The Santas Who Stole Me (Stolen #1)

Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

ZEKE

Georgia falls asleep but I stay inside her, afraid if I pull out she will realize how much of a mistake this was, her fucking a monster. Although, I have fucked enough to know what we did was not fucking. Nothing close. Intense and hot as hell but, nonetheless, that wasn’t fucking. It wasn’t claiming like the guys did either. It was intimate. I felt everything Georgia was feeling in those moments when she came around me. I didn’t think I was capable of that kind of connection, but it was easy with Georgia. My dick gets harder replaying her facial expressions. Lashes flutter against my chest as she wakes and sighs, and her pussy pulls me farther inside her. Having her attention, I need to let her know about the darkest part of me.

“I’m an only child. My parents were wealthy; my dad was a judge, and my mother came from a long line of heiresses. My mother had a problem with pills. She managed her addiction by putting herself together for public events, and anytime she could force everyone to look at her. My father didn’t pay either of us any attention until we were needed to help his political agenda. I would go months without them talking to me. I had a few nannies, but they didn’t stay long. I thought they quit because of me. They might have, although after sharing some of my childhood memories, Keeper insisted later it was because of the way they were treated by my parents. That or they couldn’t handle anyone getting too close to their secrets.” My fingers run through Georgia’s hair. I debated telling her any of this, but I realize now there can’t be anything between us. She needs to understand this part of my life and how it shaped me.

“Zeke, you don’t have to tell me. But I want to know, whatever it is you have been holding back.”

That’s my sweet Georgia, trying to give me an out from breaking down the worst pieces of myself I keep hidden. I don’t consider her offer but decline it. I need to lay it out for her. “I was left alone often as a child, most of my interactions came from school, which I had only been attending a month or so before they pulled me out.” I inhale her shampoo and kiss her lips, hoping her sweetness will somehow lessen the bitter taste the next words leave on my tongue. “We had a large backyard that expanded to a wooded area with a creek. I was playing there when I found a puppy. I have no idea how it wandered to the back of the property. I picked it up and looked for others or a mother but didn’t find anything. It was so small, I could feel its tiny bones under a matted layer of white and black fur. It didn’t cry when I held it, but it’s heart was beating. The animal was starving and covered in fleas. No one was around to ask for help, so I decided to take care of it myself. I took it inside and put it in the bath. I didn’t realize how full the tub was, and I walked away looking for some shampoo. When I came back the dog’s eyes were open. I held it tight trying to feel the heartbeat from before, but it was gone. My mother came in. At the time I didn’t realize it, but she was high off of whatever her daily choice of drugs were. She screamed at me, saying I was sick for drowning an animal and playing with its corpse.”

Her shrill voice and condemning scowl terrified me then, but now when I replay this moment in my head, it fills me with disgust. What kind of mother assumes that of their child? She didn’t even consider it was an accident.

“That was the first time she hit me. It was so hard I dropped the puppy. When I scrambled to get it she started screaming about how disappointed my father would be knowing he created such a monster.”

I slip out of Georgia, and she clutches my side, giving me encouragement to finish.

“After that I quit talking. No one listened or considered it was an accident. My parents stuck me in therapy sessions. My mother was convinced I was a serial killer in the making. That I lacked empathy. I do, but as a child I never saw any. My father used my issues as a platform, explaining to everyone how his son was mentally ill and family should take responsibility, not the government for finding services to support problem children. He claimed he was able to fix me with the strong parental support, a therapist, and a Christian upbringing.”

A tear rolls off Georgia’s face and onto my chest.

I let it go, allowing her to be sad for the boy in my story. I love that she never holds back how she feels. I’m tempted to study her face and see how she’s reacting, but I stare at the ceiling instead. I can’t pause for too long, or I won’t get the rest out.

“I was placed in psych wards with a string of therapists until, eventually, I believed their words, and I became what I am. I started killing, so I could get closer to those emotions I was told I’m incapable of having. Instead of shying away from all of it, I jumped right into the sociopath role that was carved for me. I found a way to get paid for killing through dark web job sites. And I am good at it. In all my years with the psychiatrist, I learned what a normal, healthy person is supposed to look like, and I can put on that persona easily.”

Georgia hasn’t seen this part of me. I tried to hide it and only show her the way I am with the guys. They understand how screwed up I am. Now I suppose Georgia will too, and I’m surprisingly at ease with that revelation.

“Zeke, you are not any of the things they told you. I know what being in the presence of true evil looks like. It’s not you. I also know what it’s like to start to believe the lies someone tells you. Especially, when they are the fears and insecurities you have within yourself.” She’s talking about the soon-to-be-dead fucker who hurt her.

“Whatever lies he told you will be his last.”

“His voice is still in my head, you know? When I hear them it’s like I’m detached from my body. My brain says he isn’t here, and his words are lies. My fear disagrees.”

“I hate everything you were put through. When I kill the fucker his words will die too. No more fear, promise me.”

Her breath blows across my chest, not wanting to make a promise she can’t keep. I’ll make this promise for her, and I’ll seal it with his blood.

“Same for you. What happened to your parents?”

That puts a proud smirk on my face, hearing Georgia mad on my behalf. I love that protectiveness she has over us. I saw it in the way she dealt with B at the diner over Keeper’s scratch. And the way she gets onto the guys for punching each other. We are lucky as fuck to have her. I won’t let her go, even if I know it would be better for her if she left. To get away from the death and carnage we wield and crave.

“My mother died before I graduated, a heart attack most likely from something she injected, and I believe Keeper killed my father.”

“That was nice of him,” she adds, making me chuckle in her hair.

“After a few months working with Calum and Keeper, I eventually told them about my upbringing. My father died shortly after. His death was reported as a car accident, but he never drove himself anywhere. I always assumed they had a hand in it and, well, Keeper killed someone else the same way before.” I was grateful my father was dead and that they didn’t ask me how I felt about it. The guys adamantly think there is nothing wrong with me, but they are killers the same as me, so their opinions of normal are really fucking off.

“I’m glad. I love you, Zeke.”

My entire world stops spinning. I shift next to her, unsure how to react. Can I love Georgia? Not the way she needs it. “How? Georgia, were you listening? I love how you see everything through rose-colored glasses, but that isn’t the story here. Whether I was born this way or grew into it, I kill people to try to find parts of myself that are missing. I find a person’s weakness and prey on it. I get what I want, and if I can’t, I’ll find someone who can. You don’t understand the depths of my depravity.”

“I understand you, Zeke, and I’m glad you told me what it was like when you were younger. I hate your parents and every person who couldn’t see what I do.”

I snap my eyes to her and see the honesty in her gaze. Fuck me; she is beautiful and amazing. I will do anything I can to keep her, even though I don’t deserve her.

Georgia shimmies under my arm and crawls on top of my body.

Her tits look magnificent, and I scan the rest of her with a look that I’m sure shows the complete awe I am in, unable to hide behind my usual mask.

“I love you, Zeke. That means all parts, including your past. As terrible as it was, it made you, well, you, and I wouldn’t want you any other way.” Her hair tickles my nose when she leans over my body for a kiss as I revel in all things Georgia. I’m so fucking glad Keeper stole her for us.