Ho Ho Homicidal Maniac (Murder and Mistletoe #2)

Chapter 15

Blake

I spent two hours on my knees. And not in the way I’d want to.

By the time I managed to get the blood off any surfaces it needed to disappear from, the room was painfully cold and smelled of bleach. I was like Cinderella with the cramps in my freezing hands. Nico boarded the window up, and we stowed the assassin’s body in a freezer in the secret basement. By the time the sun came up, I was dozing in Nico’s car while we sped toward Toronto, to meet the hacker who earlier helped me break into the FBI database.

How the hell has my life devolved into this Pulp Fiction fuckery? Just a few days ago, I was a teenager living a comfortable, if boring, existence in a huge house surrounded by a park. I’ve since been abducted twice, and had not one but two men try to murder me. And, apparently, my own brother is behind all this.

How come a serial killer has become my only ally?

Nico’s not dressed in any ugly Christmas sweater and looks more serious than ever. His dark blond hair is tied back, his eyes focused on the road, since it’s snowing, and a black scarf covers his lower face.

We both had a thorough wash after the cleanup, so he also smells good, teasing me with his scent even though he was the one to propose we shower separately since he still had work to do at the time. I should appreciate that, yet all I feel is regret that I didn’t get to see him naked. Maybe at this point he’s become my emotional support serial killer, and that’s why I don’t feel safe unless I’m hugging him?

The moment I stabbed the assassin’s neck keeps replaying in my mind, and each time, more gory detail is added. It was necessary, and if I hadn’t, Nico would have killed him anyway. But the fact that he wouldn’t have appeared if it wasn’t for my actions weighs heavily on my heart. The scent of blood still clings to me even after thirty minutes in the shower, and as I watch the road, the plunging noise the knife made is a constant echo in my ears.

I don’t think I’ll ever be the same after this.

Nico packed some basics for both of us, including that repulsive knitted Christmas sweater. When I complained about it, he bristled up and said it was warm, so I gave up. It wasn’t worth fighting over when I get to sit in the car in my warm woolen coat anyway.

There’s a wall between us despite him being in the market for my brother’s head. He seems unable to understand just how confusing the situation is for me .

For him, my decision to contact Carl was a betrayal, but it made sense to me at the time to seek help, because— hello —he’s someone who’s murdered many people. That’s bound to cause trust issues.

So why do I feel so guilty about it all? Is it because Nico got injured while covering me with his own body? I told him I don’t know him well, but he was willing to put his life on the line for me, something no one else would have done. I didn’t ask for any of this. Not to be abducted, not to need saving, and not for his dick against my ass.

And yet here I am, in his car, sulking that he hasn’t called me sweetie once since the whole assassin drama. But he does have all the niceties in the world for Owen , whose voice I’m beginning to despise through no fault of his own.

“Sure, no problem, I’ll get it done. You know I’m fast. If push comes to shove, the temps are always happy to do some overtime,” he says cheerfully as Nico chuckles.

“I promise this won’t encroach on your holidays with Adam. I’ll be back in a couple of days tops.”

“A spontaneous winter getaway. How romantic,” Owen says, happy for a relationship Nico and I don’t actually have.

I find myself annoyed by the confusing emotions this whole situation is stirring in me. Sure, he blew my mind in bed, causing me to temporarily forget I wasn’t supposed to mess around with him, but that doesn’t mean I want him to be my boyfriend …or do I?

He’s not even touched my thigh since we got into this car three hours ago. Do I want Nico, the Christmas Killer, or do I just crave to be desired, and he’s simply the only one who’s given me a taste of how that feels?

I don’t have the answer, but I sure as hell ogle his muscular thighs, which are hugged by a pair of jeans. Should I make a move? And if I do, then what? I can’t blow him while he’s driving. What if I’m bad at it? Or so good at it, that he loses control of the car? Or if there’s a bump in the road, his cock accidentally lodges itself in my throat, and we have to go to the hospital, and then I’d forever be that guy on the news who had to have throat surgery because of sucking dick in a moving car?

“What can I say? He’s making me lose my head a little,” Nico chuckles, but won’t even look my way. Which shouldn’t feel hurtful but does.

“Well, have fun you two, I have a customer,” Owen tells us and breaks off the connection, once again leaving us in a limbo of silence.

My stomach chooses this moment to grumble, and I cross my legs to do something, anything, with my limbs, because at this point I don’t know what I want anymore.

“You and him… you ever—”

Nico frowns. “Any reason you’re asking, or is this your idea of small talk?”

I look out at the snow-covered trees, air stuck in my windpipe as I sense his gaze on my body. I despise the fact that his attention makes me so content. “You’re very friendly.”

“We jerked each other off once. It made things awkward, so we agreed to be just friends after that.”

It’s as if he’s set off several bombs in my head at once. Bomb one—jealousy over Owen. Ridiculous, I know, but it would be even dumber to deny that’s what I’m feeling. Bomb two—his capacity to be just friends with a guy he was intimate with. Bomb three—awkwardness after a one-time fling leading to the friendship.

