A Ruthless Christmas by K.L. Savage
One week until Christmas, and I haven’t done any shopping, of any sorts, for anyone. That includes Sarah. I’m fucked. Santa is going to put fucking coals under the tree for me and burn my damn stocking. Who the hell waits this long? I don’t know what to get her. I’m stressed the hell out.
Which means I’m hiding outside around back of the clubhouse because I need a damn smoke.
The damn Christmas carols, the jingle bells, the fucking Christmas movies; I’m about to drown in snow. And guess what?
It doesn’t fucking snow in Vegas!
Well, it hasn’t since I was a kid, but knowing my luck, this will be the year we get a record blizzard. And I can hear everyone now, “Let’s go sledding! Let’s make snow angels; let’s build a snowman!”
Fucking shoot me.
But before any of that, I need a gift for Sarah, or so help me I’ll never see another Christmas again.
I rub my temples, exhaling the stress of the holidays in a puff of air that clouds out in front of me because it’s cold.
I hate being cold. I miss the heat. I miss the sun making me sweat and my skin turning pink.
I’m a damn scrooge.
Ho-ho-freaking-ho.
The pack of cigarettes in my cut pocket weigh against my right pec. I open the delicate leather and bury my hand inside, yanking the pack out. I pound the end of the box against my palm so I can tighten that tobacco. I take my time opening the container. Something about this moment is going to feel so fucking good, and I want to relish it. My fingers slide against the sleek, smooth stick. I glide out the cigarette and bring it to my nose, inhaling the rich, earthy scent.
“Oh god,” I moan. It’s been so long since I’ve had a smoke. I can’t wait a second longer. I put the orange end between my lips, strike the lighter, cup my hand over the tip, and inhale. Ash starts to form, turning a beautiful shade of crimson. The smoke trickles down my throat, spreading over my lungs in the most toxic way.
I love it.
“Don’t let Sarah see, or she’ll think you’re cheating,” Poodle says as he comes around the corner of the clubhouse.
Taking another long drag, I blow the smoke in his face, not laughing at his joke. It isn’t funny. I’d never fuck around on my doll. “Don’t speak that way to me,” I say, flicking the ashes from the tip. “I’m a little stressed. I needed a break from—”
“Christmas?”
“Christmas,” I say on a tired sigh.
“We’re supposed to go get a tree tonight. We’ve waited long enough. The kids are getting antsy.”
“I’m not going.”
“Are you pouting? Is Prez really throwing a tantrum?”
“Say that to me again and see what happens.”
“Jesse!”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I throw the cigarette down and stomp on it. Poodle waves his arms through the air to get rid of the smoke. “Get rid of it!” I blow the rest out of my mouth, then start spitting. “Sarah’s going to kill me.”
“I’m trying to get rid of it,” Poodle hisses. “It isn’t my fault you’re a damn chimney!”
“Do not make Santa Claus jokes right now,” I snap in return, rubbing my tongue on my shirt sleeve to get the smoke out of my mouth.
“Oh, yeah. Real smooth Reaper. That’s going to work. You need a freaking blow torch to get rid of the stench wafting off you.”
“What’s going on, guys?” Sarah’s sweet voice comes from the left.
Poodle and I casually lean against the siding, pretending to talk about Christmas. “Hey, Doll. Don’t come any further!” I stop her when she takes a step forward.
Her face falls when she sees she isn’t welcome. “Why not? Maizey is asleep, Home Alone isn’t on, and I thought we could—”
“Doll, I’m talking about your Christmas gifts. You can’t know.”
Her face brightens more than the damn sun when she hears the word ‘gifts.’ My Doll deserves all the gifts in the world.
If only I could figure out what the hell to get her.
“Really?” She rocks on her heels, cupping her hands in front of her. “What kind of gifts?”
I smirk, feeling like a real asshole for lying to her, but I don’t want to tell her I’ve been smoking. I don’t think she’ll be too upset. She isn’t controlling, but she’s worried for my health. I only have one or two cigarettes a week, which is less than what I used to smoke.
“I can’t tell you that, Doll. It would ruin the surprise. Now, let me brainstorm with Poodle. I’ll catch you and Maizey in a few. Later, we’ll go get that tree you want so bad.”
“The biggest one they have?”
