Ho Ho Homicidal Maniac (Murder and Mistletoe #2)

Chapter 8

Blake

I am now reasonably sure that my kidnapper doesn’t want to outright kill me, which is a huge relief. Though if he does end up taking my life, I hope my head is found wrapped with the Christmas Killer’s vintage ribbon, so that I stay in the public consciousness as the next victim.

I can imagine my fellow podcasters expressing their not-so-genuine grief as they report on the serial killer’s revenge, while all that sweet ad money pours into their accounts. What would be the appropriate thing to advertise during a podcast or video discussing my death? A VPN service, so a dangerous individual cannot track you? A point-and-click murder mystery game? An online therapy service, to help deal with the trauma of listening to details about gruesome murders and whatever other mental health issues fans might be dealing with ?

I know a few people who’d just say fuck it and have a segment promoting microwavable meals before discussing violent crime. To each their own, and I won’t care once I’m dead anyway.

Nico did keep his word, and once he was satisfied with the contents of my phone, he gave me some privacy in the shower, which was a huge relief. A part of me suspects he might have been watching me through the keyhole, but I’m clean, I smell of Caribbean storm (at least that’s what it said on the bottle of shower gel I used) rather than sweat, and I’m no longer wearing the tight shorts/stockings combo. I detest the cheerful reindeer pattern on the cozy one-piece pajamas Nico left for me, but the garment is soft, warm, and not too tight around the hips, which is a giant improvement. I hope it means he does actually want to do more than perv on me at every opportunity.

I need to understand him better to play my part right. If he’s practically begging me for a date, then he does want to please me. Which means he won’t be throwing tantrums about not getting to fuck me yet. I can be his Scheherazade and draw out our courting if that’s what he’s been fantasizing about. It’s hard to imagine him as a romantic, but okay I guess.

My heart is in my throat as Nico leads me up the same stairs which almost took me to freedom before.

“I prepared some of the food while you showered, even though it’s much later than I expected. You don’t mind eating late, do you?”

“I haven’t seen the sun since you brought me here. I have no idea how much time passed,” I say before I can stop myself, but he’s walking behind me through the warehouse full of boxes and decorative statues and doesn’t immediately grab me by the throat, which is… a positive. I wouldn’t go as far as thinking he wants the real me, but maybe he likes a challenge, since the date idea is his attempt at wooing me.

“Three days. You’ll see the sun tomorrow. In fact, you will have the best day tomorrow. Like Christmas come early.” Nico smiles at me as we pass the flood of plushies and he pulls out a set of keys.

It’s happening. I’ve really managed to get out.

I will not be a basement-dwelling prisoner who loses his sight from the lack of vitamin A.

When I realize I’m feeling grateful to him for letting me out, I have to shake my head to force away the ridiculous thoughts. He trapped me there in the first place, and he’s no kind soul, but a psycho murderer.

I’m so antsy about leaving the underground that I can’t stay still and keep shifting my weight as Nico unlocks the exit before stepping into a short corridor. He switches on the light, grabs both my shoulders and leads me out of the hallway into…

Holy hell.

Golden lamps arranged in several spots around the cozy yet spacious interior finished with dark wood cast a warm glow on rows, piles, and racks of Christmas-related merchandise. It’s as if I’ve stepped into one of those tooth-decay-sweet holiday movies and entered Santa’s own workshop while the elves are all on break. It takes me a moment to realize that we are inside a… shop. Freedom is just outside the frost covered windows. I can see the street lamps, but as much as I want to seek help, I cannot afford another false start. Nico won’t give me a third chance, so I need to focus on milking his crush on me and seize the opportunity to escape when it presents itself.

The silence stretches between us, and as I notice that Nico’s watching me, I realize he craves a reaction.

“Wow,” is all I can give him. “This is… quite something. ”

Never have I hated Christmas more.

My mind is racing. I can’t imagine him being a night security guard for a shop this small. He wouldn’t be able to hide his murder basement so easily. I remember what he said about his grandfather handing him the mantle of Christmas Killer, and while I can’t be sure, it seems plausible that he also inherited this place.

