Silent Night (Twisted Holidays)

3. Saint

THREE

SAINT

People are dumb. Instead of the house’s owners having a quiet conversation, they left that morning, multiple suitcases in tow as they loaded up in their BMW with more numbers on the trunk than I care to memorize, and the wife all but screaming their plans.

“I can’t wait to be on the beaches of Mexico by tomorrow!”

Luckily, I was nearby, continuing to stalk the house to ensure my Christmas Eve plans to break in go off without a hitch. But now, they handed me the gold key. Why wait until tomorrow when I can sneak in today, steal what I can, and escape? They don’t have surveillance cameras; I’ve peeked through their windows enough times to check, so maybe I’ll even camp out for a day or two, enjoying the warmth that privilege and wealth provides. Or I’ll take what I can tonight and return tomorrow for more, like the Grinch. Only, I won’t feel bad about stealing their Christmas when they’re off to have a different, tropical one after announcing it to the damn world.

It's like they’re begging to be robbed. Lucky for them, I’ll grant them that wish.

I return after the sun drops, skirting my way to the other side of the road and against the house, sticking to the shadows. They have a back door that leads to their kitchen, so it’ll be less conspicuous to jimmy that lock and slip inside.

The lights on the neighbours’ houses are dimmed, allowing me to sneak in undetected. It’s too chilly outside for people to be hanging around too. All are tucked inside, presumably asleep, since it’s past midnight. They need their rest so their greed can begin kicking off tomorrow, Christmas Eve, which is only an appetizer for the main course: the day after.

With a bobby pin and knife, I unlock the back door easily. Despite all these people’s money, they never have enough sense to install security cameras or better locks. Well, a few houses do, and they’re the ones I stay away from.

Warmth greets me as I enter. I step inside quietly, even though there’s no one here, peering through the dark before flicking on a light. A grand kitchen greets me. Shiny appliances, rows of spices on a rack above the counter, pots and pans hanging from hooks in the ceiling.

My stomach growls, reminding me of the last time I ate: last night. Much too long. If the residents of this place are gone on their sudden vacation, surely they forgot to clean everything out, which means by eating their food, I’m doing them a favour. Not like they’ll miss it.

Food. Warmth. And a comfortable bed for a day or two. Yep, I’ve chosen well.

I tread through the space, heading for the fridge first, suddenly eager to eat something other than whatever I steal. Fresh fruit, for one. I long for the taste of an apple again.

The fridge light illuminates the room, but as I turn around, the room grows even brighter from the overhead lights, and by the time I register what’s happening, it’s too late.

“Who the fuck are you and why are you in my house?”

I freeze, slowly unpeeling my fingers from the fridge’s handle, watching as food literally slips through my hands, and turn around, keeping the knife in view .

Standing in the entrance to the kitchen is a woman, probably around my age. Her dark curls are a mess, partially bound up on her head with more strands falling to her shoulder than what seems to have made it into the elastic. Her full, pouty lips are parted, halfway between fear and shock as she stands, frozen, her hand still on the light switch. Her eyes pin me from across the room and I’m taken right back to the first house I ever robbed, when a girl found me before allowing me to steal from her family.

The similarities of these two nights are disturbing. I slowly pace toward her, watching with a bit of a thrill as her eyes widen like a doe faced with a wolf.

When I’m within six feet from her, before she turns and bolts, I catch something beneath that fear: a bravado that’s kept her going. A hard swallow before she lifts her chin slightly, facing down what could very well be her death. She’s bold…just like she was when finding me four years ago.

“You,” I breathe.

There’s no fucking way—no chance —that this woman is the same girl from four years ago. But there’s too many similarities in her messy hair, her eyes, even her stance. Like a ghost having popped up.

She blinks, jerking back before blinking again, this time slower. She leans forward, her eyes studying over my face. “Oh my god, it’s you .” She glances at the knife in my grip and licks her bottom lip in what I assume to be a nervous twitch. “Have a habit of breaking into people’s homes?”

“Yes,” I reply, gauging how she’ll manage the truth. “Ever since that day.”

“Right.” She huffs, almost laughs, her tense gaze locked on the knife still, so I flick it shut and slip it into my pocket before showing her both my palms are now empty.

“I won’t hurt you, I swear.”

I should because if she wanted to, she could identify me to the police. Of course, I’d already be on the first bus out of town, but when the rich want revenge, the cops fall all over themselves to make shit happen. My face will be plastered on the news through every town, city, and perhaps even province nearby.

Seeing her now, this stranger whose name I don’t know, I can’t hurt her. There’s no plausible reason, but the thought of harming her at all makes me want to harm myself. Especially when she blinks again, and those fucking doe eyes of hers look too trusting, too innocent. Brown and green swirl together into a deep amber, a colour I’d happily let myself drown in.

She’s definitely innocent. She screams it in the way she gazes at me. It’s almost stupid because she looks na?ve…soft…in a way making me want to protect her, which is fucked up because I’m the only monster here. I wonder if her skin is still as soft as when I last touched her, but I doubt she’d accept me stroking her cheek again. She’s grown in the four years, as I have, so presumably she’s found some common sense during that time, and a stranger standing in her home is quite obviously a threat.

But clearly she doesn’t have a ton, since instead of screaming at me to leave or cowering in fear, she simply murmurs, “I believe you.”

“You shouldn’t considering I’ve broken into your home.” Twice now.

Suddenly, my face is closer to her, enough I can smell the sweet scent drifting from her. She’s probably wearing a perfume that costs what one of those gifts beneath her Christmas tree is worth, but for once, I’m not turned off by the thought of the cash spent on the quality scent as I gravitate toward her. It’s an aroma calling me to her, as though to lead me to danger.

