Ho Ho Homicidal Maniac (Murder and Mistletoe #2)

Chapter 22

Blake

If I’m attracted to the darkness inside of Nico, to his dominant demeanor and violent tendencies, then why do I miss his goofy jokes and smiles? It makes no sense, yet because Nico has become so serious, it feels like he’s locked me away from a part of himself. And now that I can’t have it, I want to stick my hand into that cookie jar so badly I’m going crazy.

But we can’t waste time on dealing with the weird mood between us when there is so much on the line. The house is only a short drive away from the large gas station where we’ve stopped to change for the masquerade.

I shake my head, unwilling to dwell on my brother’s impending death, and put on a coat over my checkered suit. It’s a nice shade of bottle-green, and while it came off the rack, it fits as if it were made for me. Maybe this is what I should have worn to my first-ever adult outing, not the stupid elf costume?

I step out of the bathroom stall, ready to go, when my gaze settles on Nico’s tall, broad-shouldered form.

He’s adjusting his tie, so I see him in the mirror and, there’s no other way to put it, he’s breathtaking. Dressed in black pants and a burgundy jacket with sequin lapels, which make him look as if he’s already adorned in blood. This time, he’s no bloodthirsty wolf, foaming at the mouth with a hunger for gore, but an elegant monster, hidden in plain sight. His eyes are cold and determined, his hair slicked back.

He turns, putting on a simple black mask that covers the upper part of his face and extends into curled horns decorated with red glitter.

“Ready?” Nico asks as I try not to jump his bones before leaving.

He wouldn’t want me to, since I’m reasonably sure he hates me now. After all, I stopped him from 'saving Christmas' which definitely put me on the naughty list.

But a deal is a deal, and he will carry out my revenge before disappearing from my life forever.

I can’t begin to describe the emptiness that thought makes me feel at the center of my chest, but the truth is that I cannot date a killer. It just wouldn’t work, and as difficult as our parting is going to be, it is the lesser of two evils.

We don’t speak on the way to the car, nor as we drive to our destination—an old secret passage into the villa. It was made for the discreet transport of people and goods during the prohibition era so groups of prostitutes could visit the house for lavish parties, and once even provided a convenient exit when the previous owner of our Aspen home was fleeing the cops. Today, the start of the passage looks like a little concrete building with markings suggesting that it contains high-voltage electricity. It’s partially sunken into the hill behind it, and it’s easy to access with a code only Carl and I know.

Nico doesn’t communicate with me as he illuminates the old school lock on the door, which I open after a bit of fumbling with the rust. The passage hasn’t been used in a while, but that is for the better, as we won’t stumble upon anyone else once we’re inside.

“Where will this lead us?” Nico asks, which in itself tells me he trusted me enough to follow me here without question.

“The wine cellar,” I tell him as we lock the entrance with a rusty latch and face the narrow corridor leading far beyond the reach of our flashlight. The air here is stale, smelling of damp and wood, but we came here on a mission, and I would crawl over rat carcasses in order to ensure my safety. Though when we actually do stumble upon some rodents that ended their lives in the dark, I feel way less certain about this whole plan. It’s as if I’m seeing my future in their dried-out remains, but when I stall, Nico’s presence motivates me to go on. He’s so tall he needs to slouch and bow his head at all times, which distracts me enough to stop worrying that the old beams reinforcing the vaulted ceiling might collapse and bury us here forever.

We don’t exchange a single sentence during the long, stressful walk, but as we reach an iron door that’s partially open, relief washes over me as if the whole mission has already been accomplished.

I feel much better standing beneath a ceiling that appears structurally sound for a change, and that fact reassures me so much I almost leave the secret passage without obscuring my face. But Nico is ever-vigilant and pulls on my hand. I’m flustered by his touch and put on the small wooden mask I purchased at the mall. Shaped to imitate a young deer’s head, it has small antlers extending to my forehead and a muzzle, which covers my nose yet leaves the mouth bare.

“We need to make sure he doesn’t get to his office. It doubles as a panic room and he has an alarm button in there,” I say to fill the silence, even though we’ve already talked about it.

“Anything else com to mind? Something you might have forgotten?” Nico asks and frowns because we’ve hit a dead end.

Or at least it seems that way, because it’s actually a hidden door that will take us from the corridor and into the wine cellar. I can only hope no member of staff is there now.

I’m reminded that we are here on our own, which makes my face flush with intense heat. At least Nico won’t notice me blushing behind the mask.

I speak, as if sneaking into a house to assassinate someone was my usual Tuesday. “In the panic room, he has an additional hiding space behind the bookshelf. It opens when someone pulls on the brass statue of an archer.”

My hand finds the button opening the passage, and the wall ahead pops back, revealing itself to be a door.

“Follow me,” I tell him and enter the cool dark interior illuminated by the light shining in the nearby corridor.

“Just don’t do anything rash,” Nico says, and a shiver goes up my spine when he strokes the small of my back. “Let me handle things, and if it gets too heated, don’t wait up, run.”

