The Russian's Christmas Present

I gasp at the sight, and Martel swings his head my way, blood splatters dotting his t-shirt and smeared over his knuckles.

“Get your stuff. We’re leaving,” he barks my way as my father gives me a questioning look.

“Who is he?” He nods toward Martel, who growls back, giving him a hard stare until he backs up.

“He’s my date.” I push up off the floor and get myself standing. “I won him at an auction.”

I step forward, emboldened by the destruction inflicted by Martel in the matter of a few minutes, and walk backwards down the hall to my room.

My mind races. How did he know where I lived? Why would I want to leave with a man who just broke into my house in a homicidal rage?

The answers don’t seem to matter, because a moment later I’m in my bedroom gathering up some belongings in a flurry.

I stuff some clothes into a duffel, grab my purse and my phone from the nightstand, taking a quick look at the screen to see three more text messages from Martel and two missed calls since I went out to make myself a PB & J.

The last message drenches my panties and makes my nipples poke out through the thin fabric of my tank top as I drop my robe onto my bed.

Martel: I’m on my way to your house. I don’t know why you’re not answering me, but we’ll talk about that when I get there. You can’t ignore me, Snowflake. I’m not going away. I’m coming to get you. So, ready or not, here I come. In more ways than one…

A couple minutes later, I’m down the hall, dressed, with a bag and my purse, my hair tied into a messy bun on my head and my favorite old Army jacket over my arm.

“Ready?” Martel hasn’t moved from where he stood, but my dad and short fat guy are now sitting on the sofa and the two guys on the floor are awake, but staying put, everyone’s eyes darting from Martel to me then back.

“Yep. Ready,” I answer, still unsure what exactly I’m ready for. But for whatever reason, right now I don’t care.

“If any of you ever even think of touching her again, I’ll kill you.” Martel reaches for my hand and pulls me through the kitchen.

As we’re slipping out the back door, I yell toward the living room, “Something happened to the back door. Might want to get it looked at. Bad neighborhood and all.”

I’m giggling a little as Martel lifts me up and sets me into the seat of his pickup truck.

“Buckle up,” he adds, then closes the door, and a minute later we are winding away from the house on our way. But to where?

“So,” I start, twirling my little silver hoop earring with my fingers. “Where is it we are going? Back to your hotel room?”

“Nope.” Martel reaches over and takes my hand, slipping his fingers between mine, then pulling it to his lips to kiss each knuckle before settling our hands on his thigh. “My place.”

“Your place? So, you said your parents live a few minutes from Meadowbrook, but you were staying there in the hotel. How far is your place?”

“Forty minutes. I want to take you there. I need to take you there.”

Chapter 10

Martel

She looks so perfect here.

She’s exactly what’s been missing in my house. A house that now, for the first time, truly feels like a home.

She’s walking around like she did in the hotel room last night. Looking at all the Christmas decorations. Touching things. And it’s all so simple, but it has all my fantasies racing around inside my head.

I need this girl here, not just for the night but forever. No fucking way am I ever allowing her to return to that house with her father. Fucking waste of life. I wanted to kill him most of all, for allowing her to live that way. For not protecting her.

But none of that matters now, because I’m in her life and that’s my job, and I take my work pretty fucking seriously.

It’s closing in on 2 AM but I’m wired and pulled tight. I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep again. Both because I never want to let her out of my sight, but also because I’ve missed so much of her life and I can’t imagine not being alive and awake with her every second of every day, from this moment forward.

“You sure do go all out for Christmas.” She spins around the big pine that stands in the living room decorated with some of the little welded ornaments I make for myself and also sell in some of the shops in the nearby tourist town.

She’s wearing red leggings and a white silk tank top, which I want to tear into a million pieces so I can get at those nipples that keep tormenting me through the thin fabric.