Talk about hiding in plain sight.

“Welcome to the Winter Emporium,” Nico says and strides in. “We have several themed sections, and oh!” He grabs my hand and pulls me away from the windows, deeper into the store that smells of cinnamon, orange, and pine. I clock a phone by the counter, which could be useful in the future.

We arrive at a large table hosting a miniature snow-covered wonderland. It has a little town, a train station, tiny shops, and a herd of reindeer in the forest.

Nico ducks under the table, and the whole scene lights up. “I made a lot of this with my grandpa,” he says with a smile, as if his hobby isn’t cutting people into pieces.

I clear my throat, trying to grasp at the remainders of my sanity as a miniature train emerges from within the artificial mountain with a whistle. “After New Year, does this place become the Love Emporium, and then the Spring Emporium?”

Nico looks bewildered. “Fuck no. Christmas all day every day, baby. This is an all-year-round Christmas shop. Don’t you just love it?”

I don’t want to completely gross him out with my attitude, but I also have my limits. “I kinda wish Christmas wasn’t a thing. All that fake cheer and the pressure to buy things… ”

His eyes grow wider. “Oh no… You can’t be one of those people. Don’t you feel all warm and gooey inside in reindeer pajamas?”

I glance down my body. “It is warm, I’ll give it that. I don’t like how loud and garish everything is at Christmas. How does your shop survive selling only Christmas products all year?” I ask, gesturing at the interior.

Nico turns off the lights on the table, which also stops the train from moving, but he doesn’t seem angry with me for speaking my mind, so that has to count for something.

“It can get tough, but the town is known for impressive Christmas displays, so we get a lot of tourists in the winter, which helps get us through the summer. The shop’s been in my family for almost a century. It started out as a toy shop, and I don’t want to let the tradition die. I used to help out here when I was just a kid. We would lock the shop on Christmas day, pull the curtains shut, and have our dinner right there,” he points to a table set with festive plates and napkins.

When I imagine two serial killers, a master and his apprentice, carving the turkey here, among all this gaudily cozy finery, I get a sense of almost overwhelming distaste. God, how I hate Christmas. “I’m already tired of the festive season. Are you really trying to tell me you just eat Christmas ham and gravy all year and pretend it’s snowing outside in the summer?”

Nico wags his finger at me with a smile. “I’ll make a believer out of you yet. I’m all about the Christmas magic.”

And murder.

I won’t lie, I do have a morbid curiosity about what makes him tick, what made him this way. He is the Christmas Killer after all, and this is his origin story. Is he a born psychopath, or did he see his grandfather do some messed up shit, and that scarred him for life ?

He leads me up wooden stairs decorated with garlands and baubles, and when he leans past me to dim the lights downstairs, I take a discreet sniff of his cologne. It’s spicy, deep, with a hint of something fruity. I wonder if I’m too horny for my own good, or just touch-starved, because deep down I toy with scenarios of what I’d do if he tried to kiss me under the mistletoe we pass beneath.

As we reach the upper level of the store, I’m confronted with a large assortment of clothing and accessories, as well as some less orthodox items, like pet toys or perfume. I’m somewhat overwhelmed by the selection as my host leads me to a table with men’s underwear, where every single item is Christmas-themed too.

What is this madhouse?

“Go on, pick up a few things,” Nico offers with a wide smile as I stare at a legless mannequin presenting a pair of tight red boxer briefs made of velveteen and featuring a fur trim.

“Is this your idea of sexy underwear for our date? Do you want me to dress up as an elf again?”

Nico smirks and though he avoids my eyes. “You did make a pretty picture as an elf, but I want you to feel comfortable. I know it was a costume, I’m not unreasonable. Maybe this?”

He shows me a green velvet jock strap with Ho Ho Ho on the waist band. He’s ridiculous, but the idea of wearing something that leaves my whole ass on show still makes me blush.

