Bought By Santa (Seasonal Obsessions #1)

Chapter 27

The Breeder

W e leave the hospital, the sterile scent and the distant beeping of machines still clinging to my senses. Jack is stable, but the tight knot in my chest doesn’t loosen. I think we’re heading home—back to the familiar safety of our apartment, where I can collapse and finally let the worry and fear drain away. But Nick stops me just before we reach the car, his hand firm around mine.

“We’re not going home yet,” he says, his voice low, almost too calm. My heart skips a beat, anxiety curling in my stomach.

Before I can ask where we’re going, he pulls me close, his hand cupping the back of my neck as he kisses me. It’s not a soft kiss. It’s fierce, consuming, as if he’s pouring everything he can’t say into that single moment. My heart pounds, not just from the kiss but from the unsettling sense that something is coming, something I’m not ready for.

When he pulls away, I’m left breathless, my lips tingling. “Nick, what—”

“It’s time for your test,” he interrupts, and before I can react, he pulls a blindfold from his pocket. The sight of it sends a jolt of fear through me. I don’t want to be in the dark, not now, not when everything feels so precarious.

His hands are gentle as he slips the blindfold over my eyes, but it doesn’t soothe the panic rising in my chest. The world goes black, the comforting sight of Nick’s face disappearing, leaving me adrift in uncertainty. I hear the car door open, and he guides me inside, his hand never leaving mine. The door closes, sealing me in darkness and silence.

The car starts moving, and I try to focus on the familiar sound of the engine, the subtle vibrations beneath me, anything to anchor myself. But the blindfold makes everything feel distant, detached. I can’t see Nick, can’t read his expression or feel his presence the way I usually do. My mind races with questions; Why now? Why this secrecy?

I force myself to take deep breaths, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart. I have to trust him. I’ve trusted Nick with my life before, but this feels different, more personal, more dangerous. The stakes are higher because they’re not just about me—they’re about us, about our future.

The car finally stops, and I hear the doors open, the sounds of people moving around outside. The air that rushes in is cold, biting, and I shiver involuntarily. Nick’s hand releases mine, and I feel a pang of loss, of fear, as I wait for him to guide me out.

But the hand that takes mine isn’t his. It’s rougher, the grip firm but unfamiliar. My heart leaps into my throat, and I have to force myself not to pull away. I don’t know who this person is, but I follow him, my steps hesitant as he leads me out of the car. The ground beneath my feet is uneven, gravel crunching with each step. The air smells damp, a mix of oil and concrete that tells me we’re in some kind of industrial area.

Panic flutters in my chest as we walk. I can hear the faint echo of our footsteps bouncing off walls, the surrounding space feeling vast and empty. My senses are heightened by the blindfold, every sound sharper, every scent more potent. I focus on the rough hand guiding me, the only thing tethering me to reality in this suffocating darkness.

Finally, we stop. The blindfold is removed, and I blink against the harsh light that floods my vision. My eyes adjust, revealing a large, dimly lit warehouse, the kind of place where shadows hide secrets and danger. The space is cold, the chill in the air gnawing at my skin, making it hard to shake off the unease that’s settled deep in my bones.

In front of me stands Arthur Hatt, the King. His presence is commanding, his eyes cold and assessing as they lock onto mine. Beside him, with an expression as hard as stone, is Nick’s dad, Caspian. The sight of him sends a fresh wave of fear crashing over me. Caspian doesn’t need words to be intimidating, he just is.

The diary entries from Sienna’s diary makes coldness run down my spine, and I shiver.

Arthur steps forward, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Welcome, Carolina,” he says, his tone smooth but devoid of warmth. “Nicklas has chosen you, but now you must prove yourself.”

My stomach drops. This is it. The test Nick mentioned—the test of loyalty, strength, and resolve. The words I want to say die on my tongue as I glance around, but I don’t see my twisted Santa anywhere.

Arthur continues, his eyes never leaving mine. “The test is simple. Three men, all hooded. You must shoot two, leaving one standing. The challenge is identifying which one is Nicklas.”