Bomb three is somehow most alarming, because… are we being awkward now? Are we on the trajectory of fuck-to-awkward-to-friends? And if I never wanted to be his boyfriend, why does this bother me like an itch I can’t scratch? Wouldn’t it be for the better if we decided to forgo any sexual tension between us?

Can I pretend I didn't come when he rutted against me? That I didn't moan and thrash when the Christmas Killer was on top of me? That I don't long for his touch every minute since that very first kiss?

I don’t know if this is Stockholm Syndrome, or if there’s something very wrong with me, but denying that I have these feelings seems as futile as sending a letter to Santa without a stamp.

Nico turns into a road headed for a strip mall with some shops and a supermarket. “I want to buy us provisions in case we need to stay put somewhere.”

“We’ll be in Toronto. I’m sure they have shops there,” I say, even though my stomach’s demanding food.

Nico sighs. “You can wait in the car if you want,” he tells me. He knows I won’t run from him anymore, not after what happened last night, and I hate what it’s done to this strange thing blooming between us.

“No. I’ll go with you.”

He frowns as he drives into the parking lot. “I can leave the heating on.”

Like this is about the fucking heating!

I grab his wrist and hold it, instantly calmer yet at the same time self-conscious about touching him. Why can’t I be normal?

His eyebrows rise, but he has to look back to the road as he’s parking, and now I’m jealous even of the damn asphalt. “You want to… choose your own produce?” he tries, and the way he keeps his distance from me is making me want to scream. It’s too late. He should have kept his hands to himself when I wanted him to. Now, after we kissed, had sex, after yesterday’s date and him protecting me with his own body, how dare he be so cold?

I want him to see me again. To care for me again, and what better way to do that than by showing some Christmas spirit? “I want to bake you a cake.”

I’ve never baked in my life, but how hard can it be?

Nico stops the car and cocks his head at me. Whenever he does that, I’m always reminded of the first time I saw him. In the black balaclava with ears, dragging a body down a flight of stairs. I got his unwanted attention when I gagged, and he turned to me, cocking his head like a wolf smelling prey.

It shouldn’t excite me, but it does.

“A cake? Okay,” he says, but squints at me. I’m guessing my request is so out in left field he’s doubting my good intentions. Still, he gets out of the car and waits for me.

“What do you like? Gingerbread? Fruitcake?” I ask, adjusting my coat as I join him in the cold, and we both walk toward the supermarket.

Nico puts on a big aviator hat lined with fur, and that, paired with the red plaid jacket makes him look so hot I’m tempted to slide my hand into his pocket. If only I wasn’t so unsure about where we stand.

My heart skips a beat when he gives me a soft smile. “I do love a fruitcake. Infused with lots of rum.”

“Okay, then we need flour, and eggs, and sugar, and some dried fruit,” I recite before licking my lips. I do like his smile. “I’ll check the ingredients online, so we don’t forget anything.” Then I realize I don’t have my phone and I still, worried I’ve just made things even more awkward.

Nico hesitates, but after grabbing a shopping cart he unlocks his phone and hands it to me. It’s either trust or a test .

“When we went to the cookie decorating workshop, you said you never baked anything,” he says and I’m torn between being happy that he listened to me so carefully and annoyed about it.

I look up, glad to be in a more bearable temperature. “Well, yes, but it can’t be that hard. People do it all the time.”

We start making our way through the store and I’m glad there aren’t many people around, because I’m paranoid that anyone could be an assassin and pull out a knife on me. For all I know, even the old lady with her dog paw print handbag reading Stay Pawtastic could be a killer in disguise, so I stick close to Nico as he picks up some essentials.

“Has anything… prompted this idea?” he asks with a smirk that melts me a little.

I swallow, walking the long aisle that has all kinds of baking and dessert products. I’m a bit confused by the look of this place, with its old tiles and pipes hanging over our heads. There’s even a spot where one leaks, and a bucket is gathering the drips in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a barrier of plastic cones and tape. A fishy odor comes from one of the fridges, and my chef often told me to never eat at a restaurant that smells like this. But we’re here to buy provisions, not raw meat, so we should be safe from the possibility of food poisoning.

“I feel bad about… tattling on you to my brother.”

Nico stops with me and stretches, which only makes him appear taller. “I appreciate that and hope there’s more trust between us now.” He appears so wholesome with the hat, the strands of blond hair peeking out, his knock-off Timberland boots, but his blue eyes, while intoxicating, tell the true story of what a predator he is. I wouldn’t have been able to tell if I didn’t know that he’s a killer, but I sense it now. A cold calculation combined with desire that makes me feel naked despite the layers of clothes.

A shiver makes its way down my spine, like a drop of hot oil about to make me sizzle. Now that his attention is back on me, I’m again torn between apprehension and pleasure. “I would like to think so…” I say before grabbing one of the many boxes. “White cake mix? Is that a type of flour?”

Nico hums. “Hm… no, it’s mix. It has most of the ingredients in there and it tells you one or two that you need to buy. Have you ever done any cooking?”

I clear my throat, feeling exposed in ways I don’t wish to be. “A little. Supervised. I do make my own sandwiches. I like the bread crispy. I just don’t usually do the shopping, so I’m not sure…” I drift off, feeling like a spoiled idiot.