“You just want easy access,” I say, chuckling, because if I don’t laugh, I might just go mad. “There’s a reason why we wrap gifts, you know.”

“I like a bit of mystery…” Nico steps much closer and alarm bells ring in my head. I need to put a lid on this .

“But, as I said, I don’t like garish colors,” I say, moving away from the themed underwear with two pairs of the simplest red and green briefs. “And my skin is very sensitive, so I only really wear natural fabrics. Do you have any?”

“Yes, over here. What made you dress up as an elf then if you’re not a fan of Christmas? Or artificial fabrics,” he asks, leading me away from the briefs, to a long rack of ugly sweaters, which surely are all made of polyester rather than wool.

I clear my throat, ignoring the garment featuring a tyrannosaurus dressed as Santa and handing out gifts to other dinos. I’ve already told him what happened, but he clearly wants to build some kind of connection, so I shrug and give him what he wants.

“It was a themed party. Everyone’s all crazy for Christmas, and I wanted to be noticed. It got me what I wanted, but instead of a kiss, I got abducted by a psycho. I thought you have to go to a club at least a few times before you get targeted by some maniac,” I mumble unhappily.

“Did you underestimate what your face and body can do to people?” He turns to a corner filled with much darker colors and I spot the Christmas Killer merch right next to a whole array of Grinch-themed products.

My mouth dries as I follow the harmonious lines of Nico’s back, identifiable even under the shirt. He has a beautiful shoulder-to-hip ratio, and for a moment I’m almost tempted to step closer and smell his top where the fabric dips between the shoulder blades. If I’d met him anywhere else, I could have been persuaded to give him my first-ever blowjob. Hell, I might have been the one doing the persuading .

But while I need him to like me enough to spare my life, I don’t want him to become possessive. This game is already far too dangerous without him on top of me.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit on-the-nose?” I ask, following him to the Christmas Killer’s corner, which features everything from T-shirts to mugs. “If you ended up tied to the murders somehow, the merch might be a giveaway.”

“Nah, people like you, Cryptic Boy, come here all year round. In the summer, these are actually some of our bestsellers. If I were able to reveal my identity, I could have been married to one of my fans by now.”

He’s just showing off to make me jealous. Am I jealous?

“And,” Nico goes on, picking up a black T-shirt with a grin. “One hundred percent cotton.”

I take the T-shirt, scrambling in the heat of his gaze. What is he trying to say? That he wants me to become his husband in the future and support his bloody endeavors? I’m not the marrying kind even if I could get on board with vigilante justice.

My heart beats faster, and I curl my toes as a wave of his scent reaches my nose. All this would be infinitely easier if I wasn’t a horny virgin. I need to redirect my thoughts. Now.

“So, you profit from your kills?”

The black top is stylized to look like a band T-shirt with a cartoon head wrapped in ribbon and a list of murder dates on the back alongside locations.

Is it better than a festive onesie? I’m not sure.

“No, I profit from T-shirts,” he says with a sneaky grin I’m finding weirdly endearing. Maybe it’s the edge of danger hanging over me like a guillotine, or just the contrast between my current situation and the one I was in two days ago that’s making me such a sucker for him .

“Or this one?” he suggests, showing a top that says I met the Christmas Killer and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.

“Can I get them both for free?” I ask, meeting his gaze. He is a dangerous animal, and it would be unwise to make myself appear too weak.

It’s as though he’s been waiting to shower me with gifts. Not only do I get those two, but three more, a pair of Grinch pajama pants, a big green hoodie from the eco section, and cozy socks.

In the end, we leave the store with a whole pile in my arms. I suppose it makes sense for him to offer me something from his own store rather than paying way more someplace else, but I still want to roll my eyes at the hoodie featuring a very angry Krampus. Ah well, at least it’s not an elf.

As it turns out, Nico lives in the attic above his shop. I take note of the easy-to-open lock on the door and follow my host into his apartment, which is surprisingly pleasant after half an hour of the Christmas cacophony in the shop.

