The Santas Who Stole Me (Stolen #1)

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

ZEKE

I park in the driveway calculating all the ways we could have gotten caught from that job. Adding in the girl and possible FBI moves us to a 3 percent chance, and we only do jobs that I calculate at less than .09 percent. This is problematic. I’m good with numbers and strategies. It’s easy to do when your head isn’t filled with emotions all the time.

I turn to Keeper for instructions. Calum stays silently pissed, and Keeper is grinning ear to ear. Opposite of their typical personalities. Keeper is displaying feelings of happiness, grinning and a look of excitement. He hasn’t been this way in a while, so I offer to help him keep it up.

“Want to use my basement?”

His pupils widen, and his eyebrows go up momentarily. My suggestion pleases him, furthering what I assume is happiness. Not being able to recognize those feelings in myself, I became an expert in seeing them in others.

“Yes, thanks, brother. Calum, get her out and bring her down while we set it up.” He starts whistling Jingle Bells, and Calum flips him off.

“She’s gonna fight, so watch your balls,” he calls to Calum.

Calum scoffs and reminds us he’s a professional before flipping his brother off one more time and walking to the trunk. Emotions might confuse me, but as much as the brothers joke with one another they care for each other.

Keeper walks with a bounce in his step as we head to the garage and access the entry to the basement. I scan my hand to open the door. The scent of bleach reaches my nose with a slight burn. The room has concrete gray walls and a white tiled floor with a drain in the center. Vats of acid line the walls, next to a toolbox and shelf in the corner, all silver metal. The place is sterile and clean now, but it’s used for disposing of bodies or providing proof of death if needed. At times the risk is lower if we take the kill here. Rare but necessary.

Keep clicks his tongue to his cheek and pulls a small metal chair from the corner to the center of the room.

“How do you prefer to tie her down? The chain?”

His surveys the hook chain we have assembled that dangles from the ceiling. Its presence is enough to intimidate almost anyone. Keeper shakes his head as if it offends him. “The cuffs.” He seems unsure still, but before I can question him, his attention is pulled to the door.

Calum barrels in with a tiny girl over his shoulder. Her dress is up, showing off her ass and white cotton panties. They cut across her round cheeks, and I ignore my dick twitching in response.

“Put me down. I don’t want all this trouble. I was trying to hide. I won’t tell anyone what I saw on the roof. I’m going to leave town anyways.” She continues to plead and bargain while they wrestle her into the chair and put on the handcuffs. She kicks at them, getting Calum in the face with her boot. Red liquid beads at the split she put in his lower lip.

He smiles and licks the blood before speaking. “No more kicking unless it’s consensual. Be still, or I’ll tie your feet to the chair.”

That gets her attention, and she sits up straight.

“What’s your name?” Keeper asks as she tries to rearrange her arms on her lap with the cuffs.

“Let me go.” Her foot meets Keeper’s shin in a swift motion.

He frowns but steps back, putting more distance between the two of them.

“I said no more kicking.” Calum glares, and she swallows so hard the gulp can be heard.

“Georgia, Georgie Davis. Does it matter?”

Glancing around, she pales and slowly looks back at him. Her blue eyes turn glassy, perhaps imagining what happens in a space like the basement. I like fear on people. It’s one of the easiest feelings to read. On her, though, it doesn’t provide the same type of satisfaction. There is something else under her fear, an emotion that is hiding that I can’t quite name. Consider my interest piqued.

“Names matter,” Calum tells her.

“What’s yours then?” she asks, and I wonder if she wants to know my name as well.

“Calum.”

“Kitten, tell me about the FBI. Why do they want you?” Keep pulls her hair back, angling her face to him and forcing her stare.

With this viewpoint I get a better look at her large eyes surrounded by thick black lashes. Her heart-shaped face is stunning, and I memorize it, along with the dark wavy hair that frames her face, messy from her ordeal today. It looks pretty in Keeper’s hand as she stares back at him. My gaze trails her neck and the tiny rapid pulses of her heartbeat. The speed and rhythm please me but contradict my earlier prediction of fear. Is she excited? Surely not. Fear must be the dominant emotion that is the only logical choice.

“The FBI doesn’t want me. He wants me,” she says, creating an abnormal buzzing in my chest.

“Who is he, cookie?” Calum asks in his charming voice. He’s incredibly efficient at understanding people and what type of response works best for the situation. The opposite of me.

She doesn’t respond, and Keeper tightens his grip while twisting his fist into her hair forcing her to look at his brother. “Answer and this will be easier.” He runs his thumb down her jawline.

That buzzing returns to my chest when I see him touch her, but I stay quiet. My phone pings, and I pull it out of my pocket and open the message.

“Chad Porter, supervisory FBI agent, reports directly to the director. Been in the office for seven years. His record is squeaky clean, Lee says he’s being groomed for the director position. He’s friends with many powerful people in DC,” I tell them without looking up from the report.

“So why is he here in LA searching for you on rooftops?” Keeper asks, threading her hair in his hands once more, and I wonder how it feels against his skin.

A single tear falls down the side of her face.

His reaction is lightning fast. He lets go of her and crouches before her legs. Her head sags forward, and he lifts her chin up, the scene intimate even with Calum right there next to him.

Calum looks to his brother, worried. Whether his worry is about Keeper’s strange behavior or the girl he called cookie, I’m not sure. Something is happening because of that tear, and I move to stand next to the group, wanting to be part of it. That’s how it has always been with the brothers and myself. I’m always trying to be part of whatever they are doing. More tears fall down her face, but she stays silent. I assume she isn’t going to speak again when she releases a shaky breath, the words that come out of her mouth are whispers.

“Why were you on the rooftop with a gun?” she asks with more bravado than she should have for someone in her situation.

“I needed to kill someone, “Keeper tells her. The wide and round shape her eyes turn into at that response, are to my liking.

“Who? Why?” she asks.

“It’s our job, and no one that matters,” Keeper answers.

“Explain why he’s looking for you,” Keeper tells her, his voice softer, like he’s speaking to a scared animal.

“I’ll tell you. Judging by my surroundings with the tools and drain in the floor, I highly doubt I will be leaving this room. I guess you all are a bunch of freaks who just want my skin or something.” She lets out a nervous chuckle, and I think Calum finds it amusing. “When I got into that bag with you I jumped from the grease to the frying pan. I was so scared Chad would get me that I didn’t consider you being a worse threat. I’ve made another stupid decision about who to trust.”

Keeper’s glare hardens, his silence encouraging her to continue her explanation. But then I notice he strokes her cheek with his thumb, and she doesn’t flinch. Perhaps she doesn’t have the best gauge for danger.

“Chad was my fiancé. We dated for a year. Things started out well, he loved taking me to FBI functions in DC, dressing me up. You know how the story goes. Boy charms the girl then turns out to be a possessive asshole. Tricked me into quitting my job, being reliant on him. I’ve been trying to get away after…” She stops, and I’m grateful, unsure if I want to know what made her need to leave.

I assume it was bad if she ran across the country from the state capital and hid away with a bunch of assassins for refuge.

Calum tips his head at Keeper, and they have one of their silent conversations I never understand, then turn back to Georgia. “I’ll kill him,” they say in unison.