What? No way. He can’t… the longer I look at his impassive face, the clearer it becomes that he’s dead serious.

My heart slams against my ribs, the air thickening as the gravity of his words sinks in. I’ve never held a gun, never even touched one. And now I’m supposed to aim it at three faceless men, knowing that one of them could be Nick? My Nick? The idea of pulling the trigger, of possibly killing him by mistake, makes my knees weak.

Arthur steps aside, revealing three men standing in a line, their faces obscured by dark hoods. They’re dressed identically, black suits blending into the shadows of the warehouse. My breath catches, panic clawing at my chest. I can’t do this. How can I possibly know which one is him?

But I have to. There’s no choice. This isn’t just about passing a test—it’s about proving that I belong in this world, beside Nick. That I’m strong enough, ruthless enough, to be his partner in every way.

Arthur doesn’t wait for me to gather my thoughts. He gestures to Marco, who steps forward, holding a gun. My hands shake as he places it in my grasp, the cold metal foreign and terrifying. His eyes meet mine, and I see a flicker of something—sympathy, maybe, or understanding—but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by the calm, steady demeanor of a man used to violence.

“You’ll need some practice,” Arthur says, his voice like ice. “We won’t throw you in completely unprepared.”

Caspian and Arthur leave me alone with Marco, taking the hooded men with them. It’s a small mercy, one that makes it easier to breathe and to think without their demanding presence scaring me.

Marco stands beside me, his presence grounding but not comforting. “Hold it like this,” he instructs, adjusting my grip on the gun. His voice is patient but firm, his hands guiding mine. “Your stance needs to be firm. Feet shoulder-width apart. Don’t let your emotions control your aim. Focus on the target, nothing else.”

I nod, swallowing hard as I try to focus. The weight of the gun feels wrong in my hands, too heavy, too powerful. The idea that I could kill someone with a single pull of the trigger is terrifying, but I push the fear down, forcing myself to listen to Marco’s instructions. This is my only chance. I can’t afford to fail.

He guides me through a few practice shots, the sound of the gunfire jarring in the empty warehouse, each shot echoing off the walls and reverberating through my entire being. My hands tremble, the recoil of the gun sending shockwaves up my arms, but I grit my teeth and try again. I have to get this right. Nick’s life depends on it.

I completely lose track of time as we go again and again. With each shot I miss, Marco tries his best to guide me, but the more times I pull the trigger, the more my hands shake and my resolve wavers.

“S-sorry,” I stutter when I empty an entire round without hitting my imaginary mark even once. “Fuck! I don’t know how to do this.”

Marco sighs and rakes his hand through his hair. “You need to stop anticipating the recoil. You’re working against yourself and the gun. Try again.”

He reloads it for me, and while he does so, I wipe my sweaty hands on my pants. Then I take the gun back, squaring my shoulders and adjusting my stance. I use both hands to clutch the handle, telling myself to stop trembling like a leaf.

As I pull the trigger, I feel what Marco’s saying; I’m tensing so much I ruin my aim. I grit my teeth and try again.

“You’re getting closer,” Marco says, his deep voice a rumble. “Keep going.”

The air shifts as Arthur and Caspian join us again. I don’t look their way, doing my best to tune them out. But I can feel the weight of their expectations bearing down on me. I tell myself that they don’t matter, which, right now, they don’t.

I’m here to prove myself to Nick, not them.

When Arthur clears his throat, I know the practice is over. The real test begins now.

The three hooded men are brought back in, and Marco lines them up in front of me.

I approach the three hooded men, the gun heavy in my hand. My heart races, my mind whirling with fear and doubt. I scan them, trying to feel that connection, that pull that should tell me which one is Nick. But the fear of being wrong, of killing him, clouds my judgment. Every instinct is screaming at me to stop, to run, but I force myself to stay. I can’t back down. I have to do this.

