The Santas Who Stole Me (Stolen #1)

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

GEORGIE

I stare at the handcuffs, and my stomach turns at the memories of the monster I once thought I would marry. God, I’m such an idiot. Why do I assume anyone wants to help me, love me, or even want me? I don’t know what possessed me to get in the Santa bag, but something about him seemed trustworthy despite the sniper rifle and his dangerous air. I can blame my decision on desperation. Chad, the devil I know, had to be worse than the one I didn’t. Or so I thought until I ended up in what can only be described as a murder basement.

The trunk was awful, but a light stayed on back there, so I didn’t lose my mind completely. My eyes shut and more tears leak out. I realize then I am not scared of the chains or this weird torture room. I’m not even scared of the three deadly men in front of me. I’m simply done. I give up. The first time Chad hit me, I tried to go to the police, but it was dismissed. I tried to leave, then he found me, dragged me home, and locked me in a room for a week. Now I’m finally far from him, and he fucking found me again. It must have been my stolen wallet. Someone used my card or ID maybe. I don’t think my prepaid phone is trackable. It’s possible I was caught on camera, even though I’ve done my best to hide my face from the streets, but he has FBI resources, so I should be surprised he took so long.

“I’ll kill him,” Calum and the Santa who stole me both say in unison. I heard Calum call him Keeper earlier.

“I’ll help.” The beautiful one who gave the updated information on Chad says. He is looking at me impassively, but something glistens in his blue eyes under his brown wavy hair.

His jaw is chiseled like a prince in a Disney movie, and I realize I might be drooling when I take in his body in that Santa suit. It doesn’t hang on him like you would imagine. His suit stretches across his muscular chest and arms. Keeper is crouched in front of me and I take in his short blond hair and authoritative air. He has a hint of stubble on his face. I move my hand to touch, but the cuffs clink, reminding me to keep my hands in my lap. Calum’s abs and the ink covering his skin peek out from his unfastened Santa coat. He winks when he notices me looking, and my cheeks heat. I stare at them again, gorgeous, sexy, and cocky, all with eyes studying me.

Calum moves to my handcuffs, but Keeper puts out a hand to stop him.

“No, we have to discuss this. Don’t let her go.”

“She wants us to kill him, so she doesn’t have to stay locked up, Keeper.” They start bickering about what to do with me and I stare at my feet, finally finding a voice among their arguments.

“Why would you care to do that?”

“He is FBI, we don’t get caught, no loose ends after jobs,” the beautiful one adds.

I look down remembering where I am. Here as a loose end. “He won’t come back for any of you unless he finds out you have me. He will leave you alone; he’s as crooked as they come, he won’t care about anything you are doing, trust me. Whatever you all do, he’s done worse.” I look around the room searching for my guitar bag that holds the only thing Chad wants more than me. I lucked out that it wasn’t stolen with the rest of my things.

“It’s not a risk we take,” one of them adds.

These men are dangerous. They might not be hurting me right now, but I’m not stupid, they could get rid of me in an instant. I’m a loose end , like they said. I lied to myself earlier when I said I was done. I want to move on, travel, see Christmas lights, whatever, to simply live. I’m not ready to give in to Chad or these men. I need to think of a reason for them to keep me alive. They want Chad dead so he can’t place them at the Santa Half-Marathon. Maybe I can help with that.

“You’ll never catch him. He’s a slippery snake with too many friends in high places. He’s evil hiding in a suit as a fed and no one has any idea. Trust me when I say you will never get close to him. He has about a million contingency plans, and he’s always steps ahead. I’ve tried to hurt him, and I’ve been the one hurt every time.”

Keeper grunts and looks at Calum as if they can read each other’s mind.

I interrupt whatever conversation they are silently having and keep talking. “I’m what he wants. I know him better than anyone. Trust me, you want him dead, I can help. Serve him right up on a platter to you.”

“Her help would lower the risk of getting caught,” the beautiful one says, and Keeper nods.

“You help us find him, and we kill him for you. That the deal?” Calum asks me, and I nod.

My small contribution might be the only thing to help me out of this room. The truth is I have no idea where Chad is, but I might have a way to bring him to me. His death would be a really great bonus, not only to me but it would be doing the rest of the world a favor. Maybe there is hope for that Christmas miracle in the form of a little murder. “I’ll help, you can get rid of him, no loose ends, like you said.” I try to sound convincing.

