Ho Ho Homicidal Maniac (Murder and Mistletoe #2)

Chapter 23

Nico

Fuck.

Double fuck.

It happened so fast I couldn’t stop her, and now here we fucking are. My heart is a boulder in my chest as I let the dancer down to the floor.

“That’s my brother,” Carl says. He’s sobering up fast, his gaze drifting between Blake and me. I’ve no doubt that he’s assessing my size.

The poor girl has no idea what’s going on and makes a face at him. “Ew! Carl! What the fuck?” She steps back from us. “That’s far too fucked up for me. What next? Is he your cousin or something?” She points at me, but all I’m wondering is whether Carl has a weapon on him, so I stand a bit closer to Blake, just in case.

Carl frowns and grabs her by the wrist. “What? I had no idea he’d be here.”

The dancer twists her hand away and takes a step toward the door, her earlier playfulness gone. “Are you really trying to convince me you didn’t recognize your own brother because of some stupid mask? Give me a break. I’m kinky, but not into some incest shit,” she says and strides out, not bothering to spare any of us another glance.

Carl keeps his eyes on me, aware that I might be a predator. “B-Blake. Where have you been? What is this? Who is this?”

Okay, so he’s playing dumb. Fair enough. It gives me time to count the clicks of the woman’s heels. The farther away she is, the better. Preferably, I want her back in the smoking room before I act.

Blake, who’s been stiff as an aging tree, suddenly comes back to life. He shuts the double door and leans against it, staring at his brother in a silence so intense I swear I can hear his heartbeat. “You… seem worried,” he says flatly. “Distracting yourself with all that music and sex.”

I make note of the smaller door on the other side of the opulent bedroom furnished with heavy wooden furniture someone polished to perfection. It’s either an exit, or just a bathroom, but when Carl takes a step back, I’m thinking it could be his planned way out.

But no matter the painful rift between me and Blake, I make sure I’m close enough to protect him. This boy might have cut my heart into paper-thin strips, but even as a puppet with a void in its chest I won’t let anyone hurt him.

Carl spreads his arms, appearing so shocked I almost believe him. “What? Of course I’m worried! You haven’t returned any of my calls. But the party was already planned. You knew about it so I actually hoped you might show up. Come give me a hug!” he says and steps forward, about to grab Blake.

I don’t hesitate. I stand between them like a wall so fast Carl bounces off me.

“Stay back,” I say, but my voice dulls in surprise when Blake places his palm on my back and lets it rest there, fueling me with the warmth of his body.

Carl tears his mask off in time for me to see his features twitch. He’s handsome, I can give him that, but there’s a predatory edge to his square face, and as he watches me from under his brows, tense like a trapped animal, I itch to grab his neck and be done with it.

Do I want to play with him? Do I want to see him suffer? Absolutely, but every breath he takes means that Blake continues to be threatened by his very existence.

“Who the hell is this guy, and why is he barking at me, huh?” Carl asks, looking right past me.

The air grows denser with each passing second, but when Carl leans forward, as if he’s about to grab Blake, a soft voice resonates behind me like a bell.

“He’s the Christmas Killer.”

“What? Is this one of your silly podcast ideas?” Carl cocks his head at me. He sneers, but his body language changes.

We’re walking a thin line, and I consider pulling out my gun and shooting him on the spot. A much less satisfying kill than it would have been with a knife, but ensuring Blake’s safety is more important than my petty desires.

“He said what he meant. Even if you don’t know who I am, it won’t matter anymore in about… ten seconds,” I say and reach for my weapon, but I’ve spooked him too soon.

Carl pulls out his own gun, eyes wide, and shoots our way while already falling back to the door on the other side .

All I can think of is covering Blake, but he screams out. I hope it’s just fear that’s made him do so, but he grabs me for balance and blood blooms on the side of his leg.

My throat closes as I envision him bleeding out in my arms, his fingers reaching for my face to touch me one last time, but in the real world he’s holding on to me as he sobs with discomfort.

“Fuck. Get him. Get him, please,” he begs, meeting my gaze.