A massive skylight reveals a clear sky covered in stars, and Nico turns on fairy lights, which decorate the whole living room with a warm orange glow. The sloped wooden ceiling makes the place seem small, but the rustic kitchen area has enough room for a sofa. A Christmas tree adorned with green and red baubles is the main feature next to a table with two chairs, already set for dinner just as beautifully as the fake one in the shop. I only now realize how hungry I am, and the smell of potatoes with gravy makes me salivate.

When I spot the wrapped boxes piled up under the tree, I forget for a moment that I’m a prisoner here. And while, it seems, I can’t escape the most lonely of holidays for the duration of my stay, I intend to be a gracious guest. I wonder if there’s a phone inside the apartment, or if I’ll need to sneak out into the store once Nico falls asleep. For now though, all I want is to fill my stomach with savory food, because I can’t live on milk and cookies.

“And you live on your own?” I ask, trying to gauge what I’m dealing with.

He pulls out a chair for me like the perfect gentleman and rushes off to the kitchen counter, locking the door on the way. Of course.

“Yes, but I’d love to share it with someone special one day.” Nico winks at me as he puts on a green apron with his name on it in a whimsical font. For half a second I toy with the idea of being his boyfriend. How would such a life even look like? Would this love-bombing eventually stop, replaced by encroaching violence, as it often happens? Or would he always stay like he appears now, a maniac with a knife on December nights, and a perfect partner at any other time?

“How about you? Do you live with your brother?”

I’m surprised that he’d care, but I pour myself some water from the bottle in the middle of the table and take a sip. “Technically. He divides most of his time between New York, Austin, and LA. But he visits me almost every month,” I say, stumbling over the last word when Nico folds his sleeves, once again revealing the thick forearms. They look as strong as they felt.

He carves the turkey for us with the proficiency I’d expect from someone who claims to cook it once a month. I’m reminded of the saw cutting through my abductor’s neck and strangely enough, now that I’m removed from the situation, the memory doesn’t even make me lose my appetite. What if something’s wrong with me too? I’ve always kept the extent of my interest in true-crime from my brother, because I know it’s a bit morbid, and I don’t want him to worry for no good reason, but I think my tolerance for seeing violence is higher than most people’s.

“Oh, so you’re not close?” Nico asks and puts a generous pile of mashed potatoes on both plates. “Are you out to him? Or did he not know what club you went to?”

I stick my finger in the hot potatoes and bring some to my mouth. They’re creamy, soft, and so heavenly I find myself grunting. “Um… no no, we are close! We often send each other memes and stuff. And he knows I’m gay. Other people aren’t lucky to have such accepting families, but he was actually the one to help me get the fake ID. Said it would be better if I got to meet other gay men in real life rather than online.”

Nico places a feast-on-a-plate in front of us both, takes off the apron and lights a few candles on the table.

I think my hormones are messing with me after the ordeal I’ve been through so far, because my chest gets all warm and fuzzy. Who would have thought the Christmas Killer could treat me to a better dinner than my own family?

“So first he won’t let you go to a regular high school, and then he sets you loose at a gay nightclub?” Nico raises his eyebrows but clinks his own glass of water with mine.

I stall. “I mean, I’m eighteen now. I know better. He thinks I’m ready,” I say and dig in, humming in pleasure as I try the juicy meat. Nico is an excellent cook, I’ll give him that.

“ Do you know better?” he asks with a devilish glint in his eyes, reminding me that he’s a predator. And yet the atmosphere around us is so cozy I’m relaxed. Maybe too relaxed.

Maybe this is a trap, and he’s trying to fatten me up a bit for next year’s Christmas ?

Still, when I see the spark in his eye, heat flashes down my body, and I shrug. “Probably not, considering I accepted a drink from a perfect stranger. What do you think?”

“I think we need to find out who is trying to kill you so you can enjoy the life you deserve, and I hope I’ll be a part of that life.”