“So who did the shopping? Your brother?”

I’m not sure if I should be honest, but he’s looked into me already and knows what kind of family I come from, so I settle on, “the housekeeper, or the chef.”

“You’d never go with them? You weren’t curious?” he asks, but there’s no judgment in his voice.

“The housekeeper would usually order a delivery, and the chef would shop on the way. It just wouldn’t be very practical,” I admit, unsure what to do about the cake now that the extent of my ignorance is obvious. “I would sometimes ask someone to drive me into town, but I’d never really get groceries there. I… liked being around people, but I’m not good at befriending them, so I never got to bake for anyone before.”

“Why do you think you’re not good at making friends? You always sounded pretty charming on the podcast,” Nico says and places a hand on my shoulder, causing a release of endorphins that makes me feel like I’m floating .

He’s the only one I have now. My brother wants me dead, the staff at home might be in on it, and Nico was the one to put himself between me and an armed man who broke into our bedroom at night.

I suddenly want to kiss him so bad.

“It’s easy to sound entertaining when you can switch off the mic or edit the recording. But I don’t know how to talk to people. I’ve been homeschooled since I was twelve, and I didn’t really have many playmates since then. Other than my dog, but he died last year,” I add bitterly. “I’ve been so lonely. It’s why I went to the nightclub. I was just trying… trying to…”

“Oh, Blake, I’m so sorry,” Nico pulls me into a warm hug.

It’s so sudden it feels like sensory overload, and I’m reminded just how under-hugged I am. He strokes my back, and I melt into him. In the baking aisle. Under the leaking pipe.

A lady passing us with her shopping clears her throat, but when I want to pull away, Nico keeps me close.

“His dog died! Have some compassion,” he snarls at the woman.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I—”

“Do we look like we need the pity of a stranger?” Nico asks, and I snort against his fragrant sweater, pushing my nose between the folds of knitted fabric, so very at peace.

So very safe.

Now that I inherited half of my family fort—

My blood runs cold as reality slowly sinks in, and I stutter. “N-nico? I think I know why he did it.”

“Hm?” Nico pulls away enough to look into my eyes, and I shake my head as the world around me crumbles.

“He’s doing it for the money. He doesn’t want me to inherit my half of the fortune now that I’m a legal adult. He… wants it more than he wants me,” I rasp, hypnotized by Nico’s blue gaze.

“Oh no… Is it a lot?” Nico asks and I’m relieved we’re alone in the aisle now as he strokes my back.

I nod, though I don’t know how much money I’m supposed to receive exactly, since Carl has dealt with all our finances since I can remember. “But I’m his little brother. How could he… he’s still gonna have his portion, and that’s millions . He’ll still be free to pursue whatever he wants.”

Nico takes a deep breath, processing all of that. “I’m sorry, Blake. For some people there is no ‘enough’. And… from what you were saying, he wasn’t exactly brother of the year. Now it makes sense that he got you the ID. He encouraged you to go to the place where you were abducted.”

I hide.

My hands rise, covering my face as tears fill my eyes and drizzle down my cheeks. Not only did he not care for me, but he’s actively tried to get me killed.

I can’t believe it.

“It was all a trap. I thought he wanted to help me get out of my shell…”

Nico pulls me close again and strokes the back of my head. What does it say about my life that I’m getting more affection from a serial killer than I ever did from my brother?

“Sweetie… He’ll get what’s coming. I promise. And I’ll keep you safe through it. And we’ll make the cake together.” Nico kisses the side of my head, and it makes me a bawling mess, because he’s here, protecting and helping me, even though I’ve betrayed his trust and caused him so many other problems. Any other killer would have disposed of a witness immediately, but not him. He chose to not only spare me but treat me as someone special. I don’t deserve it. And he called me ' sweetie' again. I’m so relieved I could cry over that too.

“Thank you… I want to make the cake nice,” I sob, utterly pathetic. It’s almost too much to take.

But for once, I don’t feel alone with my feelings.

“It will be. Come on, let’s choose one,” Nico says with a smile and encourages me to browse the shelves, but then his phone beeps, and he pulls it out of my pocket. His expression turns serious, and he shows me the screen. “It’s the hacker. Your password.”

My heart rattles, but at least my attention is diverted. As soon as I put in the agreed-upon code, the next message appears.

[ He’s in Aspen. ]

Nico reads over my shoulder. “So I guess there’s no point in meeting the hacker in person after all?”

I shake my head as anger rises in my throat. “But if he’s in Aspen… he’ll probably only visit me after Christmas,” I mumble and meet his gaze, greedy for a solution. Because I don’t know what to do.

Nico kisses the side of my head. “Okay. More time to make cake then. We’ll prepare, and I know exactly where to go so you’re safe in the meanwhile.”

A flash of panic goes through me, and I grab his forearm. “Don’t leave me!”

Nico stares at me. “Together, sweetie. We’ll go together.”

My worries disperse like snowflakes in a puddle. I squeeze his arm, then look to either side of the aisle, and when I see we’re still alone, I lean into another hug.

Maybe things will be all right after all.