“I’m not leaving you,” I say with my heart pounding and carry him to the bed. I grab my knife and cut open the side of his pants. Blood is everywhere, all the way down his pale thigh and calf, but I see the wound. It’s a graze.

Blake looks at it as well, tears streaming down his face, but his expression changes as he cups my face.

“Go, Nico. Please. You can’t let him get to the panic room. It’s over if he does.”

I barely have two seconds to think, because he’s right. Every heartbeat I spend here, on my knees by the bed, takes me farther from the man who already made three attempts on Blake’s life.

I nod, press my lips to Blake’s in the quickest of kisses, and I’m off, flying over the wooden floor.

In my element, I’m both furious and elated. I already envision the moment I rip into Carl’s throat and turn it into a red fountain.

I dash through a bathroom with another exit, this time into a corridor. All my senses on high alert, I can smell his fear, so I follow the stench along with the thudding of his shoes on the floor.

He hasn’t switched on any lights, but the faint glow coming from outside is more than enough to lead me along the carpeted passage. This is the kind of chase that never fails to get my blood flowing faster, and as I see a door open at the very end of the hallway, I can almost feel blood on my tongue.

I shoot when a shadow passes inside the newly revealed interior, but my mark doesn’t collapse and disappears from sight.

Fuck.

I fire several times until my bullets are gone, but I’ve always been better with knives than with a gun, and shooting while running was a disastrous mistake. The chase is taking seconds, but time stretches out like bloody intestines pulled out of a fresh corpse when I see Carl grab the door, about to shut it.

I ram into it with my shoulder, a human wrecking ball, and while he tries to push against me, it’s no use. The sheer force of my collision with the door shoves him back, and just as expected, we’re in the office that doubles as a panic room. Carl stumbles back, but as our gazes meet, he dashes for the desk as if his life depends on it.

And the truth of the matter is that it does, because this fucker has Blake’s blood on his hands. What kind of monster would care so little about his own family? I would have given my hand if it could bring my grandfather back, and this bastard was not only eager to sell his little brother’s life but didn’t even care what kind of horror he’d go through?

I wish I had all the time in the world. That I could filet his meat and make his skin into a tent to stargaze under with Blake at my side, that I could pull out all his teeth while he was still alive and could suffer a fraction of what Blake would have gone through at the hands of the pervert who abducted him from the club.

I want to break his bones with my bare hands.

A gun pops as he scrambles to shoot my way, but he also misses, and by the time he pulls the trigger a second time, I’m on him, digging my fingers into his right wrist so hard the firearm clatters to the floor.

Once again, the desire for vengeance fills me like fragrant smoke, but when I look at this pathetic worm and think of my precious boy, I know this kill shouldn’t be about the things I want.

My feelings for Blake are real, and I want this murder to be my love letter. He can keep it in his heart even after I’m gone.

Carl tries punching me, but he’s got neither the strength nor skill to rival mine. When he reaches for a little elegant box resting next to an open notebook and some pens, a grin widens my mouth, and I pluck the fancy letter opener from its bed of velvet.

Raw fear reflects in Carl’s eyes when he tries to scream for help, but I don’t give him any more time to secure backup and sink the thin blade under his jaw. A choked grunt echoes in my ears, but there’s also a dull, steady noise I didn’t hear before, and when I glance to the box that previously housed my weapon, blood drains to my legs. Its base is now lifted, revealing a button which pulses with a red sheen once every second.

“Shit,” I utter and jab Carl’s throat a couple more times.

Blood sprays my face as it drains out of him, soaking into the bastard’s suit and spilling onto the carpet. When I meet his eyes, it’s obvious he’s no longer all there, and as I pull back, he slumps to the floor. If he’s not dead yet, it’s a matter of a minute or two.

My head spins as I take several deep breaths, trying to calm down and come up with an escape plan, because I cannot leave the way I walked in. Not with this much blood staining my fancy suit. But as I glance toward the window, wondering if there’s some kind of fire escape I can use, footsteps make me freeze .

I hesitate whether I should hide or confront whoever’s coming, but when the familiar head of brown curls appears from behind the door, I’m overcome by a wonderful sense of calm.

“It’s you…”