The Santas Who Stole Me (Stolen #1)

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

CALUM

I let the conversation end for the moment. Keep is more distracted than ever. I’ve got most of this kill under wraps, but he needs his fucking head in the game. My worry for him led me to push for this job, so he could have the distraction, but even this was too simple for him. He’s losing his spirit for death and blood, and that has me concerned.

The councilman walks up to the warmup area and gives a big show of stretching and walking in place. The area is starting to fill with the crowd, and I step toward him, not allowing too much distance between us. The city councilman is a fifty-year-old balding man who boasts about his fitness on social media and cheats on his wife behind her back. He also stole a shit ton of money from an illegal deal when he was working with the Vega Cartel. He’s an idiot who thought he was untouchable. The Vegas don’t typically need our services, being the scary mother fuckers they are, but Keeper explained how they are trying to keep out of this kill. They don’t want any connection or blowback, and this hit is too close to home. Something about their uncle running in an upcoming election or some shit. The reasons for the job don’t always matter, and we will each get a quarter million out of it, adding to our already hefty accounts.

A slim redhead in a sleek bodysuit smiles at me, and her tongue licks her bottom lip before heading my way. She has legs up to her ears, and her curved hips catch my attention. I do a sweep of her bodysuit so tight against her skin I can almost see the outline of her pussy. Still, something about her seems a bit vanilla to me. Since I have some time to kill—literally, I’ll be killing someone shortly—I return the smile while her long legs stride my way. She greets me and starts talking about running techniques and her fasting routine with a passion.

“Tell me all about it. I bet you know more fitness tips than my trainer,” I say, laying it on thick. Talking with her will help my cover, so I go with it.

“Yea, so I can only eat thirty minutes a day, but I’ve lost three pounds. Being healthy really supports my mental state, you know? I can tell you do by the way you are built under that suit.” She lets out a chuckle that sounds like a seventy-year-old man, and Zee snorts in my ear, picking up the conversation through my earpiece. She brushes my arm, and I wink at her, giving her my best fuck-me smile. All the while I’m keeping an eye out for the councilman.

“So do you have holiday plans, since you live in the area?”

Did I tell her I live in the area? I really need to focus on my bullshit, but Keeper has me distracted. He’s cock-blocking me when I could be dicking the halls with these festivities. I haven’t even got a chance to work in at least one dirty Christmas pun into this conversation.

Determined not to waste this opportunity due to his bah-humbug attitude, I answer her with a serious face. “Not too sure about my plans yet, but I could definitely see about coming down your chimney.” She scrunches her eyebrows at me in confusion. “I live in a flat, we don’t have a chimney.”

Seriously, that was hilarious. Coming, chimney, while I’m in a Santa suit.

“A for effort, Calum.” Keep chuckles into the coms. At least he’s laughing. When she lets out a second confused chuckle, I have to hide my grimace.

As if on cue Zee adds what I can’t say. I have no idea where he is, but I know he’s close. We’ve done this for years and can sense each other. It’s some weird telepathy none of us ever talk about.

“He’s moving to the front. Now is the time, Calum,” Zee reports.

I pull out the little device and slide it into my palm, careful to keep it open but facing my thigh, so it’s not visible. The chemist made this especially for this job. It’s a tiny, round, plastic device holding a lethal concoction. The drug enters a person’s bloodstream and stops the heart within thirty minutes of administration. All I have to do is get it on the councilman’s arm or leg and hold it there for ten seconds. A small needle will stick him, but it’ll feel similar to an ant bite, or so he says. The chemist is brilliant and the scariest mother fucker on the planet. He doesn’t work with many people, but the Vegas are in good standing, and he agreed. He vets every use of his death doses.

“Calum, pay attention,” Zee hisses in my ear.

Oh, she stopped talking and is looking at me, waiting for a response.

I nod my head, agreeing with whatever she said, even though I’ve been tuning her out. I guess I will take this time to add to the conversation. “I agree, running is a great way to support my mental health. I need to be limber for this race. Yoga is my number one priority in my workout routine. It’s so good to limber up before a run and oh—” I turn as the councilman passes me and throw my hand at his leg, pretending to do a downward dog. I stick him through his suit immediately and fall on top of him with a wail. One, one thousand, I continue to silently count while crying loudly as a single tear runs down my face. The ability to fake cry is one of my most useful assassin skills. That, and being able to break someone’s neck with a small motion. Oh, who am I kidding, it would take me hours to rank all the skills I have and place them in order. I’ll get Zee to put everything on a spreadsheet, and we can give the skills a proper assessment later.

“So sorry.” Five, one thousand. Six, one thousand. “I have a cramp, just let me, agh,” I scream. The councilman is under me, and my hand doesn’t move. Seven, one thousand.

“Get off me, asshole,” he whisper-yells so as not to draw attention.

The chick from earlier and the race security guard crowd above me. He reaches out, indicating for me to take his hand, and I place mine in his. Eight, one thousand. Then pull it back, screaming and rubbing my hand on my calf, keeping my other hand on the councilman.

He shifts underneath me, trying to get out from under my weight, but with my next wail I lay my shoulder across his face to smother his words.

Nine, one thousand.

It’s a good thing I’m bigger than him, so I can easily hide my hand under the mass of my body. I shift again, attempting to get up. Ten, one thousand. That’ll do it then. I roll over, grabbing my leg. “I’m so sorry, sir. Cramp. I’m fasting. You understand how it is as fit as you seem to be.” I mumble some of the same words the runner chick told me about potassium and cramps and shit. See? I was halfway listening.

The security guard pulls him up and checks him over, seemingly satisfied he’s unharmed. Standing and dusting off his suit, he coughs and adjusts his beard. I knocked the wind out of him. Sucks, but that is the least of his problems. He looks down his nose at me on the floor and pushes past security and the fasting chick. She’s explaining to the bodyguard how fasting can cause cramps and that was normal. I like that she has my back, but I’m still not interested. He tilts his head in a nod at me, then quickly moves to follow the councilman. Why does this asshole need security to follow him anyway? He’s only a rich politician. Although I guess it is smart considering someone did pay me a ton to murder his ass. I smirk at that thought before remembering my role and start doing more stretches. A few people stopped to look at my fall, but it was so brief they moved on.

The chick grabs my arm, but I politely brush her hand aside.

“Better go get some carbs, wouldn’t want another cramp. Oh, no, now it’s in my stomach. I’ll catch up with you later.” I sprint off and make it look like I’m heading to the bathroom.

“Nice. Stomach cramps always provide an unquestionable exit,” Zeke comments, and Keeper grunts in agreement. It wasn’t the way we planned this out exactly. I learned a long time ago in this business the easiest way to get out of most situations is to make up some bullshit on the fly. Contrary to everything Keeper has ever taught me. If my bullshit won’t work, then I can charm my way out of it. If all else fails Zee and Keep have my back.

“Alright Keep, I’ll head to you in eighteen minutes.”

“You don’t need to head this way. I’ll pick you up at the rendezvous. The chemist doesn’t fail,” he grumbles, and I can hear him steadying his breath. I can imagine him hunched over with his finger on the trigger while he watches a large group of Santas take off. If that doesn’t spread the holiday spirit, I can’t imagine what would.

Keep is in a prime location, and when the councilman doubles back on the trail with the other runners it should be showtime. If the councilman doesn’t die this way he’s getting a shot to the head and we have an exit strategy. It won’t be ideal, but when is death ever really. The Vegas were adamant about the kill being public.

“Be there in a few, Keep. We gotta snap some shots for Grams with Zee.” I head down the street and ignore his orders and threats about the photo op. Time to spread some motherfucking cheer, starting with my big brother.