“That’s not the only reason he’s a dead man,” Calum adds.

I arch my brow at him, not sure of what reason they would need other than to make sure they don’t have any connection to whatever they were doing.

“He made you cry, kitten,” Keeper says, swiping his thumb over a drying tear on my face.

I instinctively lean into him, which is dumb because he kidnapped me and put me in a freaking trunk in a bag. Now he’s beaming at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. He gives my jaw a squeeze and backs away.

Calum leans into my ear and adds, “He’s right, I’m the only one who gets your tears now, cookie.” His warm minty breath hits my face as his tongue licks up another tear streak like a total psycho, and I shiver all over. Hating that I loved it. One of the guys behind him growls at his actions, but Calum ignores it, giving me another dirty wink. When did I find winking so hot? He starts walking off after Keeper, who is heading to the door, leaving the gorgeous one staring at me.

I finally speak when I can’t take the silence anymore. “Are you going to leave me in this room?”

“I don’t want to.”

“And why is that?”

“You’re too beautiful for this room,” he says, as if that was an obvious answer.

Of all of them, he scares me the most. He’s colder than the other two and more intense.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Ezekial Owen Thomas, Zeke. The guys sometimes call me Zee.”

I study him. His eyes void of anything, his pupils never change, and his voice is toneless and almost robotic, but it’s deep, and I wish he would say my name so I can hear it from his lips. “What do you want me to call you?” I ask, hating how soft my voice sounds. I bite my lip, hoping the pain will send all my Santa fantasies out of my head. My mind wanders to my little daydream. All three of them, shirts off or open. The three of them all wanting me. I stare at Zeke, wondering if his abs look as good as I’m imaging. He is clearly fit. Am I getting hot? What is the matter with me? This is life or death, Georgie, and your twisted brain is imagining these guys making you scream for pleasure. Nope, this is not my fault, it’s adrenaline and a really long dry spell.

Zee tilts his head at me like he’s trying to see through my skull to my brain. I’m glad he can’t. It’s a mess with all the emotions I’ve felt in the past few hours.

“It’s lust, Zee,” Calum, the tattooed Santa, calls from the door.

I hadn’t realized he came back into the room. He seems far too excited about having a person tied up, like this is all one big party for him. In another circumstance I might feel like this is a party being tied up by them too. Calum gives me a wicked grin, and I turn my head trying to hide my blush. “Team meeting, Zee, now. Back in a sec, cookie,” he calls out to me, as if we are friends.

“Lust?” Zeke repeats Calum’s words and studies me like I am a puzzle.

I don’t have a clue what he is talking about. Honestly, they all seem crazy.

“My name is whatever you decide, Georgia. And I can’t wait to hear it from your lips.” Hearing his words, my heart stops.

I had the same thought about him earlier. All stupid butterflies in my stomach die and fall heavy in my gut when he turns and the door shuts. I’m left in a room alone. The click of the door sends the familiar panic over me, like cold water hitting my face then dripping down the rest of me. I try deep breathing, focusing on things around me. Find three things to focus on.

I stare at a rack similar to a tool chest, but the silver metal has a much more clinical feel. Shit, please don’t let these guys want my skin or something worse. What is worse than my skin? I’m not sure, but Zeke might know. I pull on the handcuffs, knowing it’s useless. They don’t seem like amateurs who would leave any small possibility of letting me out. My chest tightens, and I remember I was focusing on three things, the toolbox. I stare at it fiercely as if that will allow me to see the contents that might reveal my fate.

A few minutes tick by and the lights turn off. They must be on an automatic system. Deep darkness sets in all around me, squeezing my throat. I let out a choking cough. The chains rattle as I yank them, but nothing budges. I pull and pull and pull, my wrists slicing into the metal with a sharp sting, not caring the edges are cutting me. I can’t do this again. I won’t be stuck, cast aside, and forgotten as a prisoner. The click of the lock repeats in my ears over and over.

Click.

Click.

Click.

I keep pulling my arms, out of breath, out of options. As usual. Regret for not jumping off the side of the building floods my brain. Blood thrums in my eardrums, the watery sounds of it swirling. I try to swallow, but my throat is too thick. Tiny beads of sweat break out across my skin, and my vision fades to nothing. Slipping into the darkness in the back of my mind: it’s the only safe place I truly know. Where I hid all those times from Chad. I go there again and fall in deep, hoping to stay there until the end.