Bought By Santa (Seasonal Obsessions #1)

Chapter 4

The Breeder

T he pulsing beat of the club’s music vibrates through my heels, up my legs, as I weave through the crowd. Each step is confident, a calculated sway designed to draw gazes. My dress clings to every curve—a shimmering second skin that I’ll return by tomorrow’s light, its price tag a hidden whisper against my thigh.

I scan the room, hunting. Not for pleasure—no, this is pure strategy. I need someone with deep pockets, a man who can’t resist a damsel dressed in glitter and false promises. At the bar, I see exactly the kind of man I’m looking for. He’s got that look, all sharp suit and sharper eyes. Money. His ring finger is naked, and he’s alone.

“Is this seat taken?” I ask, my voice dipped in honey. I place my clutch on the bar, making it clear I’m here to stay.

His gaze travels up from my stilettos, slow and appreciative. “It is now,” he says, a corner of his mouth ticking up.

“Thanks.” I ease onto the stool beside him, crossing my legs. The slit in my dress parts, a deliberate tease. “What’s a guy like you doing all alone on a night like this?”

“Looking for trouble,” he smirks, turning to face me fully.

“Careful,” I tilt my head, “Trouble has a way of finding you first.”

“Then I must be lucky tonight.” His eyes hold mine, a challenge flickering within. But he doesn’t know I’m playing a different game.

“Maybe we both are,” I respond, warmth spreading through my body—not from the drink he slides my way, but from the play. This is it, the dance I know so well.

“Tell me,” he leans in, close enough that I catch the scent of his cologne, “what’s your name?”

“Carolina,” I say, letting the name roll off my tongue like a secret. “And you?”

“Does it matter?” he counters, and there’s amusement in his voice.

“Only if you want me to scream it later,” I quip, and his laugh is a low rumble that suggests he might just take me up on that offer. My eyes stray to my black clutch. There are three condoms in it, and I’ve poked holes through the foil of each one. Yeah, I’m that desperate to land a rich man.

I touch his hand, an accidental-on-purpose brush that sends a clear signal. He leans closer. “Tell me, Carolina, do you believe in Christmas miracles?” he asks, eyebrow cocked.

“Only the kind that comes wrapped in greenbacks,” I reply, all brash honesty cloaked in flirtation. Because beneath the glamor, the desperation claws—I need this, for Willow, for me.

“Then let’s see if I can’t make a believer out of you,” he says, and I can feel the night shift, the stakes raising with each breath.

“Try me,” I challenge, because I’ve got nothing left to lose. And tonight, maybe, just maybe, I’ll win something worth keeping.

After a few martinis, we move over to one of the couches. No longer limited by the awkwardness of sitting at the bar, I rest my hand on his thigh and run it up and down—close enough to his member to know he isn’t indifferent to my advances.

“You’re really something,” the guy rasps, wrapping his long fingers around my wrist and pulling my hand onto his hardness. “Are you just teasing me, Carolina?”

Tilting my head to the side, I flutter my lashes. “The only teasing I do involves expensive lingerie,” I purr.

He looks at me through hooded eyes, and just as I think he’s going to finally kiss me, he leans back, putting more distance between us. “Is that so?” he questions.

I swallow the sigh threatening to spill free. But seriously, how long must we play this game? We should already be at his… wherever he lives. “It is,” I rasp.

He nods to himself, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. Then he stands abruptly. “I need to take a piss.” My nose scrunches in distaste at his crudeness. “But if you’re still here when I come back, I’d love to take you home and find out what kind of lingerie you’re wearing.”

I nod eagerly as I watch him walk away. Even smiling sweetly when he turns around to check if I’m still waiting on the couch. Ah, now I get it. This guy thinks I’m going to make a run for it. Maybe he’s been burned in the past, but I’m not going to do that. He’s exactly the type I’m looking for, and I intend to take full advantage of him tonight.

While he’s gone, I pull my phone out of my clutch. My thumb hovers over the glowing screen, the pulsing beat of the club fading into the back of my mind. I type quickly, words to Willow.

