Six

six

The art of stalking

A couple of hours later, I’m on the sofa, head on Gabe’s bare chest, arm back, fingers running through the soft hair on his nape, sated body snuggling against his. I feel like a cat purring all over his owner. And Gabe did own my arse tonight, very thoroughly with Bez’s help.

A bowl of caramel popcorn is half full on the coffee table, and the flames in the fireplace are slowly dancing. My eyes are on Wednesday, still perching on her roost. She hasn’t moved for a long time, which is not like her. And that leery look is still there in her red eyes.

A scream comes from the TV as Gabe says, “Don’t you think you’re overdoing it?”

“Uhm?”

“Your hen is wearing horns and you decorated our living room with chains and leather cords.” He points at them hanging from the ceiling.

“I wanted Krampus to feel at home. I’m trying to get on his good side.” If he even has one. “He needs to un-jinx me.”

“Krampus doesn't jinx, he punishes naughty kids,” Gabe annoyingly states.

“Hello! Naughty kid here!” I wave at my body covered only in furry shorts. “Stop being so pedantic for once!”

“When you stop being unreasonable and start thinking,” Gabe has the gall to say to me.

I push off his body and sit on the opposite side of the sofa. “What the fuck, Gabe! Can’t you just support me? This is important to me.”

“We did. We listened to your incomprehensible blabbering.” Bez decides to get involved.

“Latin ritual,” Gabe corrects him.

“For an eternity,” Bez grumbles.

“For a few minutes,” Gabe interjects again. I love when they both interact with me, but hate when they do it to prove a point.

“I needed to invoke his spirit,” I remind them.

“Look at our apartment. It’s like we entered a scene from one of your horror movies.” Gabe gestures at the one on the TV.

“Fucking creepy, if stupid,” Bez confesses.

“You are insufferable when you unite against me!” I stand up and skitter to the window wall. My eyes fall on the sideboard, noticing a plastic bag near the liquor bottles. “What’s this?” I grab it and shake it toward them.

“A microchip.” Gabe stands up and rounds the sofa, stalking slowly toward me.

“You mean the microchip you want to insert behind my ear to keep your Big Brother eye on me.” I feel anger boiling up inside me. I told him I’d think about this microchip shite. He promised he’d talk to me before doing something. I hate when he makes decisions without asking me first. Like when he paid off all my debts or he transferred me near his office. Both things he did—as well as many others after that—for my well-being. But I’m not a child, and I want us to sit down and talk about life-altering decisions.

“Yes,” Bez says simply.

“You maddening, obstinate blockhead, do you hear yourself? I told you I needed to think about it.”

“I know.” Gabe’s placating reply has the opposite effect on me.

“So why?” I yell. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I won’t be microchipped so that you can follow every step I take. I refuse to do it!”

“Do you?” Gabe’s icy voice timbre is almost threatening. I hate when he uses that superior tone with me.

“Stop that! Both of you!” I hiss, my heart is jackhammering inside my chest, and I feel so bloody murderous right now.

“What? We are just talking,” Gabe keeps going, taking another forceful step my way.

“Not for long,” Bez drawls.

“You aren’t. You with that raspy, growly voice, and Gabe with that I'll-fuck-a-yes-out-of-you stare.”

“Is it working?” Bez dares to ask me.

Unbearable, insufferable, bull-headed, cocksure dickheads!

“We all have trackers.” Gabe’s flat voice irritates me even more. He’s going to try another angle. I’ve worked on so many cases with him, I know all his methods of persuasion. The fact that he thinks he can use them on me makes me see red. “Even Ollie and Sully.”

I scoff, throwing the plastic bag on the white kitchen counter. “This is about the control freak inside you not letting me make a decision! You’re unbelievable.” I stomp angrily toward the entrance feeling the sudden need for fresh air.

“Where are you going? It’s snowing!” Bez takes one step toward me as Gabe’s phone starts to ring from somewhere near the sofa.

I look at the white flakes falling slowly out of the window. Wednesday decides this is the right moment to land at my feet. I take it as a sign. “For a stroll with Wednesday.” I wear Gabe’s black down jacket and over it, the dog carrier I use to take my hen outside.

“Little Wasp, stop!” Bez snarls; there’s an angry tic in his jaw and his hands are balled into fists. He does that when he’s having an inner kerfuffle with Gabe.

I place Wednesday in the carrier wrapped around my chest.

“Listen to Gabe. Don’t follow me, Bez. I need some me-time.” I grab my phone and the plastic horns next to it as well, pushing them down on my curls. As I slip on my stiletto pumps, the phone keeps ringing. “You should answer that. It could be one of your brothers.”

I hear Bez and Gabe arguing as I take my rainbow umbrella, and slip out of the apartment and into the elevator. I know they’ll come after me sooner than later. So, when the doors slide open, I move quickly through the foyer—waving absently at Silas at the desk—and hurry outside the building.

I open the umbrella to stop the snowflakes from turning my curls into a wet mess. It’s bloody glacial. I’m glad Wednesday is still wearing the red cape. I adjust it so it engulfs her body as I keep walking aimlessly.

I pat my chest, not feeling the round urn pendent underneath the jacket. Fuck! I was so angry I forgot it at home. I always take it off when I do the dirty with my men. And now I feel bare, like I’m missing an essential part of me. And that gets me even more infuriated.

I’m not against the tracker, per se. I mean I wouldn’t be if Gabe and Bez had asked me and not forced it on me. Such an uncomplicated topic has turned into a fight, but my voice needs to be heard. They still think they can order me around. The fact that I like to be submissive- ish in bed doesn’t mean I want to be babied in every area of my life. I thought they got it, but from time to time, they slip into old habits—and I let them. Not this time!

