Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Deck the Halls

HOLLY

If I had to listen to this drunk sing Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas" one more time, I'd be decking the halls by punching him in the face.

The out-of-towner swayed from side to side, alone in front of the old jukebox that was pay-to-play. He'd put the song on repeat, and it was playing for the fifth time in a row. As Christmas songs go, it was actually a good one. Most people liked it. But not at two in the morning with a dude in a wrinkled brown suit crooning along with the songbird—badly I might add—getting louder with each sip of the pint he was clutching to his chest.

Honestly, I felt bad for the guy. He'd been here all night, the day after Thanksgiving, getting absolutely shit-faced. While I had an amazing turkey day with my parents yesterday, gobbling up Mom's famous green bean casserole with fresh bits of prosciutto, a mouthwateringly juicy turkey Dad had fried to perfection, and my award-worthy garlic mashed potatoes, this guy looked like he'd had the worst couple days of his life.

The holidays could royally suck for those who didn't have someone special to spend them with. And unfortunately for him, before he'd taken to his solo dancing and singing career, he'd confided in me that his wife left him yesterday. On Thanksgiving Day, no less. Apparently, she was leaving him for a richer, younger man and taking their two kids with her. Which was what brought him here, to The Desert Shack on the outskirts of Las Vegas. He'd shared repeatedly how much he loved his wife and kids. The poor fella was devastated and drowning his sorrows with Mariah Carey and one beer after another. Overall, he was harmless, so I let him do his thing, even though I knew I'd have that song stuck in my head for the next week.

I scanned the bar, noting the few regulars finishing up their drinks and heading out without being urged. My regulars were awesome. Unlike the lumberjack at the end of the bar. He made my skin crawl. Mostly because he'd spent the entire evening staring at me nonstop and flirting with me relentlessly, even though I told him straight up that I wasn't interested. It wasn't that he was bad looking or anything. Technically, he was somewhat attractive in that dad-bod type of way, rocking a plaid shirt, jeans, and a full beard. Still, that didn't mean he was every woman's type. Good looks didn't automatically give him the right to persistently bother me while I was working, and besides, he gave me the ick. There was something off about him. My attempts to be nice throughout the night ended after the first couple hours of his skeevy behavior.

At this late hour though, I had ramped up to bold, brazen, and plum out of pleasantries. Putting my shoulders back, I took a deep breath, steeled my spine, and approached Mr. Bunyan.

"I'll have another," he barked, his salacious gaze traveling up and down my body. It felt like millions of ants racing across my bare skin.

"No can do." I gestured to the big round clock over the entrance to the bar that clearly showed it was ten minutes after two in the morning. "Last call was an hour ago," I reached for his empty whiskey glass. As I did so, he wrapped his hand around mine, squeezing painfully.

"I said, I'll have another…sweetness," he slurred. "Now hop that heart-shaped ass of yours over to the bottle of Jack and refill my glass."

"Let. Me. Go." I snarled, staring directly into his bloodshot, beady eyes.

He attempted a smirk, but it was more of a scowl hidden behind the swollen loose lips he kept licking.

"You heard the woman," drunken Christmas singer hollered, waving his pint, the amber liquor sloshing onto the floor. "She said to get your hand off her. So you know"—he stumbled awkwardly—"let her go, man."

Mr. Bunyan's eyes narrowed, and he turned slowly around, finally removing his hand from mine. I snatched it away and went over toward the cash register where I hid my rifle. I could already tell this was going to be one of those nights.

Before I could intervene, the lumberjack stood up, a solid six inches taller than my drunken savior, pulled his arm back and clocked the guy in the face with his meaty fist.

I swear I saw it happen in slow motion.

Christmas guy's head flew to the side with the force of the blow, blood spewing from his mouth while his body fell to the floor. He scrambled to a seated position, his hand covering the split in his lip as blood trailed down his chin. The beer mug he'd been holding had also fallen to the floor and shattered, the bits of glass spreading along the rickety wooden surface like sparkly diamonds.

That's when I cocked my rifle and pointed it at Mr. Bunyan.

"Time to go or you'll be lying on the floor bleeding from a far bigger wound than my friend there." I jerked the gun toward the door. "Leave now, and I won't call the cops on you for assaulting a customer."

"You're gonna regret this, sweetness," he growled, his chest moving up and down as though he'd run a marathon. "We could'a had a good time together," he continued, licking his gross lips once more.

