A Ruthless Christmas by K.L. Savage

 

So much happened last night. I thought Reaper’s head was going to pop off his body and explode. Not only did we find out his dad got a club whore pregnant, but that he has a sister! A hot sister. Not that I’d ever do anything about the fact that I find her hot. I like that my heart beats in my chest and not Reaper’s palm.

So besides that madness, he finds out he has an uncle named Zain, a man he’s never met, who was his dad’s brother.

Damn, Reaper’s getting hit left and right with all the surprises for Christmas.

All I want for Christmas is tacos.

Preferably an all-you-can-eat taco buffet.

I’m not picky, but if I know the guys, they aren’t going to get me tacos.

A guy can dream.

There’s officially five days left until Christmas, and while there are decorations everywhere, there’s still no tree. My little Miss Avocado is bummed about it. I’m sitting at the kitchen table, waiting to see if Reaper has a brother that’s about to walk through the door to stir the pot. I sip my coffee and see Maizey swirl her fork around in her scrambled eggs. It’s more like ketchup with eggs, but to each their own, I guess.

It looks disgusting.

She lets out a big dramatic sigh, waiting for me to say something.

I grin around the rim of my mug and nod at Knives when he walks into the kitchen and heads for the coffee pot. His hair is a mess, and he seems like he’s still asleep since I can’t see his eyes. The man has gotten so many tattoos lately that he hardly looks like the same guy. My favorite one he has is simple. It says ‘Judge Me’ right where his neck meets his chest.

Maizey lets out another long exhale and taps her fork against the plate, creating that awful fucking sound I hate, so I give in. “What’s got your unicorns lacking color, squirt?” I ask her, hating to see her so down.

She sits up and shrugs her tiny shoulders.

“Oh, no, come on. Tell ol’ Uncle Slingshot what’s wrong.” I steal a piece of toast off her plate and bite into it.

“We don’t have a tree, and if we don’t have a tree, Santa won’t come and make my Christmas wishes come true.”

“You mean leave presents?” I question.

“No!” she shakes her head, and her dark brown frizzy hair poufs around her shoulders. “If we don’t have a tree, then Santa won’t know to give Mommy and Daddy a baby. They really want one. I wrote Santa about it and everything, but he hasn’t answered. It’s because we don’t have a tree.” Her bottom lip starts to wiggle, and those damn brown eyes get big, but I know what she’s doing.

Nope. It isn’t going to work. “The puppy eyes aren’t going to work on me.” I find myself saying that every time because when it comes to Maizey, I seem to be the one to give in the quickest.

Knives snorts, then pretends to clear his throat.

Ass.

“Did you really write Santa a letter for Sarah and Reaper?” My heart melts at the thought. What a sweet kid. And she’s calling them Mom and Dad? They must be over the moon.

She nods like a bobblehead. “I did. I did. I even made a copy. Want to see?”

“You made a copy?” Knives repeats her question. His voice is rough with sleep still, tinged with gravel and morning time.

“Just in case Santa didn’t get it, duh,” she sasses, then leans in and whispers, blocking Knives from reading her lips by placing her hand next to her mouth. “Does he know anything?”

“’Fraid not. Poor guy. He still counts on his fingers.”

“Everyone counts on their fingers, Slingshot! If not, you’re a liar.” He slams his mug down on the table, then picks it back up and stomps out of the room.

“He is so not a morning person,” Maizey grins, pinching her lips before scooping up some ketchup egg soup.

Bleh, gross.

“He really isn’t.” I lean back in the chair until it’s balancing on its hind legs, then rock forward. “Okay, I’m not going to be the reason why my Prez and his ol’ lady don’t get their baby. You want to go get a tree today?”

“Sucker,” Badge’s voice booms from the back room where he hides away.

“Officer Butthead,” Maizey grumbles, then giggles. “I said a bad word.”

“I’ll let it slide because he is a butthead,” I shout the last word over my shoulder to make sure he hears it.

“Okay, go change. We’re getting a tree.”

“Really?” she squeals.

I point to her breakfast. “After you finish that mess you call food.”

She bounces in her chair as she scoops the food into her mouth. Reaper and Sarah walk through the entryway. Neither of them look like they have gotten much sleep with the dark circles around their eyes. “What’s all the excitement about, Maze?” Reaper bends down and gives her a quick kiss on top of her head, followed by Sarah.

“Uncle Slingshot is going to take me to get a tree!”

“I want to take her to get a tree.” Reaper narrows his eyes at me, pissed that I’d dare take this opportunity away from him.

Oh my God. I can feel him about to take my heart.

I gulp. “I was going to ask before we left.”

“We can go together. And we’re going to get the biggest tree. Everyone is going!” Reaper announces throughout the house. “Be ready in fifteen.” Reaper pours himself some coffee in a white mug that says, ‘President of the Unites States of Ruthless America,’ a mug I got him as a joke last Christmas. Not to toot my own horn, but he uses it every morning, so…

Toot-toot.

