Ho Ho Homicidal Maniac (Murder and Mistletoe #2)

Chapter 14

Nico

A shadow obscures the sky, briefly watching us through the window in the sloped ceiling above, but then glass breaks, and the mysterious figure descends on us in a hail of transparent shards. I pull Blake close, to protect him from the glass, but when a serrated dagger flashes in the faint glow of my electronic clock, my lizard brain takes over.

Big, green eyes stare at me in panic. Blake stumbles off the mattress on wobbly legs, like a lamb that’s never seen a wolf before. The heavy man in black, smelling of leather and oranges, reaches for him instead of focusing on me like I expected him to.

I don’t have time to consider why he’s here. But I know knives, and the blade in his hand is sharp enough to cut halfway through a man’s neck in one go. I jump off the bed, standing between the attacker and Blake, and turn my back on the bastard to avoid getting stabbed in the guts.

Pain rips through my back as my flesh opens up, spilling blood, but I slam my elbow into his arm, already turning, and the fucker drops the knife, stumbling back.

He’s not getting Blake unless he pries him out of my death-stiffened hands.

A split-second decision makes me reach for the knife, but I realize how wrong that is when a garotte tightens around my neck and yanks me back.

The thin metal thread sinks into my flesh, so deep I can’t loosen it with my fingers, and when I find myself unable to breathe and my mind goes fuzzy, panic sets in. I sink my nails into the thick hand tightening the wire around my throat, but it doesn’t budge. When the stocky form of my opponent lays its weight on me, I attempt to break his ribs with my elbow. The down jacket he’s wearing softens my blows. As the garrotte tightens, darkening the edges of my vision, I struggle to come up with ways to free myself. I’m like a seal caught between a killer whale’s teeth, and unless some miracle—

A loud thud is followed by the thug’s grunt. The encroaching darkness retreats as the wire loosens. Blake emerges from the black spots dancing in my eyes. He pulls up his pants, panting, eyes wide with terror, and the large wooden Santa gnome I painted last year trembles in his hand.

I want to tell him he did good, but there’s no time for praise yet.

The assassin is dazed but already tries getting up from the bed where he fell. I grab the comforter and pull, dragging him off with it. Blood drums in my head, pain in my back radiating all the way to my fingers, but I don’t let go of the fabric and pull again. He rolls off the comforter and to the floor like a toy. I finally have the upper hand. I drop the cover on him and descend on top while he’s blinded.

I don’t know how he found out where Blake was, but this is clearly yet another assassin out to extinguish his life, and that is not going to happen on my watch. The bastard twists under me, and I lift my body in the last moment when a dagger pierces the comforter, emerging in an explosion of down. I go rigid as I attempt to block his arm with my knee without giving his lower body too much wiggle room. The dagger punches through the layers of fabric and duck feathers again. I’m in a daze and slam my fist into the bastard’s head over and over, determined to protect Blake from this monster. I might have delivered more blows than was strictly necessary by the time it becomes clear my opponent has gone limp.

I’m breathing hard, but there’s no time to lose in case he’s not dead. I actually hope he’s not, because this fucker might have the information I need.

Blake is still holding the wooden statue and stares at me with raw fear in those green eyes. “I have a box of fairy lights in the living room. Behind the sofa. Bring them.”

“Wh-what?” he utters.

I grin when I sense movement under me. “They’re cables. To tie him.”

Blake gives me a frantic nod and makes a step toward the door, only to stop with a little whine. I don’t know what this is about until he switches on the light, revealing the glass scattered everywhere. He twists his leg to pull a shard from the heel of his foot.

Our eyes meet, and he places the figure back on my nightstand. “I’ll… get shoes too,” he says as he takes a long stride and exits the room .

“Be careful,” I add, but soon enough, he’s back with both slippers and the cable.

I’m just glad the assassin is still dazed as fuck, because he’s like a puppet in my grip when I tie his arms and legs, then attach the ties to the footboard of the bed for good measure.

I slap his face several times. “Wakey wakey, fucker.” But then I look up at Blake as I grab one of the knives. “I need to find out who sent him. You… might want to wait in the living room for this.”

He’s pale, and his skin glistens with sweat, but despite glancing to the door, his feet remain firmly on the floor. I know he made up his mind when that green gaze hardens. “No. I need to know.”

He doesn’t specify what he wants to learn, but I don’t question it. The assassin must have come for him, and he deserves to find out why.

I’m about to slap my prisoner awake when gentle fingers trace my back.