The silence is deafening as I lift the gun, my breath hitching, my hand steady but my mind spinning. I study each man, searching for something—anything—that will give Nick away. The way he stands, the tension in his muscles, the tilt of his head. But they’re all so still, so quiet, and the hoods make them faceless, stripping away the familiar cues I would normally rely on.

I focus on the first man, my eyes narrowing as I try to see past the hood, past the anonymity. His stance is solid, his posture confident, but there’s something off—a slight hesitation in the way he holds himself, a subtle tremor in his hand. My breath catches. It could be him, but it could also be someone imitating him, knowing that I’d look for that calm confidence.

I shift my focus to the second man. He’s more rigid, his posture almost too perfect, too controlled. It’s as if he’s trying too hard, forcing himself to mimic Nick’s natural confidence. But the way he stands, the way his shoulders are squared, it doesn’t feel right. It’s too stiff, too deliberate.

That leaves the third man. My heart pounds as I look at him. His stance is relaxed, but there’s a tension in his shoulders, a subtle shift in his weight that reminds me of Nick. It’s a barely there hint of anxiety, masked by a calm exterior. Something about it feels right, feels like Nick. But the fear of being wrong gnaws at me, paralyzing my hand.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to drown out the noise in my head, the fear and doubt. I have to trust my instincts. I have to trust that I know him well enough to see through this. When I open my eyes again, my gaze locks onto the third man. I take a deep breath, steadying myself. This is it.

With a surge of determination, I lift the gun and aim it at the first man. My finger trembles on the trigger, but I force myself to pull it. The shot echoes through the warehouse, and the man crumples to the ground. My heart clenches, but I don’t allow myself to think, to dwell on what I’ve just done. I have to keep going.

I shift my aim to the second man, my breath catching in my throat. He stands still, not moving an inch, and for a split second, doubt creeps in. But I can’t hesitate. I can’t let fear control me. I pull the trigger again. Another shot, another body falls.

The third man remains standing, his hood still hiding his face. My entire body shakes, adrenaline and terror coursing through my veins. This is the moment of truth. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. The hood is pulled back, and I’m staring into Nick’s eyes.

“Nick!” I cry out.

Relief floods through me, a tidal wave that leaves me weak, my knees nearly buckling. I did it. I found him. But the relief is tainted by the cold, dark reality of what I’ve just done, what I’ve just proven I’m capable of.

Arthur steps forward, his gaze still sharp, appraising. “Well done,” he says, and I can hear the approval in his voice.

Caspian doesn’t offer me any words, he just sneers at me like I’m offending him by merely being in the same vicinity as him.

Well, fuck him.

I turn my attention back to Nick, tears flowing down my face, distorting my vision. “Nick,” I whisper, the gun falling from my hand.

Within seconds, he’s on me, his lips crashing into mine, his arms holding me so tight I can barely breathe. “I knew you could do it, Hellcat,” he groans against my lips.

Tears keep falling as we kiss, and I delve my hands under his shirt, needing to touch him with no barriers.

The Santa

My heart thumps with an intensity that belies my outward calm. The air is laced with tension, heavy with the scent of Carolina’s fear and the lingering echoes of relief. I watch her—my everything—with a hunger that tightens every muscle in my body.

“Get out,” I growl to the remaining men scattered around the perimeter. They hesitate, their eyes darting between me and Carolina, but one sharp look from me has them scurrying away like cockroaches under a spotlight.

As soon as the last man exits, the steel door slamming shut with finality, I pull Carolina closer against me. Her small frame trembles, her tears hot against my skin, but she clings to me, her lips desperately seeking mine.

“Nick,” she sobs into my mouth, her hands fisting in my jacket. “I was afraid I’d—”

“Shh,” I command, silencing her with another crushing kiss. My hands roam over her curves, gripping her ass, pulling her even closer. I can feel the pounding of her heart against my chest, a frantic beat that mirrors my own.

“It was just a test,” I murmur between kisses, nipping at her lower lip. “I was never in any real danger. Arthur would have stopped you if you chose wrong.”

