A Ruthless Christmas by K.L. Savage

 

So, what? I almost got caught. No big deal.

I found a new tree. It’s more shaded than the last and bonus, it looks like the electric box to the gate is right below me. “Oh, now what do we have here?” I say to myself, leaning forward when I notice movement coming from the front door. I bring my new binoculars to my eyes

“Oh, the days love blessing me with opportunity, don’t they?” I see the woman of my dreams leaving the house, Sarah, followed by Patrick.

Hmmm, now that is an interesting combination. Neither of them goes anywhere together unless they’re all going somewhere in a big group. She’s wearing a beautiful burgundy sweater dress that highlights her blonde hair with black leggings and boots, but the outfit is ruined with that damn ‘Property of Reaper’ cut. They climb into a new Ford Bronco SUV with Patrick in the front seat.

Tsk. Tsk.

Alcoholics should never be allowed to drive. Even the ones who are ‘on a journey’ to sobriety. Let’s face it. They’re never really sober. They’re a disaster waiting to happen. He’s probably fighting the urge to pour a bottle down his throat. He’d probably eat the glass if given the opportunity.

Pathetic.

And I am not going to let his addiction hurt Sarah.

The bark of the tree bites against my palms as I climb down the trunk. There are a few notches for me to place my feet. When I’m halfway down, I jump, then roll on the ground so I don’t make any noise. A few twigs snap, but I could be an animal for all they know.

Who am I kidding? I am an animal.

I slither through the bare bones of trees, ducking under the long fingers of the branches, and bypassing large rocks. I need to figure out a plan. I only wanted Sarah, but Patrick would be fun to torment. This will be one of the only times I will get her alone. She’s always with Reaper and surrounded by protection.

Why isn’t she now?

I snort and laugh at myself, stretching out my arms, and my hands glide across the body of the tree trunks. Why am I questioning this? This is what I wanted.

Only I’m going to make her see just what kind of people she surrounds herself with and how they aren’t good for her. I thought Daphne was better, but I had made a mistake. She’s just as rotten as Tongue is on the inside.

Can no one see how horrible these bikers are? What do I need to do to take the blinders off their eyes?

One by one, I’ll take them out. It’s only a matter of time.

I finally get to my car that I pulled into the woods and pull out my bolt cutters. I make my way back to the box just in time to see them pull through the gate. I cut the wire coming from the bottom and the buzz of electricity hums to a slow stop.

I smirk.

Good luck getting to us in time, Kings.

Turning, I run for my car again. I have to get there fast if I’m going to get there before Pirate and Sarah drive by. I’m rounding the front when my foot slips on the sand. I catch myself on the hood of the car, and my forehead smacks against the bumper when my foot keeps slipping. “Son of a bitch!” I groan and hold my hand against the aching spot throbbing in the middle of my forehead.

No, I have to hurry, so I still have time. Time to do, what? I have no idea, but I’ll figure it out.

My phone dings, and I see it’s a message from Zain.

We’re going out for supplies. When you get home, don’t be surprised if no one is there. We’ll be back soon.

A catlike grin sweeps over my face as I read the message just as another comes through.

You better not be at the Ruthless compound. Reaper is letting me rent this place for a great deal because it needs work. He doesn’t know I know you, the guy who nearly killed his members. I won’t keep covering for you. Stop with the obsession.

“Stop with the obsession,” I mock him as I open the door to the old Lincoln car that someone’s grandma used to drive. She’s dead. It isn’t like she needs it anymore. I punch the dice hanging on the rearview mirror and start the car. They are pink and fuzzy. Cute.

I bet Sarah would like them.

Inserting the silver key in the car, the 1970s radio plays static through the busted speakers, but then the hint of a Christmas song comes sneaking through the white noise.

Oh, the weather outside is certainly very frightful.

And the fire rushing through my veins is, well…

It’s delightful

Smirking at the convenient tune, I press my foot on the gas and inch forward. I turn the wheel so I’m facing the long stretch of empty road. I whistle, waiting to see the Ford Bronco pass me. I roll down my window and patiently wait. I stay far enough in the woods where they can’t see me, and since I’m less than a half-mile down the road and across the street, they aren’t going to expect me.

The grumble of the Bronco engine comes close as I whistle the tune on the radio. There’s not much in the desert we can do to make it snow, but the melody brightens my spirits anyway. When the Bronco passes, I put the car in drive and creep out of the woods. The tires dip before getting onto the road, burning some of the rubber when I punch the gas too quick as I crank the wheel.

“Oops,” I say when I run over a cactus.

It isn’t like we don’t have plenty of them in Vegas.

I trail behind the Bronco for a couple of minutes before I decide I’m bored. I want to get the show on the road. I hate being incognito. I’ve never been good at it. When I want something, I tend to get it.

Even if it means burying my own brother on Halloween, torturing his lover to see what a big mistake she’s making, or showing Sarah that she’s the sun and the moon, and she deserves the stars. I’ll do whatever it takes to take what’s mine.

I gas the car, putting the pedal to the metal and cackle when the speedometer reaches the red lines. I quickly catch up with the Bronco and slam the front end of the Lincoln into the back. I laugh uncontrollably, bouncing in my seat when I see Patrick look in the rearview mirror.

They’re going to wish that what I have in store for them meant being buried six feet under, but it isn’t.

It’s going to be more self-destructive, more of a lesson I hope they learn from.

I slam against the back end again, and the Bronco fishtails as Patrick loses control of the SUV. Tires burn as the Bronco tries to stay on the ground, but the momentum is too much. They flip in the air twice, then the Bronco lands on its side, slamming against a group of trees with a sickening, thrilling crunch.

I come to a stop and get out of the car, casually. “My goodness, I hope everyone is okay,” I fawn in a pretend caring, southern accent. “Whatever shall we do?”

“Kill them,” the other side of me sneers.

“Not her,” the better part of me pleads.

I watch as smoke comes from the engine and the tires spin, still reeling from the speed they were going on the road. The Christmas song still plays in the Lincoln, and I sing it as I strut over to the passenger side.

“The fire is slowly dying, and my dear…” I whistle the rest of the tune and open the door, seeing Sarah passed out with blood trickling down her forehead. “We’re still goodbying.”

Patrick is out cold too, a piece of glass embedded in his thigh and blood trickling from some part of his head. I can’t tell since I don’t care.

I push a piece of Sarah’s blonde hair behind her ear, so silky and soft. “It really is the most wonderful time of the year,” I say, marveling the beauty in front of me.

She’s going to get the best present of them all.

Me.