“Maybe you’re not the scariest monster in this place.” She smirks and while I’m working to figure out if she’s fucking with me or not, she says, “I’m assuming you’ve come to rob us again.”

I lick my bottom lip, my gaze dropping over her form. She’s dressed in sleep shorts, her legs a delicious tan, and a silk tank, her breasts on full display. I can’t recall the last time I was attracted to a woman. A life on the move doesn’t exactly bring many opportunities. Usually, it’s women who run in the same circles I do. Those who ask few questions and just want a good time to make a night pass. But never someone like this girl. Someone who’s as fine as the house we stand inside. As delicate as the crystal glasses in the glass cabinets nearby. Someone I certainly can’t afford to touch, let alone think about. Someone who makes my cock twitch beneath my jeans, the need to feel her—even simply a brush of her skin—making it difficult to think about anything else.

The differences between us are striking. Her in her silk, me in thin, stolen cotton clothing. She smells like flowers from the most remote parts of the world, while my last shower was this morning in a community rec centre with plain soap. Her head is tipped up to watch me, yet she’s well above me in terms of a social hierarchy.

“Yep.” I go for honesty because at this point, I’m curious to see how far I can push her before she cracks and runs away screaming. A girl like this won’t last long in the company of someone like me. Someone who doesn’t wear polo shirts and golf for fun. Someone who’d love nothing more but to dirty her up.

She glances over my shoulder and around the kitchen. “See anything you like? Other than our food.”

You.

When I don’t answer right away, she passes me, her arm brushing my jacket like she wasn’t just in a standoff with someone who could have killed her and run off with whatever I want. She heads for the fridge, yanking the doors open, and I’m too busy staring at her ass to pay her task any attention. Her shorts are…well, short , letting me see the curve of her ass.

“Hm…leftover pizza?”

Fuck, I can’t even remember the last time I ate pizza. The thought of it is almost as delicious as the idea of spreading her out on the counter and taking my meal from her cunt, which I’m positive would be a dessert unlike any other .

“Um.” I cough, clearing my throat—and my head from the thoughts. “Sure.”

She slides out a pizza box and drops it onto the counter, like feeding a criminal is the most natural thing in the world for her. She retrieves a plate, which suggests she wants me to eat like she does: dignified, and not out of the box like an animal salivating over the pepperoni slices.

She leans on the counter across from me, propping herself on her elbows, giving me a clear sight down the front of her top. Jesus. I nearly choke on the first bite of the cold but delicious pizza.

“So this is a coincidence.” She tilts her head and gestures between us. “What are the chances?”

I finish chewing before answering, figuring a fancy girl like her prefers men who have manners. “Apparently pretty good. You’ve moved from the other town.”

She rolls her eyes. “This isn’t even my house. The place we first met was my parents’ but since then, they’ve divorced and my mom has been through two other marriages.” She circles her hand. “House of stepdad number two.”

Yet another of many reasons I should despise this woman. She’s had three different families, numerous parents, while I’ve barely had one.

“Where do you live then?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop myself.

Surely, common sense would mean not to disclose her location.

She narrows her eyes slightly, licking her bottom lip, and I find myself compelled by the tiny slip of her tongue. “Away from here, at school.”

Fancy girl gets to go to a fancy university for a proper education. Another thing so far out of my reach, not that I’ve ever aspired to go. Barely finishing high school was enough.

“Do you have a habit of feeding strangers who’ve broken in? Or letting them go with expensive decorations you don’t own?”

She tips her head, curls slipping from the top of her head toward her shoulder and I tighten my fist before accidentally reaching to replace them. “Just one apparently.” She smirks at her own joke. “You know, it took six months for Dad to even realize it was gone. What’d you do with it anyway?”

“Pawned it. Made a decent chunk of cash from it.”

“Good. I’m sure you made better use of it than he could have.”

I should be insulted by that statement, if she wasn’t so correct.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” I ask after another bite.

Her lips twitch, fighting a smile. “If you wanted to harm me, you’d have done it already.”

She’s not wrong about that. “Still, you should be scared. I’m a stranger in your home and all.”

“I was. Then I wasn’t. Besides, maybe I enjoy the danger.” The brown in her eyes glints in the hanging lights, suggesting more than she means. Before I can ask and let myself go down that potentially wrong path, I say something else.

“I heard your parents shouting about leaving on vacation this morning, so I figured I’d do the job sooner than later. Get in, get out.” I skip over the fact I was also going to camp here for a couple days.

She snorts, straightening to position her palms flat on the counter. Her tank is tight around her nipples, the little buds all but begging for my attention. My fucking Christ, how’s a man supposed to eat around her when eating her is all I can now think about? She’s entirely too innocent. If she wasn’t, she wouldn’t dare be flashing someone who could easily take what’s being offered on a silver damn platter.

If only I was that kind of man.

“Yeah, well, the assholes forgot to inform me until I landed.”

So her school’s far enough away she flew here. Information to file away, though there’s too many schools in the country to pinpoint which one she goes to.

“Rude,” I comment since I don’t know what else to say. She’s complaining about being in this huge house alone? Warm, comfortable, with plenty of food? See—greedy .

Suddenly, I want to be greedy too. I want to take more than a few valuables.

I want her .

Her on this counter, spread out, a Christmas feast for the taking.

A crack from down the hall has her tensing, her attention going to the hallway behind us. When it happens again, she curses and wide eyes pin me. Before I realize she’s moved, she’s yanking on my thin jacket, tugging me off the barstool and toward a skinny door that’s encased with a smoked glass beside the fridge.

She yanks it open, hissing, “Get in, shut up, don’t move,” and then closes it.

I stop it with a finger before it can click shut, pushing it open half an inch for a limited view. She moves away from the door as another person enters the kitchen.