His touch sends wisps of warmth all over me, but when he takes his hand away, I head toward the insistent noise and heat of the kitchen. With chefs, their helpers, and waiting staff all focused on their duties, nobody pays attention to masked guests who make their way past grills, pots, and huge platters of canapés. Everything smells delicious, but my stomach is tight from the stress of what I’m about to do, and I long to find Carl already.

It’s a Christmas party, with plenty of masked guests, so we might be able to get to him without being noticed, but the moment we step among the guests, fear crawls up my throat and tightens around it like a collar with spikes on the inside.

Fine velvets, brocade, and furs surround us from all sides, and I feel underdressed in my off-the-rack suit, but the lights are dimmed to create an intimate atmosphere, so I might just avoid being identified as an impostor. A musical quartet plays festive music, providing the background for easy conversation and wine drinking, but I storm right past the artists, intent on finding my brother. I don’t want to be here any longer than strictly necessary.

As I lead Nico into a hallway I used to reimagine as a race track, back when my parents were still around, a faint modern rhythm worms its way into my ear. I head toward a place originally conceptualized as the smoking room, where gentlemen retire after dinner and enjoy conversation uninhibited by the necessity of censoring themselves for the sake of female company. The double doors are partially open, and rays of green and red light coming from inside fall on my Grandmom’s portrait hung right across from the room.

I don’t think she would have approved of what’s going on inside.

The antique billiards table that’s as big as some people’s studio apartments, is covered with shiny cloth, and two barely dressed ladies dance on top of it for an audience of at least two dozen people.

“Do you think this is where your brother would be?” Nico whispers, stepping inside as I eye two security guards who casually walk past us, staring at glitter nipple tassels attached to a pair of pert breasts.

When the dancer makes them spin, and then steps through a spiraling hoop, I’m certain the view before me will be permanently burned on the backs of my eyelids.

I try acting as if I don’t find any of this unusual, but as the two dancers slot together, I’m eaten up by discomfort. Not just because I have no interest in women, but mostly because this is not what I expected to see at a Christmas Party. And definitely not on the billiards table my dad used to house his toy train collection.

Looks like I don’t know my brother nearly as well as I thought. As if that wasn’t obvious when he sent assassins after me.

When my eyes get used to the relative darkness of the smoking room, I notice that only some of the women present are performers or hostesses. Plenty of ladies within sight wear conventional eveningwear, which offers me some relief, and I clap when the show on the impromptu stage comes to an end.

“I… don’t know this side of him,” I tell Nico, but as I’m about to retreat and peruse the rest of the house, my gaze lingers on a familiar silhouette.

He’s even wearing a suit I’ve seen in one of his photos. My brother might have a simple mask over the eyes, but he wants to be seen and known.

Nico grabs himself a canapé from a passing hostess, seeming perfectly relaxed when I’m about to faint from stress. He’s wearing the red gloves, likely to avoid leaving behind fingerprints, but all I can remember is how their leather felt inside me.

Carl seems so at ease when he grabs one of the dancers by the waist and carries her to the floor as she giggles, her bare breasts right in his face.

“That’s him,” I mumble, leaning against Nico. “My brother. The one hugging the dancer.”

I never thought of myself as a prude, but there’s something about seeing my older brother like this that makes me long for the safety of Nico’s small apartment.

“We have to get him away from people,” Nico says and while I consider retreat, he makes his way through the crowd like a snake zeroing in on its prey.

I don’t even feel I have a choice, so I follow him, desperate to grab his hand yet too afraid it could draw too much attention to us. Carl stands with his back to us, his arm around the dancer’s waist, but Nico seems to have no issue with making himself known. He leans against the billiards table and his gaze lands on the dancer, sticky with lust.

I’m so taken aback I don’t even know what I’m looking at anymore. He’s like a different man. If pretending comes so easily to him, maybe it’s for the better that we will probably part after this ordeal.

The dancer is drawn in by his interest and relaxed body language like a cat to fresh cream. Despite my brother’s hand on her hip, she flutters her dark eyelashes at Nico and smiles. It’s like a dance. I don’t know the steps, but I’m impressed anyway.

I stand nearby, like a tiny fish safe under the shark’s belly, so when Nico moves, so do I. He approaches my brother and the girl. While I try to remember how to breathe, he’s suave as if he’s attended parties like this all his life. In the dim light, I wouldn’t be able to tell that his mask is off the discount rack.

“I loved the show,” he says to the girl, and extends his hand to her. When she slides her fingers into his, he kisses her knuckles. “I hope I’m not interrupting.” He turns to Carl, and while my nerves are already in tatters, they now get thrown into a blender. One of those high-powered ones that can crush ice cubes, only this time it’s my ribcage that’s being pulverized before the blades can reach my heart.

He’s never spoken to me quite in this fashion. But should I be bothered? I know for a fact that he’s feigning interest, and I don’t expect him to treat me like a lady , since I’m obviously not one, but green, slimy jealousy still crawls up my gullet. I fight the urge to clear my throat as the sensation burns.

