn't find my parents."

"Tell me, Gray Miller, do you understand the rules?" The tip of the knife caused a burning sensation as he slowly pulled it further down. Not far, maybe a few millimeters.

"Yes."

He stopped tugging at my hair. "Get up."

I scrambled up and brushed the snow off my jeans, tugging the hood back over my head and wiping my tears away. When I touched my neck, my fingertips were bloody.

Uncertainly, I looked at Santa.

"Do you need any more motivation to do what I say?"

"No."

"Good." He nodded and grabbed my upper arm before picking up his burlap sack with his other hand. "You're coming with me."

CHAPTER2

Santa dragged me across the middle of the parking lot toward the motel rooms. I realized he didn't have a room key when he pushed me off him before the very last door and said, "Pick the lock."

My fingers were shaking so badly I could barely hold the lockpick set. I kept looking over my shoulder to see if anyone was coming until I felt him getting impatient. To be honest, I was also hoping to maybe find a way to escape, but the open space behind us wasn't ideal. Besides, the spot on my neck where Santa had cut me with the knife was burning, reminding me that the man would most likely resent me trying to escape.

Finally, there was a click inside the lock as the last pin slid into place, and I was able to turn the knob.

"Good girl," Santa growled. "In you go."

"Please, I...," I began, licking my bottom lip nervously.

"Don't." He glowered at me. "Don't you dare ask me to let you go now."

My knees felt like pudding as I stood up and walked into the room.

The door fell into the lock behind me. I watched him put the chain on before taking a chair from the small table next to the kitchen counter to wedge it under the doorknob, exactly as I had planned to do to protect myself for the night. No one was going to get in here easily. And I wouldn't get out.

The light flickered on, and Santa pulled the curtains closed. The walls had either been painted a cream color or had once been white. A faded flowered bedspread lay on the narrow double bed. The bedside lamp was merely a bulb hanging from an arm that protruded from the wall—not a floor lamp with a heavy base that I could have smashed against my captor's head.

The narrow kitchenette was equipped with a hot plate and a small sink, and the tiny refrigerator hummed loudly.

Not daring to budge, I had no idea what possibly awaited me in the bathroom.

"Take off your jacket and shoes." Santa walked past me and glanced into the bathroom.

I wavered between obedience and rebellion. Unfortunately, he looked at me intently after finishing his inspection, and I decided that it was smarter to obey him for the time being.

The cold knot was like a stone in my stomach as I set my backpack down and unzipped my jacket. I sat down on the edge of the bed and untied my laces, slipping my shoes off my feet.

Santa nodded and grabbed the large buckle of his wide belt. When he took it off, the jacket fell apart, revealing the artificial belly that showed under a white undershirt. The neckline was low enough for me to see his broad pecs. Something told me Santa wasn't a frail old man.

He came over to me, and before I could figure out what he was doing, he'd grabbed me and wrapped the belt around me at the level of my elbows. He tightened it so that my arms were pressed against my body.

Then he went to his burlap bag and loosened the strap that held the bag together at the top. My only option was to roll off the bed, but I didn't want to risk that because I couldn't cushion the impact without the use of my arms.

I tried to straighten up, but in that second, Santa was already over me again and had looped the rope around my neck. He tied the other end to the small wooden knob that was at the top of the bed frame. Because the rope was so short, I had no chance of turning in a way that would allow me to use my hands to untie the knot. I would suffocate first.

Furious, I glared at Santa.

He pulled off his white beard and hat. "Do I have to gag you, Gray, or are you smart enough to keep your mouth shut?"

I promptly thought of what would happen if my cries for help attracted someone like Larry. "Shut. I'll keep quiet."

"Good." He grabbed his undershirt and pulled it off, then unbuckled the artificial belly.

I didn't want to stare at him, but Santa was... muscular as hell. The guy had definitely seen the inside of a gym once or twice before. He had his long hair tied in a casual knot under his hat, and Santa's beard hid his own. His hair was as dark as his eyes—when it caught the light, it shone like ebony.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off his heavy boots before sighing. "These fucking things are a size too small. But there wasn't anything else available."

I really hoped this asshole wasn't expecting sympathy and kept my mouth shut.

He stood up and stretched. "Look, Gray, I just need a few minutes, and then I'll untie you, okay?"

I simply stared at the ceiling, ignoring him.

He turned away, picked up the huge sack, and went into the bathroom. He probably left the door open so he would be able to hear me if I tried to escape because I very clearly heard how he peed into the toilet.

It was little consolation that he at least washed his hands after.

Testily, I tried to sit up, but the noose around my neck tightened immediately, and I sank backward, not wanting to risk suffocating miserably if I moved too much.

When I heard a strange clatter, I paused and listened.

Snip, snip, snip.

It took me a moment to identify the sound as scissors. What was he doing? Practicing where he was going to make the cuts on my body?

Or maybe he was cutting off his long hair. Maybe it was too warm under the hat with the artificial hairpiece.

My suspicions were confirmed when I heard the whir of an electric razor. Thoughts raced through my head because I couldn't think of a single good reason why someone would completely change their appearance after kidnapping someone.

The razor went silent, and the water in the shower began to run. When he turned it off again, my pulse quickened as I suspected my grace period was expiring. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.