“He cut you,” Blake utters. “Where’s your—”

“It can wait,” I tell him, because it’s only a superficial injury.

The assassin opens his bloodshot eyes, his head still lolling from side to side, and I grab his jaw so he looks at me.

“Fuck you,” is all he has for me to start with, so I punch him in the stomach, and that snaps him to attention.

“We’re not calling the cops until you tell us who sent you.” We’re not calling the cops either way, but he doesn’t need to know that just yet.

He frowns through the pain and spits some blood my way as he speaks. “Sent me? What the hell are you talking about? ”

I punch him square in the face so hard the back of his head thuds against my footboard. I already detest the future clean-up, especially so late at night, and in my private, murder-free space at that!

I can sense Blake’s presence behind me, but he remains quiet, letting me work. I kinda like him watching me when I’m in my element.

I cock my head at the man in front of me, then grab his hand with mock-concern. He looks average. Brown hair, crooked nose, flat, forgettable face. The perfect features for an assassin. “Oh, so you came here with all these knives and a garotte out of your own volition. Just a random little murder spree?”

“What else would it be?” the bastard asks, but his words turn into a choked scream when I snap his finger and twist it out of the socket at the knuckle.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. It's very naughty to lie,” I tell him as his brown gaze zeroes in on me. He doesn’t know me , but he knows my type, and he’s getting scared, because where he expected a regular civilian he found a worthy opponent.

“You ex-military, or something?” he asks, only to cry out as I snap the next finger.

“Answer me.”

“Pay me,” he says with a bloodstained grin, but he can’t sustain the fake tough guy act when I break the next finger.

“I don’t think you understand the position you’re in. I’m not bargaining with you. If you give me the answer promptly, I might let you live. That’s the only the deal you’re getting.”

“Fuck you, asshole! You’re just collateral damage anyway. ”

I squint at him but extend my hand to Blake without even glancing his way. “Give me the knife, sweetie. The big one,” I specify because I took two more off this bastard when I restrained him.

Blake hands me the dagger without a word, and our prisoner glances at him over my shoulder, shaking from the pain. “What is it to you?”

“He’s my boyfriend, so if you came here to kill him, it is my fucking business! How did you know where he was?”

When he starts laughing, I’m done playing nice. I grab his nose and start sawing from the nostrils up. The chuckle dies on his lips and turns into a scream before I even get through half of it. Once I’m done, I throw the piece of flesh in his lap as he pants, bleeding all over the bottom of his face.

“You fucking psycho!” When he looks over my shoulder, straight at Blake, I consider taking his eyes next. He struggles to breathe, but his gaze is overflowing with wrath. “Your boyfriend called his brother to get out of here, so I don’t think he loves you very much. Too bad his brother wants him dea—”

My stomach’s plummeting by the time Blake appears right next to me. He yells something I can’t decipher through the thudding in my ears, and then sinks another of the assassin’s knives in his neck. When he rips it out, along with a flood of blood, it’s over.

“Oh God… oh God…” Blake utters as the dagger drops from his hands. He covers his face, only to realize they’re stained with blood, and promptly pulls off his top to clean himself.

Which makes me wonder if his goal is to show off his lovely body to manipulate me further. My blood is so cold I can’t seem to move and all of a sudden the pain between my shoulder blades comes back in full force, like a physical manifestation of the ache in my heart.

I get up, feeling like fury personified. “You did what ?” I roar at him and spread my arms.

Blake steps back and hits the wall, his big eyes filled with fake innocence. “I— this must be a lie. Carl would never—”

“That’s why you were so desperate to silence the fucker, you actually stabbed him? What else are you not telling me, huh?” I make sure to stand between him and the door, in case he wants to run. The betrayal hurts more than any physical cut could. We had the best day. I opened up to him. I showed him my craft room! Was he just pretending to like it and biding his time to escape?

“He came here to kill us,” Blake mumbles, hugging the bloodstained T-shirt.

“I told you I’d protect you, and you brought danger to my home! Look into my eyes and tell me you didn’t call your brother.”

Blake swallows and looks at the glass scattered over the floor as his chest sinks in defeat. He knows he’s been caught, and there’s no weaseling out of it now. Still, he tries.

“There were cops at the market. I could have gone to them, but I didn’t, because I didn’t want you to get in trouble. I just wanted to go home, so I called my brother. I thought he’d come and get me, or send someone, or… something.”