Uh -oh. That’s crazy , passes through my head, but I force my features to remain unchanged as I listen. He focuses on the plate in front of him and flushes as if he were getting to spend time with his favorite celebrity.

With no input from me, Nico goes on, “You… you’ve been with me for a while now. As in, your podcast. I really love how much attention you pay to detail and how much you dig into a killer’s psyche. I might have discovered a few things about myself that way. When you recounted some of my kills, the ones of known criminals, I got a bit of a thrill from how much you seemed to enjoy the righteous justice.”

A shiver runs down my spine, because he’s right. I never say it openly, because I don’t want to deal with haters claiming I’m a bad person like a certain colleague of mine, but I’m not entirely against someone taking out people who are evil to the bone.

Many would say it’s not up to me to decide who deserves death and who does not, but the way I see it, someone who tortures, kills, or hurts others for some kind of self-gratification should not be treated as a person . They’re beasts that deserve being put down. So yes, I might not outright say that, but Nico must have read that between the lines and understood, because it’s an opinion he shares.

Knowing that every single person he killed was an evil creature without a shred of humanity deep in their heart offers me a new perspective on the Christmas Killer, and I almost want to reveal it to the world. “Why don’t you make it clear why they died? Your victims, I mean.”

He sighs over his last piece of turkey. “I worry the evidence might be tracked to my cameras. Speaking of which…” he goes on to tell me about something he accidentally witnessed.

A man was notoriously cheating on his wife, but one day, she came home early so the husband hid the other guy in the garage before accidentally locking himself out in the cold. As he circled the house to return inside, he ran into a bear busy eating from trash cans. As Nico later learned from a newspaper, the husband survived but lost a leg. And his wife.

He promised to show me the footage, as he’s never gotten to share it with anyone, and maybe it’s messed up, but it made me feel kinda special.

“Nobody likes cheaters, right?” I quipped, and we shared a little laugh at the man’s deserved misfortune.

I spent the rest of dinner entertained by my charming (if deadly) host, and I did end up eating pumpkin pie for dessert because why the fuck not? I’m an adult, and nobody can stop me!

We brush our teeth together, and by the time we’re done, my eyelids feel heavy. The clock on the wall tells me it’s almost three in the morning, but as I enter Nico’s bedroom and face its cozy interior, with a sloped roof on either side of me, I’m reminded that he warned me about there being only one bed. I’d ignored that fact, too focused on trying to get out of the basement prison, but seeing the large wooden frame with piles of snowflake-patterned pillows makes my situation all too real .

“Cozy,” I say as strings of fairy lights illuminate the ceiling, providing mood lighting. “And not messy at all.”

“I just want it to be perfect for you.” He bites his lip, but things get serious when he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

Oh, fuck.

Was the dinner date a trap, and he never intended to wait for my invitation after all?

A shiver makes its way up my back, because when I imagine him forcing himself on me, my heart beats faster for all the wrong reasons. I have a few messed-up fantasies he doesn’t need to know about. I don’t want any of them to really come to life, of course, but I’m the one controlling what goes on in the scenarios I imagine, and the vision of him on top, pushing me down hard, does… things to my body. I steady myself and watch him, because if he really wants me to, he’s going to make it happen anyway. Better not to prod the bear.

Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself as I watch his fingers descend down his chest, popping button after button. I can already see some of his chest hair and find myself wondering how it would feel against my back while a body just like this moves on top of me in a hypnotic rhythm.

“Thank you, that’s very considerate.”

“I’m so stuffed!” Nico pats his rock-hard stomach, and I’ve got no doubt this is his way to tease me and humblebrag, because he’s ridiculously fit. He pulls the band out of his hair, letting it loose. With the skylight behind him, the gentle lights caressing his skin, his attractiveness seems unreal.

And he wants me. I know it. If I said the word, I could be getting my dick sucked tonight .

But then, I’d entangle myself more with a killer. Which is not only morally wrong (debatable), but also dangerous (certainly).

“You’re staring, sweetie.” Nico winks at me with his fingers on his belt. “If you’re feeling shy, you can change in the bathroom.” He points to the door behind me.

