The Santas Who Stole Me (Stolen #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

GEORGIE

The metal pushes against my back, and I shiver when the morning air seeps through my bones. I try to adjust myself, as if the bench beneath me will somehow become comfortable. It doesn’t. Sudden panic sweeps through my core. My eyes fly open, and my heart rate spikes. I instinctively grab my guitar case with shaky hands and yank it to my chest. I didn’t beat the evening rush putting in extra time at the diner yesterday. The day after Thanksgiving was surprisingly busy at the diner, so I guess everyone was tired of their turkey dinners. This is the second time the shelter has been full, and I’ve been turned away and forced to find somewhere on the streets to sleep.

Squeezing my eyes closed so tight the back of my eyelids flash with white, I take a minute to wish this wasn’t my life. That I wasn’t in the corner of the bus stop with nothing but my guitar, cash, and a few changes of clothes. Hums and sputters of cars fill my ears. LA smog invades my lungs, and any chance I have of forgetting this mess goes out the window. The sun is already streaming through the awning above the bench that was my bed last night, and it takes a few blinks to adjust my vision.

“Shit on a biscuit.” Worn red fabric peaks through the black piping of the guitar case. It’s unzipped. I move to open it, searching for my wallet, but it’s gone. My heart falls into a pile of dust on the floor and my hot tears sting. That was all the money I had. My hands shake while I curse myself for not getting a motel room last night. I was so close to having enough. Well, at least what I thought would be enough.

Dang, I must have really been out of it not to notice someone opening my bag. My mind pushes out the thought that someone was that close to me, and I didn’t notice. Anything could have happened. Dark images fill my mind, but I’m too pissed to keep them there.

I screwed up again.

Worthless idiot. I shake my head like it will shake those words from my pathetic thoughts. Fury fills me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, and a scream flies out of my mouth. Thuds from my foot hitting the bench over and my scream mix. I keep going, welcoming the pain in my foot.

No, no, no.

The kicking isn’t enough, so I tear all of the flyers and ads pinned on the inside wall of the bus stop. Clawing at them. They fall in scraps to the floor. Torn to shreds and raining down like the small taste of freedom I thought I had. My fingernails lift without any paper to separate my hands from the metal, but still I keep scraping. Realizing there is nothing left to rip apart or feel, I slide to the floor and pull my legs up to my chin. I shove my palms into my eyes to hold in tears. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. It doesn’t help. I only needed two more doubles to have enough and now? Now I’m screwed.

Again.

My stomach twists thinking of what will happen if I can’t find a way out of here. It’s been too long already. Staying in one place only increases my risk. And if I get caught? The thought chills my blood. I’ll die before I let myself go back to that life. I focus on breathing through my nose. That’s what you’re supposed to do to stop a panic attack, right? It doesn’t do anything to stop the desperate ache inside me. I push my hand down on my chest thinking that will subside my fear, which quickly takes over the anger, and my heartbeat picks up. I bite my lip hard, hoping to ground myself in this moment, trying not to spiral.

Pull yourself together, Georgie. The world doesn’t owe you anything. You got yourself in this mess and you will get out of it. After a few minutes, I roll my eyes at my lame attempt at a pep talk and look around the bus stop. It’s not a popular space, so no one is around. Not that I give a rat’s ass if anyone witnessed my hissy fit. I don’t know anyone in the city except Marge at the diner, and I’ll keep it that way. I’m just passing through. When I get what I need I’ll keep moving.

Worry gnaws at my gut, and I dig my nails into my palms. Flitting my gaze around to assess for trouble, I try to take a deep breath. Doesn’t matter, just keep going.

I consider my options but they’re as limited as ever. With one more squeeze of my eyes and a ragged breath, I shift my legs.

My fingers run through my dark hair, but they stop on the tangles. Attempting to get the rat’s nest under control, I slide a hair tie off my wrist. The black band is my only option to do something with the tangles. Messy bun it is then. I pull out the sugary-sweet Chapstick Marge gave me and give my lips a swipe, hoping it will give me some comfort. It doesn’t, but it was a nice try.

A beat-up car with four guys inches past, reminding me it’s time to get a move on. I’m alone out here, and a crowd is always a safer bet unless you can hide. I’m really good at hiding.

Next step is to find a way to make sure my money stays safe. In my old life a bank would have been typical, but that isn’t an option right now. I glance down at one of the flyers in the heap that I left. The annual Santa’s Reindeer Half-Marathon is today. I see the route and it’s not too far from the shelter. It would be easy to set up with my guitar, and maybe since it’s a crowd running for charity, I can earn some extra cash and get back on track. Not the best plan, but it’s a start. At this rate I need a freaking Christmas miracle. Too bad this is LA, and my boobs are too big to be the star in a Hallmark movie. I grab my shit and head to Marge’s to shower and see if I can get in a double for tonight after the run. No Christmas miracles or happy endings are coming my way, but I am determined to make it better.