“I’m going to get us the biggest damn tree there is,” he grumbles.

“I know you are, baby.” Sarah soothes him by rubbing his shoulder.

“Stupid trees. You know, I could go out and chop one down and bring it in here. I’ll cut a hole in the roof if I have to.”

“I know you would, baby.” She continues to be supportive while he vents.

Maizey giggles, and it always makes me laugh because she’s so infectious.

“Don’t laugh. I’m serious. The biggest tree.”

“I know, Daddy,” Maizey says with ketchup around her mouth.

“Any tree you want, Maze. You pick, it’s yours. Nothing is going to stop me from getting this damn thing!” he bellows, then marches down the hallway and opens his office door. “The biggest fucking tree, got it? We leave in ten minutes, and for the ones who don’t show, I’ll have you acting like Santa Clause for the next three years!” He slams the door so hard the floor shakes.

“Mommy, Daddy said a bad word.”

Sarah gasps and drops the mug she has in her hands, shattering on the floor. Hot coffee and ceramic pieces fly everywhere, but I’m up and out of my seat to get Sarah out of the way.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I ask, just as the office door slams again.

“Doll? What happened?” Reaper says from behind me. “Are you hurt?” Reaper echoes my question and runs to her side, swinging her into his arms, but she fights him.

“I’m fine; put me down. Maze called me Mommy, and it’s the first time I heard it.” Sarah runs around the other side of the table where it’s coffee and mug free, then kneels. “You sure, Maizey? Is that what you want?”

Maizey nods. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah…” She chokes and pulls Maizey in for a hug. “It’s more than okay. I’m so happy to be your mommy.”

Reaper makes his way over to his family, and I decide this is a good moment to give them some privacy. They’ve been wanting a child for a long time. We found the families of most of the other kids who were rescued. And it took a while longer to get two more of them back to their families because they were from Mexico. Now all that’s left is Maizey and two more who haven’t found their homes. They aren’t like Maizey, though. They didn’t bounce back from being kidnapped. Hell, I forget they are here half the time because I never see them. They stay in a room downstairs. We don’t want to put them in foster care, but what do we do? They’re too scared to be here.

They should be where they want to be.

I knock on Tongue’s door since it’s the closest room to escape to and try the knob. I open it and allow myself in, taking a deep breath of relief to be away from the special moment.

“Hi, Slingshot.”

Tongue’s voice startles me, which it shouldn’t because it’s his room.

My eyes land on the bed, and Daphne is reading while Tongue is placing a Santa hat on his baby gator, Happy. What blows my mind is how Happy is allowing this to happen. “Did you make Happy a Santa hat, Tongue?” I ask, taking a step closer to see if what I’m seeing is real.

“Ain’t he cute?” Tongue says with a big smile on his face as he holds up his gator like a proud momma.

The gator opens his mouth wide, and I swear, Happy smiles at me. And damn it, if somehow that reptile doesn’t look adorable with that Santa hat on. “He looks very cute, Tongue.”

“Oh, that’s not all.”

It never is when it comes to Tongue.

“Look!” Tongue pulls out a wide red leather collar that has Happy engraved on it in gold. “I got him a matching leash too. For walks.”

“Because gators walk. Obviously,” I note. Daphne winks at me.

She knows.

“Well, are you going to bring him to get the Christmas tree?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed. I reach for Happy to pet the top of his head, but he hisses at me.

“Sorry; he only likes us,” Daphne says, patting me on the shoulder before going back to reading her book.

“That’s not true.” Tongue strokes the spine of his ‘swamp kitty’ as he calls it. He’s such an interesting person. “He likes Patrick and Poodle.”

“He almost bit Patrick’s finger off,” Daphne says, licking her fingers and flipping the page of the book she’s reading. Now that I’m looking around their room for the first time, it’s exactly the same as it was before Daphne moved in, only there are books everywhere. In every corner, on top of the dresser, beside the bed, stacked behind the bed to create a headboard. Tongue is the happiest I’ve ever seen him.

“Patrick insulted him. Happy was defending himself. Isn’t that right, good boy?” Tongue scratches under Happy’s chin, and the gator shows his teeth and closes his eyes, nearly purring with contentedness.

What the fuck kind of twilight zone is this?

“Let’s go! We’re getting that damn tree, now!” Reaper bellows.

“Oh, hold on; I need to get his emotional support vest.”

I freeze mid-stand. I know I did not hear what I think I just heard. A gator is not an emotional support animal. That can’t even be legal.

The proof is right there before my eyes, though. He slips the vest over Happy’s body, and on the side in white block letters it reads, ‘Emotional support animal in training.’

“Oh, such a good boy, Happy.” Tongue places Happy on the ground and reaches into a red jar, pulling out pink chunks of… something. He tosses the treat in the air, and Happy’s jaws smack together.

I have a feeling those were bite-sized pieces of tongue.

And he keeps them in a Mason jar.

Next to his bed.

I need to get out of here.