I definitely should not be getting a boner, but he is tall, and built, and has such pretty blue eyes.

“What if I am staring?” I ask and face the window, looking out into the small town street to calm down. It is in my best interest to slide under the covers, because if I do go into the bathroom now, I might be tempted to get relief from my right hand.

“You’re invited to. I’m just giving your modesty a warning.” He chuckles and the clank of his belt follows. The sound goes straight to my dick.

I will be in bed with an insanely hot guy. Also, the Christmas Killer. My growing erection is extremely inappropriate, so I step toward the bed and lift the covers on one side. I hide under the comforter as soon as the slippers he gave me are off.

“I’ll just stay in the onesie tonight,” I say.

The mattress is made of memory foam, which I register as playing in my favor, because I’ll be far less likely to wake Nico up when I sneak out to call my brother. Or the police. For now though, I give in to temptation and rest against the pillows as my host pulls his belt out, watching me like a hawk assessing if he’s ready for another meal.

There’s something wrong with me, because despite being here against my will, despite knowing who this man is, I cannot help the arousal making my balls tighten and my cock fill as I feast my eyes on his handsome features and broad chest .

“And by the way, I’m inexperienced, not modest,” I tell him, determined to stand my ground.

My face flames when he pulls down his jeans, revealing muscular thighs and black briefs that tent a little over his package.

When he climbs onto the bed in his underwear, my breath quickens. I’ve never been more aroused in my life. My survival brain has been overridden by sex drive and all I can think about when I stare at him is how badly I want my head between his legs.

He kneels by me, and I didn’t think it was possible for the air between us to become denser with lust, but here we are.

Nico leans over me, one hand by my head, and just as I think he’s going to kiss me, it turns out he’s reaching for the drawer in the night stand on my side.

It’s happening. He’s getting a condom. Or lube. Both?

But… no. Something rattles and he straightens up with a pair of handcuffs.

“Now, let’s get you ready for bed.”

A soft whine leaves my lips. “You’re into that kind of thing?” I ask as my cock sucks blood out of my brain at a rapid pace.

Nico’s eyebrows rise. “What…? No. I mean, yes , but also, no, that’s not what they’re for tonight.” He strokes my cheek and grabs my wrist. “I trust the incriminating evidence you gave me, but there’s only so much risk I can take if I’m to sleep next to you.”

I’m such an embarrassment, but how can I be expected to think straight in a situation like this one? This is the first time I’m in bed with another man, who, by the way, looks like my wet dream, and the adrenaline of knowing his secret identity seems to fuel my fantasies rather than extinguish them. In an alternative world, where Nico is just a fit guy, I’d want him to kiss me. First on the lips, then down my neck as his hand slides into my pajama and holds my painfully stiff prick—

So why does the fantasy morph to him wearing a fucking balaclava and watching me with intense eyes?

Nothing like that is going to happen, nor will I get to make a quick phone call, because when the first cuff closes around my wrist, it’s obvious I won’t be able to slide my hand out.

Fuck.

“Sweet dreams,” Nico says and gives me a kiss… on the fucking forehead?

He then lies down under the thick comforter, and closes his eyes, peaceful as a baby while I stew in my horny juices, dick as hard as a damn candy cane.

With the lights off and my arms cuffed to the headboard, I have no choice but to try willing my erection down, because my host wouldn’t have built a pillow wall between us if he wanted to unleash his lust on my restrained and defenseless body.

Typical, just typical. First, he teases me, then doesn’t even follow up on his unspoken threats. The part of me that wanted him to itched for an excuse to go with it, but he gave me blue balls instead.

His breathing evens out, until I’m certain he’s asleep, but dreams refuse to claim me too, so I stare at the ceiling, bathed in the warm scent clinging to the sheets. I’m about to drift off when Nico moves on the other side of the partition between us, and I consider if I really want him to molest me after all, but when his arm slams my ribs, and a soft snore comes from his direction, I know the night is lost.