"I sincerely doubt that. Now go and don't ever come back. If I see you again, it will be to place this rifle right between your eyes."

The nostrils on his bulbous nose flared, reminding me of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, his eyes blacker than night as he snarled. "I'll be seeing you…"

"Over my dead body," I snapped as he walked calmly and slowly to the exit.

"That can be arranged." He grinned, a malicious smile that sent shivers racing down my back. My knees shook but I stayed strong, my rifle still pointed at him.

"Says the one without the gun," I hollered as he disappeared behind the door and out into the parking lot.

"Fuck me!" Christmas guy rolled over onto all fours as he tried to make it to his feet. "I'm such a loser. I can't hold onto my wife and kids, and I can't even help a nice bartender."

I came around the bar and set the rifle on top of the counter so that I could help him up onto a barstool. I grabbed a stack of cocktail napkins and shoved them into his hand. "Here, staunch the flow. I'll call you a cab."

"Thanks, lady."

"Holly," I corrected, pushing my long blonde hair out of my face.

"Holly. That's a nice name. Very Christmasy," he mumbled around the napkins he'd pressed against his wound. "I love Christmas," he moaned.

I snickered, wanting to tell him I had been referring to him as Christmas guy all night in my head but thought better of it. He might not see it as a compliment, and he'd already had a shit night. I got him a tall glass of water then proceeded to call him a cab. He was in no position to be driving and didn't so much as suggest otherwise. He simply brooded while I cleaned up the broken glass, picked up the empties, then put all the chairs on the tables for the cleaning crew that would come in the morning.

At least I didn't have to clean the bar before I could crash. That was one rule I'd made when the owner offered me the position of manager. It came with a one-bedroom studio above the bar, and a cleaning service to wash the dishes, bathrooms, floors, and all of the tables before the first-shift bartender started at three p.m. Mac was the only other employee that worked at The Desert Shack. He came in early, made sure the kegs were full or changed out, all the brew was stocked, and inventory checked before we opened at five p.m. My shift technically started at six every evening, but I usually helped where I could. Mostly because I liked Mac. He was an ex-con and a biker that ran with the Las Vegas Hounds. He'd offered many times to take on the night shift, but that's when the tips are the best, so I'd declined. Plus, I knew he liked to hang out with his club brothers in the evenings.

Mac treated me like I was his little sister, as did the many bikers from his club that came to drink, play darts, and jam out to 80s rock such as AC/DC, Van Halen, Aerosmith, and Ozzy Osborn. I loved those days, because 80s music was awesome. But, since it was the Friday after Thanksgiving, the club was spending time with their old ladies and the biker bunnies. Boy Mac would be pissed if he heard about the lumberjack sitch.

After I counted out the evening's cash, while still waiting for the cab for my drunken customer, I thought about what I really wanted for Christmas this year. The answer was always the same…to open my own bar.

For the past five years, I'd saved every penny and tip possible toward achieving that goal. I'd taken business courses online, and flawlessly ran this rinky-dink place to the best of my ability, but I wanted more. At thirty years old, I needed more.

I wanted a real life. One I was proud of. A career of my own making. I had thirty grand saved but it wasn't enough. The banks said I needed a few hundred thousand to open a new, hip bar in the city of Las Vegas.

What I really needed was an investor—or a miracle.

A honking horn broke me from my reverie. I grabbed my handy-dandy taser as I put back my rifle and clipped the taser to the front of my jeans. A girl could never be too careful exiting into a parking lot at night, and my drunken customer would need assistance.

"That's your cue, my friend," I said as I walked around the bar and held out my arm. He clutched me around my shoulders, a bit wobbly on his feet.

"I'm sorry I broke your glass, and I wasn't much help with that guy," he shared miserably.

I smiled at him as I helped him out the front door. "No, you were a perfect gentleman. But word of advice…" I said as he opened the bright yellow cab's door.

"Yeah?" He turned bleary, sorrow-filled eyes in my direction.

"Lay off the Mariah Carey." I grinned.

He burst into laughter but then immediately winced, pressing his handful of bloody napkins back to his lip. "Ouch. And noted. I'll pick up my car tomorrow. Thanks for, you know, being kind."

I patted his shoulder. "You too. Good luck."

"Thanks, I'll need it." He groaned and his head flopped back against the seat as I shut the door and slapped the top of car.