“Doll, I know how much you love big things,” I purr, lowering my voice so she can’t miss the sexual innuendo.
She blushes, looks over at Poodle, who is currently laughing, and then slides her eyes back to me. “Jesse, we aren’t alone.”
I love how bashful she gets sometimes.
“I know.”
“Do I need to leave?” Poodle asks, pointing back and forth between me and Sarah. “Maybe give you a little privacy?”
I’m about to tell him to get out of fucking dodge when something bites my ankle. I immediately stumble away and hop on one foot in pain. “Ow, what the f—”
I look around to find the culprit, but it’s dark. Then I hear a low hiss come from out of the darkness. “Son of a bitch! What was that?”
“Happy! Where’d you go?” Tongue yells out his pet gator’s name.
I meet the eyes of my nemesis on the ground, its mouth wide open and baring its little fangs. He’s still hissing at me. The damned thing swishes its tail, charges at me, and I do the only thing that enters my mind.
I hiss back.
“Oh my god!” Poodle falls over chuckling, and so does Sarah. Both of them are gripping their stomachs while I limp from a damn gator bite.
“This is not funny!” I snap. The wound isn’t that bad. Tiny dots of blood, but that’s not the point. That fucking gator is feral. “Tongue! Get your damn … kitten.” I can’t believe he calls it that, but whatever makes Tongue mellow and grounded, then so be it.
Tongue comes around the corner and puts his hands on his thighs, relieved that he found his pet. “Oh, thank goodness. Maizey said she forgot to close the top to the tank; I was worried he would have gotten too far.”
“Don’t worry about him attacking people or anything.” I roll my eyes, hobbling on one foot.
“He didn’t attack you.” Tongue rolls his eyes and claps his hands together. “Come here, Happy.”
The little shit has the nerve to hiss at me again as he scurries over to Tongue, clicking up small clouds of dust with his paws. The talons click along the pebbles, and when I narrow my eyes, I notice something different about Happy’s nails. They are painted red.
Is this some type of joke?
Poodle sees what I’m staring at and leans over to inspect the claws. “That’s a nice shade,” he observes.
“You like it? I picked it out. It reminded me of blood.”
“No kidding?” Poodle says, clearly not surprised, but pretending to be. “I wouldn’t have guessed, Tongue.”
I bring the attention back to me. “Do you see the tear in my jeans?” I ask, turning to the left and kicking my leg out so he can see the gaping freaking hole. “He bit me.”
Tongue bends over and picks up Happy, cradling him in one arm like a baby and starts tickling its belly. “It was a love bite. He didn’t mean no harm, Prez.”
“A love…” I say on a small breath that falls out of me when I hear such a thing. “A love bite? You cannot be serious. You better keep a freaking leash on him, Tongue. I won’t have him hurting the kids.”
“He loves the kids! Everyone’s seen it. He loves playing fetch with Maizey.”
“You’re saying your gator doesn’t like me? Is that it?” I ask, moving my eyes to Poodle who’s whistling and staring at the sky as if it has painted him a pretty picture.
Sarah is filming the interaction on her phone, and I know I’m never going to live this down.
“Well, Prez … yeah, you need to earn his trust. You’re the only one who pays him no mind.”
“Tongue, I pay him no mind because he bites me!” I shout, then lower my voice when exhaustion hits. “All I wanted was two minutes of alone time. Two. Then, I get eaten by a damn gator,” I start mumbling under my breath as I limp away. “All I wanted was a smoke. All I wanted was to figure out what to get Sarah.” I make sure no one can hear what I’m saying except me.
“Where are you going, Prez?” Poodle calls out to me.
“Away from that damn thing!” I wave my arm back, hoping Happy gets the damn point.
“Reaper!” Sarah saying my road name has me stopping in my tracks. A droplet of blood runs down my leg when I put my weight on it. A small bead of blood, but I’ve killed for less, and I can’t fucking kill a family pet. That’s beneath me. “Give me your pack of cigarettes, right now.”
Damn it. I was just about to go find a hiding spot to have a smoke. “Doll, just one,” I beg. I flash her the biggest smile I can muster, but she holds her palm out and gestures her fingers for me to give up the goods.
I hate Christmas.
And Happy can go back to the damn swamp for all I care.
Bah-fucking-humbug.
