The Santas Who Stole Me (Stolen #1)

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

GEORGIE

Holy cow, I’m going to die. I just came the hardest I ever have in my life, and my legs and arms are jelly. I stare at Keeper’s back muscles rippling across his large body when he walks out of the bathroom. After the mind-blowing sex, he rubbed my clit under the warm water until I came undone again. Sheesh, this is crazy. Sinking down into the tub, the water washes over me and stings in the best way. I slip my head all the way under, holding my breath and closing my eyes. Keeper’s dick is fucking huge, and if I never walk straight again that will be fine with me. Eventually, my lungs run out of air, pushing my head out of the water as a shadowy figure leans right over me. The water splashes to the floor with my jump, and I slam my body against the back of the tub, clutching my chest to get my heart beating again.

“Jesus, Calum,” I shriek.

“Not the messiah, just Calum, but maybe add ‘Sir’ or ‘Lord’ instead, that would be hot.” He glances down at my body under the water shamelessly.

I should shriek or cover up, but I’m too blissed out from my orgasms. Plus, I kind of like his attention.

“Morning cookie, I brought you some fresh clothes.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder and points to a pile on the counter.

“Why are you calling me that?”

He ignores my question with a smirk. He’s chaos and doesn’t choose to hide it beneath his good looks. “Get dressed and come eat breakfast. Zee is cooking.” He gives me a playboy smile like he isn’t being a total creep sneaking in on me in the tub, and with a wink he leaves the room. Why is it that when someone like me winks, I’d look mental, but Calum’s wink is more likely to blow up everyone’s panties from here to the coast?

I wash up and get out of the bath, looking at the clothes he left. A sports bra and some booty shorts in black spandex. Black tennis shoes and a hair tie sit next to the clothes. Guess they thought of everything. The top has a neon pink band at the bottom, which I immediately like since it matches my guitar case. I need to ask where that is and figure out if I’m leaving here with or without permission.

These guys are clearly into something shady, but they don’t realize what they are up against. I need to get away before the situation gets any worse. Chad won’t stop, and my best bet is to keep hiding. I see my reflection in the mirror, and this outfit leaves little to the imagination. It’s better than a towel and wet underwear from yesterday. I hesitate, not knowing where my boots are, but I could run in these shoes if I needed to.

Following the voices to the kitchen, I step through the door. They all stop and stare. Keeper is freshly showered, his hair a little wet, but he’s in a shirt, jeans, and combat boots. Zeke is flipping an omelet, and the corner of his lip turns up when he sees me. Calum sits on the island in front of Zeke and the stove top wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants and Nikes. He takes a gulp of some orange juice, but I feel his gaze on me again, more intense than in the bathtub.

Somehow, in front of them now, I feel more naked than I did last night when they cleaned me up. I wrap my arms around my waist wishing I had grabbed one of their shirts before I came down.

“Do you want an omelet? Vegetable?” Zeke asks, breaking the silence.

“Sure, anything is fine,” I say, moving to the barstools at the end of the island and sliding in.

“Juice?” Keeper asks, handing me a glass. When I take it he moves to kiss the top of my head making me blush.

Calum watches me.

“Can I have my guitar case?” I blurt out. I shouldn’t seem so desperate for it. Sure, I just let Keeper rail me, but honestly, I don’t know where I stand with any of these guys. Yesterday they made me think they wanted to peel my skin off, but now they look like they want to peel off my clothes. The rational part of my brain shouldn’t find that as comforting as I do.

“Why do you want it so badly?” Keeper asks instead of giving me an answer.

“I need it,” I say, pushing the barstool back so I can stand, not liking his hovering. Zeke motions for me to sit and places my omelet in front of me. My stomach growls at the delicious smell. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten. Food first then stand up to the big guy.

“Tastes even better than it looks. Before LA I stuck to baking and pastries. Working at the diner, I started cooking more, but I never could get the omelet flip perfected,” I say in between bites, then Zeke gives me his movie-star grin. I’d only seen it once before. He has dimples that make me want to crawl in them and die.

The guys don’t say anything while watching me take another few bites before Keeper starts up again. He doesn’t strike me as someone who lets his questions go unanswered. I don’t know if I trust them. They haven’t hurt me, not really. The trunk thing was bad, and the panic attack they caused was also bad. Worse than bad, but the way they took care of me after they realized what happened leaves me with stupid hope again, maybe they could help. Guess I’ll go first then.

“The guitar case has my stuff. I was saving money to get a fake passport and ID to leave the country. I knew of someone here in LA that could do it. I had a connection to get in contact with her, possibly, but it’s expensive.” I hold back the information about the drive I sewed inside, not sure if I can trust them completely. “Your turn. Tell me more about the roof and why you can decide to kill an FBI agent like it’s a task as simple as running to get a gallon of milk?” I take another bite and try to look tough as I brace myself for this answer.

They are filling up the air with all of their big dick energy making it hard to breathe. Keeper can back it up, the other two probably can too. Calum and Zeke look at Keeper, he nods, then Calum turns to me.

“We’re killers.”

My jaw drops a little. I saw that coming but hearing it over an omelet is nonetheless a bit shocking. Or maybe I’m shocked they admitted it like that, no chance of me walking away alive now. But was there ever?

“For hire, he means,” Keeper adds and studies me like he’s worried about my reaction.

I figured it was something like that. I saw the gun, the basement, the way they move and the arrogant attitudes. They didn’t fear talking about killing someone in the FBI yesterday, so I guess learning they’re assassins isn’t as shocking as it should be. “Thanks for sharing.” I shrug because I don’t have anything else to add. Calum snorts at my comment, but before I let anyone else drop any more bombs, I continue. “And you’re keeping me here to make sure the FBI doesn’t catch onto what you were doing at the Santa Half-Marathon? And I’m going to help you find Chad?” I put Keeper’s words from the rooftop together. They must assume I’ll snitch, or I will bring the FBI to their door. It’s more than needing my help, they need to keep me quiet.

“We are keeping you. If you are here, it will be easier to get rid of that asshole for you. Want to hire us, cookie? We’re good at this; five stars on Yelp review good,” Calum tells me, and Keeper snorts at his joke.

Do I want their help? It all sounds too good to be true, but my heart kind of swells at the idea they would help me. I should leave, try to plead with them that I’ll never say a word. I should feel scared they just admitted to killing people as their day job. All these logical thoughts run through my head and go out the window when I shrug and say, “Okay.”