Me: I love you, sis. I promise I’ll visit again soon *pink love heart*

The message sends, and for a moment, my heart stills. She’s the reason I’m here—the reason I do anything. My sweet sister is everything I no longer believe in. She’s kind, gentle, and she’s just… she’s one of those people that just continues smiling no matter what life throws at them.

When the guy returns, he does a double-take, his eyes widening as though he can’t believe I’m still here. Well, believe it mister.

“Are you ready to show me your lingerie?” he asks as he sits back down. He grins in an obnoxious way that makes it clear he thinks he’s being cute.

“Are you ready to earn the privilege?” I volley. If I’m reading him right, I can’t be too eager. Leaning closer, I move my hand up his inner thigh, purposefully stopping just before I reach his crotch. “Or is that too hard? ”

He swallows thickly and cants his hips so his erection grazes my hand. “It’s definitely hard, alright.”

“So what are we waiting for?” I purr.

My words seem to break the control he has on himself, because he shoots out of his seat, dragging me with him. I almost stumble on my heels in my attempt at keeping up with him as we weave our way toward the exit.

After getting our coats, we step outside. The frigid air slaps my cheeks, painting them with a rosy hue that belies the darkness churning inside me. I glance up at the night sky, searching for stars but finding only the void. It’s fitting, somehow.

We stay outside the club for almost half an hour, long enough for my hands to start shaking. As we wait for cabs to drive by, more and more people join us, making it clear this is going to turn into a bloodbath.

As though he’s reading my thoughts, my date says, “I don’t live that far. Do you mind if we walk?”

I shake my head and give him a blinding smile as I let him lead me through the mostly empty streets.

The city’s pulse fades behind us, replaced by the eerie quiet of streets less traveled. He’s navigating with a confidence that doesn’t match the knot of apprehension tightening in my gut. “Are you sure this is the right way?” My voice is steady, betraying none of the anxiety that claws at me.

“Shortcut,” he grins. “Trust me.”

I don’t. But I nod, feigning ease. He doesn’t look like a psycho, but I still slide my free hand into my purse, palming the pepper spray in case I need it.

The buildings here are cloaked in shadows, their stories untold and uninviting. We turn another corner. “Almost there,” he promises, but the darkness seems to swallow his words.

Then, they’re there—two figures looming out of the night like omens. They stand beneath a flickering streetlight, dressed as Santa Claus, their beards unnaturally white against the backdrop of the urban wasteland. But these aren’t the jolly old elves of childhood tales; their eyes are cold, their stances predatory.

“Shit,” I whisper, my breath fogging into the air. He follows my gaze, the atmosphere charged with sudden tension.

“Who—” he begins, but the Santas move.

One steps forward, reaching into the depths of his red coat, and my blood runs ice-cold with anticipation. Fear seizes me, a merciless grip that tightens around my throat. The festive costumes are a grotesque mockery, and my instincts scream that these men are harbingers of violence.

“Let’s go!” I hiss, panic giving my voice an unfamiliar edge. But it’s too late—the false cheer of their apparel can’t mask the danger, and I know, I just know, we’ve stumbled into a nightmare before Christmas.

The tallest Santa’s hand emerges, not with a candy cane or a toy, but with the cold glint of a gun. My body freezes, a deer in headlights, as he levels it at a man kneeling on the pavement. The other Santa looms over him, a judge passing down a sentence.

“Please…” the kneeling man’s voice is a choked sob.

That’s when it happens; my date’s hand leaves mine abruptly. “Fuck this,” he rushes out. I don’t know why I’m surprised when he takes off, but I am.

Although every cell in my body urges me to flee with him, my legs betray me, refusing to move, shackled by the visceral terror gripping me.

My heart pounds out a frantic rhythm, a discordant drumbeat urging me to flee. But my body doesn’t obey; it’s as if my feet have grown roots into the ground, anchoring me to this nightmare.

Panic claws at my throat, sharp and desperate.

What the hell do I do?

What can I do?

Shit, if only my legs were working…

I’m about to die here in this filthy alley, I just know it. Although I can’t see the Santas’ faces, I can see their eyes. As I look from one to the other, I almost wish I couldn’t. The dark orbs are empty, not a modicum of sympathy to be found.

I really am about to die here.