The driver didn't even spare me a glance before they jetted off.

A cool breeze cascaded along my bare arms as I took in the parking lot and breathed in the cool desert air. There were multiple cars left in the lot, which wasn't unusual at a bar. Lots of people imbibed more than they should and caught a ride home then picked up their cars the next day. Usually, by the time I left the building to run my errands in the late morning, all the cars would be gone.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and lifted my head to the sky, allowing the stress of the night to leave my body one quiet second at a time.

I wasn't prepared for the arms that suddenly wrapped around me from behind. One hand covered my mouth while the other arm locked around my upper body, slamming my back into a male chest. Instantly, I started to fight against the giant who held me trapped.

"What did I say, you little tease?" The booming voice of the lumberjack sneered against my cheek, the stench of stale beer and something sour flooded my senses, while fear, caked in the need for survival, rose to the surface from within me.

I screamed behind the hand he held over my mouth, but no one remotely close would hear it. I was utterly alone and about to experience my worst nightmare coming true.

We were out in the middle of nowhere. But like a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel, I saw a pair of headlights headed this way from the direction of the old airport. Lots of rich men and women with private planes used that airstrip now that it had been revamped and was under new ownership after it had been the location of a violent mafia war.

Maybe the person in the car could help…

I kicked and scratched at the lumberjack with every ounce of energy I could muster.

He only held me tighter, one of his beefy sweaty fingers pushing between my lips. The taste of salt and grease made me gag but also gave me an idea. I took the chance and opened my mouth wider. As I'd hoped, his finger slid inside, and I bit down as hard as I could, tasting the metallic flavor of blood and feeling the crunch of bone.

My attacker howled in pain and let me go. In a flash, I spun around screaming at the top of my lungs while waving my hands in the air with the hopes of getting the attention of the car driving by. I started to run in the direction of the road, willing to put my body in front of that car rather than be left alone with my attacker. Before I could make it a solid fifteen feet, another man came barreling out of nowhere, and slammed the full weight of his large body into mine. I flew to the side, my hip and palms crashing to the ground as I skidded across the gravel, bits of rock and dirt digging painfully into my palms.

I ripped the taser from my pants and just barely got my trembling fingers on the trigger before I was yanked up by the roots of my hair.

I screeched, reaching for the hand that was gripping my hair. Pain like I'd never felt before made me feel like every piece of hair was being brutally ripped out at the same time. I shoved an arm back behind me and touched the taser blindly to my attacker then pressed the trigger.

His hand instantly loosened, and his body jolted like a live wire before falling to the ground.

That's when all hell broke loose.

A shiny black limo rumbled through the parking lot at high speed right as I was tackled a second time by the lumberjack. We rolled on the ground until he was on top, straddling me, his knees on my upper arms pinning me.

"You fucking bitch! How dare you taze my brother! I'll kill you!" he bellowed, his monster-sized hands squeezing my throat.

I kicked my legs, rocks flying all around as I heard yelling. Then a gunshot blast pierced the air. The lack of oxygen took over, my vision going in and out while stars flickered and blurred at the edges of my vision.

I was seconds away from losing consciousness when the vise around my neck disappeared and magical, crisp, cool air entered my lungs. I gasped greedily as hazy figures moved around me.

" Chérie ?" A light tapping on my cheek made me blink several times. I was trying to stay awake…trying to stay alive. "I fear she needs medical attention," a lilting French accent said as the blurry image of a petite woman hovered over my face. Her fingers were cool to the touch as she traced my eyebrows and cupped my cheek gently. "It is okay. You are safe. We're going to help you," she said, and I believed her. I recognized that voice. I'd heard it before, so I held onto that bit of safety like a lifeline.

I moaned as the various bumps, bruises, and gashes made themselves known, sending pain soaring through every inch of my body.

It hurt.

Everywhere.

"I've got her." A growly, bear-like voice. Then I was lifted up into a pair of strong arms. I tried to stay awake, I really did, but as I was brought into a car and placed in the cradle of a warm embrace, my eyes became unbearably heavy. Still, as I opened and closed my eyes, all I could see was the face of a man.

Dark wavy hair that flipped and flopped around a stern expression. Eyes that were the deepest espresso brown. A beard and mustache combo that looked so soft I wanted to touch it.

I lifted my hand and pressed my fingers to his soft, full, pink lips.

"You're beautiful," I whispered and then promptly passed out.