Truthfully, I’m not sure what would have happened if she didn’t pass the test. I never asked because I never wanted to hear the answer. Knowing my dad, he’d find a way to twist it into some kind of sadistic lesson; possibly killing the both of us just for the hell of it.

But she doesn’t seem to hear me, lost in the swell of emotions, her body arching into my touch. I press her against the cold wall, my movement so forceful she lets out a small ‘oomph’ . She’s gasping, her breath coming in short bursts that fan across my face, her scent intoxicating—a mix of vanilla and something uniquely Carolina.

“Nick,” she whispers, her voice laced with desire and relief. “Please.”

I don’t need any further encouragement. I’m already consumed by the need to claim her, to erase the terror that had clouded her eyes just moments before. My name on her lips is both a plea and a benediction, fueling my desire to protect, possess, and cherish.

“Carolina,” I say, my tone rough with emotion. “You’re mine, all mine.” The words are more than a statement—they’re a vow, a promise entwined with a primal claim. It’s not just her body I crave—it’s her soul, her future.

“Always,” she breathes out, her eyes locked onto mine, a mirror reflecting back all the dark, tumultuous passion that courses through my veins.

“Say it again,” I demand, my voice thick with possession.

“I’m yours forevermore, Nick,” she repeats, her voice breaking on my name.

I watch, every muscle in my body tensed with desire, as Carolina leans back against the cold, unforgiving wall, her breaths coming in short, rapid bursts. The need for her burns through my veins like a wildfire. “Let me see you,” I growl, my voice laced with an urgency that reverberates off the walls. I reach for her pantsuit, clawing at the fabric until it tears down the middle.

With a final tug, the pantsuit falls to a puddle at her feet, revealing the soft curves of her body, the delicate skin I’m desperate to taste. My hands are on her before I realize I’ve moved, dropping to my knees as if in worship.

As I press my mouth to her slick cunt, she moans my name. “Nick!” Her voice is filled with need. My tongue delves into her channel, I savor her like the rarest delicacy, eliciting gasps and whimpers that feed the fire inside me.

“You’re perfect,” I say against her flesh, my voice vibrating through her. “So damn perfect for me.”

She writhes above me, her hands fisting in my hair, guiding me, urging me deeper, harder. And when she comes apart, screaming my name, it’s more than just pleasure—it’s affirmation, it’s possession, it’s everything.

“Fuck! I’m coming! I’m coming!” Her cry is a beacon, pulling me back to my feet, my own need a living thing inside me.

I don’t give her time to come down from her high before I command, “Take off my clothes.” My voice is rough with lust and love. And she does, with jerky, eager movements, stripping me of my barriers until there’s nothing left between us but raw desire.

Her breath hitches, her eyes wide and wild with lust as I grab her hips and lift her up. She immediately wraps her long legs around me, moaning as I push her back against the unyielding wall. She’s a tempest, a force that could either save or destroy me.

She rolls her hips, rubbing her wet slit along my hard shaft. “I need you inside me,” she begs. I thrust inside her, eliciting a keening moan from her lips. “Yes, yes, God, yes!”

I fuck her against the wall, each movement a testament to our dark, powerful love, pain and pleasure indistinguishable, intermingled. “Mine,” I rasp into her ear, feeling her tighten around me, her nails digging into my shoulders, marking me as surely as I mark her with every thrust.

“Yours, always,” she responds, her voice a broken promise, a vow that I feel down to my marrow.

Her desperation fuels my own. The scent of her arousal is intoxicating, driving me further into the abyss of our shared hunger. I’m relentless, pushing us both toward oblivion. I slam my lips to hers, biting and licking. Our kiss isn’t sweet and playful; it’s dark and domineeringly perfect.

I can feel her climax building again, her body coiling tight like a spring. And when she shatters, screaming my name, I follow, pouring myself into her with possessive fervor. “Take all of me,” I groan as my cum shoots from my dick, painting her insides.