The Santas Who Stole Me (Stolen #1)

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

GEORGIE

I was right. My case is steadily filling with cash as the runners enjoy my acoustic Christmas tunes. Despite my shitty situation, I love this time of the year with the decorations, food, traditions. Sure, LA doesn’t have a Christmas smell like back home, but it’s easy enough to pretend I’m surrounded by the smell of my favorite sugar cookie recipe. That’s what is getting me by these days. Pretense and false promises. The race starts and the crowd shifts away from me to the starting line, but I keep playing, remembering when I used to listen to my dad play this guitar. Music was always his passion, and I could listen to his voice for hours. It’s been years since I lost him, but every once and a while it will hit me like a rock and knock the wind out of me, reminding me of the hole left behind. I don’t mind it. Welcoming the pain of my loss, after all, is still a reminder of him. I cringe at what he would think of me now, sitting on a stool playing like this on the side of the street.

Marge let me shower and fix my hair at the diner again. She doesn’t know how bad things are, since I told her I’ve been sharing a hotel with a friend and showering at the diner is easier in the morning. She bought it. I borrowed some of her makeup, too, and this black dress with little candy canes all over it. Simple but edgy. She insisted on other shoes, but I decided against them in favor of my combat boots. I made the mistake once of wearing heels and trying to run and cringe at the memory. Nope. Fool me once and all.

The strums from the guitar fill the emptying street as the last of the crowd moves to follow the racers. The money in my case won’t be enough, but it leaves me with more hope than I had this morning. Fucking hope, that’s a big mistake.

My skin prickles, and that little voice in the back of my head warns me to wake up. I wish I could ignore it. I wish it wasn’t happening. I have no idea how he found me, but I know he’s here. Shit, my stupid self-preservation takes over and makes my feet move. I toss the guitar into the case and zip it up quick as possible. Scanning the buildings, my mind races, attempting to come up with a plan. The race area is my best bet, but I might have to ditch the guitar. My fists clench at the heartbreaking thought. I pull on the straps, refusing to let the bastard take one more thing from me.

Movement to my right gets me moving, and I bolt into the crowd that lines the caution tape marking the race area. Everyone is dressed in red making my black stands out, but I squeeze through people, pushing and not apologizing.

“Georgia?” he calls.

I hear him call out, and my blood starts to run cold with fear. He’s not far. I turn and look at him, unable to resist. He smiles. Not in a warm greeting way. Nope. His face has that sadistic smile he gets when he knows he caught me. You haven’t caught me yet fucker.

A tall building shadows the street ahead, and I sprint toward it and duck in the door. It’s some type of apartment building, maybe offices. Inside is a small unoccupied desk with silver elevators close behind it. I squeeze my guitar behind the desk and shove the chair in front, hoping that hides it well enough. I’ll come back for it.

The ding of the elevator button gets me moving when it opens. I run my hand across every number and jump out before the door shuts. A small attempt to throw him off. Maybe it will give me enough time to hide, stupid hope creeping up on me again.

Crashing through the service door in a small hallway next to the elevators, I’m met with concrete stairs. I crane my neck and see it’s about ten floors to the top. And I run. After all, that is what my life has turned in to: a constant fucking race to get away. My boots pound the stairs. I’ve been running as fast as I can for so long my legs don’t know anything else. Focusing on my breathing, I go up and up. His hunting game won’t go on forever. Eventually he will catch me, and it’ll all end. He’s the cat, and I’m the mouse backed into a corner. We both know I can’t win against him; it’s only a matter of time.