I shake my head and stretch my back, because at this point, the pain is a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my head. “And here we are. He sure sent someone. I told you it wasn’t safe, and you just wouldn’t listen. ”

Blake takes in a shivery breath, and his eyes start glossing over. Now he’s sad. Too bad he didn’t feel that way before fucking me over.

“I didn’t think Carl would—I couldn’t have known... We’re brothers. He practically raised me.”

“And yet he did ! At least now we know,” I grumble, because seeing him so distraught brings me no pleasure. “He now knows where we are, so we need to leave, and I have a body to deal with.”

Tears spill down Blake’s cheeks, and his shoulders jitter as he hugs himself, lost in self-pity. Boo-fucking-hoo.

“What did you tell your brother, huh? Did you want me gone?"

Green eyes meet mine, and he shakes his head. “What? No! I was just scared, because just last night, you literally cuffed me to the bed. I don’t know you well. What would you have done in my place?” he asks and rubs his skin as the temperature in the room drops further.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but I just shake my head, because I can’t bear watching him cry. “Will you listen to me now?” I grab a fluffy blanket off the bed and drape it over his shoulders.

Blake nods.

As the adrenaline dissipates, I get cold too, but I have to deal with my back first, so I send him for the first aid kit and sit on the bed, staring at all the mess I’ll have to clean up. The assassin’s blood has soaked into the comforter, and he’s now a grayish-purple. I hate the fact that nothing about this can wait if I am to get the window replaced.

What a fucking nightmare. And during the Christmas season at that!

Now I wonder whether I should have kept Blake in the cage after all. He would have eventually come around. But then we couldn’t have had a lovely time ice skating. Relationships are hard.

Blake returns with the metal box containing bandages and all the other stuff I occasionally need to patch myself up, and he sits behind me. We’re so quiet I can hear him breathing.

“So… how do I do this?” he asks.

I instruct him through the wound-cleaning process and treat the pain as my punishment for trying to steal myself a boyfriend. Only when the needle starts piercing my skin, and I do need a few stitches going by the photo he took for me, can I focus again on the situation we’re in.

“What did you tell your brother about me? Should I expect a police raid soon?” I ask bitterly.

He sniffs, and I hate myself for being the cause of his tears, even though it’s him who’s betrayed me , not the other way around. I guess I just never was as sensitive as him, even as a child, so I might have to adjust to what a normal person would feel, especially when out of their depth.

“Um… just that you’re obsessive, and that I went home with you, and you’re not letting me go. And that if I’m not upstairs, I might be in a cage in the basement,” I mumble. “But if he wants to get rid of me, he’s not going to involve the police.”

True. “I’m not ‘obsessive’,” I grumble even though he might have a point.

Silence, and then, “seriously? You barely know me and already act like we’re a couple!” he says before adding another stitch.

I want to believe he’s being as gentle as he can, but it’s hard when I get such harsh words thrown in my face. “Because I know you’re a good fit for me. You said my snow globes were amazing, and then you grinded against me in bed like I was your sex toy.”

Blake inhales, and drops the needle, letting it hang against my skin. “ I ‘grinded against’ you? I woke up with your boner pressed to my ass!”

I groan at that happy memory. “Can happen to anyone.”

“Yes, so don’t twist it like I was molesting you. You wouldn’t let me go, so I wanted to deal with my problem and go back to sleep. But no, you just had to make a whole thing of it, and now you’re telling me I started it?”

So he’s backing out. After such a glorious romp. After he spread his legs for me and moaned. He’s deep in denial if he believes he doesn’t desire me back. But I have more pressing matters to deal with.

“Why did you stop stitching?”

“Because I’m angry with you and I don’t want to make it worse just because I’m agitated.” He sighs, and just as I’m about to look back, I sense his hair against my shoulder. “I was so scared.”

“So… you don’t want me hurt?” My question’s a little needy, but my back is tender and so is my heart.

I feel him shake his head, and his warm hand squeezes my forearm. “No. I just… don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Well, you sure can’t believe your fucking brother.” I have to take a deep breath, because I know I’m being too harsh on this boy who’s never known violence. “Do you have any idea why he wants you dead?”

“No. He always took good care of me. I just don’t understand. What did I ever do to him?” Blake asks, sending hot air against my flesh. “It makes no sense. But… if he did order the hit, then I need to know.”

“Do you know where he is?” So I can stick a knife through his fucking eye, but I leave that bit out, because he’s still confused and might not like to hear that his brother has it coming.

Blake rests his forehead against me, and his arms briefly tighten around me. But then they’re gone, and he grabs the needle.

“I have an idea how to locate him.”