How can I trust him when I know how good he is at pretending?

Then again, would it matter if he never dropped the act and cherished me forever?

That obviously can’t happen, but… in theory, would I care?

Also, I can’t believe I’m standing so close to Carl without him knowing. Maybe this doesn’t bother a psychopath like Nico, but I’m close to fainting.

Just as my brother is about to answer, his lips twisting, the dancer speaks. “Not at all. We were just about to go find ourselves a quiet little nest, but…” Her slender fingers slide up Nico’s arm. “There could be room for more, right Carl?” She glances at my brother, biting her lip.

Nico exhales and stands even closer to her almost naked form. “Illicit. I love it. I can imagine a girl like you craves the thrill. What do you say, Carl?” His smile becomes predatory in a way that makes my stomach twist with nervous desire and my head empty until all I can think about is his touch, and the power his gaze has on me.

I know Nico’s gay. I know all of this is a ruse to get Carl alone and murder him in cold blood. And yet I despise that he’s smiling like that at anyone other than me. The thought of him going in for a threesome, even if only for the sake of an easier kill later, makes me want to leave, get a new identity, and start a life in his attic, never looking back, just so he doesn’t have to stick to this act.

Carl clicks his tongue. “I don’t know—”

But the dancer pouts at him and strokes his chest. “Come on, baby, it will be fun. He could keep the mask on. We’d never know who he really is.”

Oh. So is this woman… his girlfriend? I know nothing about her existence, and that fact somehow strikes me even more painfully than Carl’s betrayal.

Nico raises his hands. “And we don’t have to touch if that’s the issue.”

Carl cocks his head at me all of a sudden, and I’m a deer in the headlights when our eyes meet. With the mask I’m wearing—literally. “And him?”

My lips dry. He will surely recognize my voice.

Nico pats my back with a smirk. “This is Tommy. Or should I say, Peeping Tommy. He just likes to watch.”

His touch burns in the best way, and I long to kill his act by rolling straight into his arms. Maybe I’ll even ask him to fuck me on the billiards table, because fuck Carl and his opinion of me.

That’s something I only entertain in my fantasies as rage buzzes inside me, a reminder of what my own brother was happy to do to me, to get his hands on all our family’s money .

“He’s staring,” Carl says, making me stiffen. “Is he into me, or something?”

Bile rises in my throat, but Nico laughs off Carl’s question. “Nah, he’s just shy.”

The dancer pulls on Carl’s arm. “Come on, live a little, it’s gonna be fun.” With the way she eyes Nico, I’m pretty sure she’s got the hots for him , but if she’s that keen on fucking my brother over, I’m her biggest fan.

Carl rolls his eyes but smiles and lets her lead him to a door on the other side of the room buzzing with erotic energy. “Ah, what the hell. Let’s go.”

Just like that? Really?

I give Nico a wide-eyed glance from behind my mask, and when he winks at me, charming and suave like a heartthrob from the golden age of Hollywood, I find myself following his lead like a dog obeying its master.

A guard standing in front of a door on one side of the room nods at Carl, then unlocks the passage and steps aside, letting the four of us through.

The wooden staircase ahead leads to a corridor right next to the master bedroom, where my parents used to sleep whenever we spent time in Aspen. Despite having vague memories of happy childhood moments in this house, my head pulsates with the reality that my own brother, whom I loved, and who I depended on doesn’t even recognize me when the upper half of my face is hidden.

How could I have missed how little he cared for me?

“Nothing like a night of debauchery!” The dancer squeals and throws her hands in the air. She twirls and lands in Nico’s arms.

I hate it. I hate the way he smiles at her, I hate his hand on her back, I hate that he’s not putting a bullet between my brother’s eyes yet, and I hate that I’m so jealous, but at this point, just fucking kill me already.

How the fuck will I cope with parting from Nico? Knowing that he might be dating someone else? I have not thought this through at all.

“Night of your life,” Nico promises and picks her up. When she wraps her legs around him, I’m reeling, not sure who I want to kill first: her or him .

“Just behind this door,” Carl says, leading us farther. The music is only a low thumping behind walls, and I don’t even know where all this is headed, because this woman is a witness in the making. We can’t have her here.

An ugly thought rises in my blackened heart. What if this is some elaborate revenge by Nico? What if he brought me here, pulled me into this fucked-up situation, so that I suffer? What do I really know about his cruel, twisted mind?

If he wants to go through with this threesome, could I sit in a corner and watch? Not only would I be watching my brother have sex, which, barf , but also Nico with someone else? What kind of fucked up punishment would that be? Watching the man I lo—

“No, this won’t do!” The dancer giggles in Nico’s arms and before I know what’s happening, she pushes up my mask. “If you’re watching, I want to see your face. Aw, you’re a cutie!”

But my heart turns into ice as I turn my gaze to my brother and our eyes meet.