I can’t feel my legs anymore—fishnet stockings are sexy but inadequate for icy temperatures—just like my gloveless hands. It has stopped snowing, so I hang the umbrella on my arm by the handle and flex and wiggle my fingers, trying to stimulate the blood circulation. My attention goes to my engagement ring, to the two rubies. They symbolize my men, there to shield and worship the diamond in the middle. Me

I let out a long, defeated sigh. I know I have a big chip on my shoulder. I constantly feel the need to prove I’m strong enough. Good enough. That I’m worthy.

Was I too harsh with them? Since Meg fell into a coma, all the brothers have turned more protective. And for good reason. Phoenix—aka Bird Turd—is still out there. Eight as well. We still don’t know which side Uri’s brother is on.

Maybe I exaggerated a little with Bez and Gabe. Look at what they let me do to the apartment with the altar, the decorations, the whole ritual. They always go along with my crazy plans or just smirk at my petty revenges—which I don’t pull in the office anymore. The underground garage and the first-floor lobby don’t count, though.

They do so much for me. They make me feel so loved and cherished every day. When they prepare my favorite breakfast, turn on the radio on a rock station while I take a shower, crush their lips to mine and give me a warning spank every time we part, growl at whomever looks at me wrong, never fail to keep me safe and satisfied.

Bloody, twat, bellend, sodding fuckers! I’m going to let Sari put that stupid microchip behind my ear because I’m irremediably in love with them. Simple as that.

But right now? Right now, it’s time to find a maggot. I have enough wrath inside me to wreck a dozen of them. Need to vent.

I take my phone out of the jacket pocket, the sparkly rainbow middle finger on the cover shimmers proudly under the streetlamp. I call Rami as I turn around and make my way back home.

“Yello!” he answers.

“I want to fucking paint this town red!” I clip.

“And green?” he adds.

“What?”

“It’s Christmas time.” His statement has that duh inflection at the end, which urges me to strangle him—after slugging him hard.

“Not what I meant!” I snarl.

“Trouble in hell?” he asks, sounding unaffected by my ferocious tone.

“Your bloody brothers and that fucking microchip,” I mutter. “Which is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“So what’s hiding underwater?”

“Two controlling arseholes!” Rami bursts out laughing hearing my reply.

I’m coming out of a narrow alley when Wednesday’s head snaps to the left. I hear a small whimper in the same direction, and I see a woman holding a kid’s arm as she opens a car door and sternly tells the boy to get inside.

It’s not the first time that a mother lost patience with her son. It’s not ideal, but Lord knows how many days I drove my gran mad. I’m about to look the other way when I get a glance at the kid’s face. Fathomless terror fills his big dark eyes. A child would never look at his mother that way, unless…

The woman is getting in the driver’s seat when I raise my arm and tell her to wait. She frowns as her small eyes move from my horns, to my hen, my furry shorts, and fishnets and stiletto shoes. Without checking the side mirrors, she slams her foot on the gas pedal and almost leaves skid marks on the street as she drives away.

As the car passes by me, the kid pushes his palm against the window, mouth open in a silent scream, tears running down his pale face.

“Shite!”

“What now?”

“I think I saw… I don’t know what I saw.” Wednesday screeches as she turns her head to the right. A taxi is coming that way, so I raise my arm to stop it. “But I have a bad feeling.”

“Tell me,” Rami says.

“Wait, I’m getting inside a taxi.” As I slide on the purple back seat, a strong whiff of pumpkin latte hits my nose.

“Hello, horned friend and feathery pet. Where are we going this cold, dark evening?” The driver is a young woman with black and bright red hair styled in braids on both sides of her head, a beaky nose, and big round glasses. Her lacy black shirt and fingerless gloves give out a witchy vibe, but the white fabric flowers in her hair hippie style to me.

I’m intrigued by her fashion choices, but now is not the time to ask questions. “Follow that car!” It’s sort of a déjà vu, a pity Ollie is not here to share this with me.

“Oh, Goddess. On it! Petunia is my name, and today is your lucky day. I’m the most discreet driver in Chicago,” she exclaims. I love a good stalking, not when there’s a frightened child in the mix.

I give Rami the car’s plate. “I’m tailing it. There’s a woman inside with a kid. I think she’s going to hurt him.”

“Did you witness any kind of abuse on the kid? Did she kidnap him?” Rami asks over the phone.

“No. I’m not sure. But the kid looked terrified.”

“Alright. I’ll call Gabe and see who else is closer to you. Leave your phone on so Serena can keep tracking you. I’ll call you as soon as I get information on the car.” He hangs up.

“So, you’re trying to save a kid in imminent danger. You don’t look like a cop. A P.I.? Bounty hunter in disguise?” Petunia asks, her eyes slide down my weird ensemble, lingering on my red high heels. Petunias were Gran’s favorite flowers. Such an odd coincidence.

“No to all of your questions. I’m just a concerned citizen. The costume I’m wearing was for a party of sorts.” The car takes a left, so I add, “She’s turning right.”

“I see her, no worries. It’s not the first time a client asked me to tail someone. But usually, they are jealous partners or worried mothers. This sounds serious. Do you mind keeping me out of any police report if that’s where this is heading?” She doesn’t seem concerned about the probable danger we are getting ourselves into. The fact that she wants to stay on the down-low with the boys and girls in blue can be caused by numerous reasons—like my five unpaid parking tickets.

“No police. That I can promise you,” I assure her. If that woman hurts that boy, she’ll be all mine.

“You talk my language then. Hold on,” she suddenly warns me before making a hard right. “This broad is the embodiment of insanity behind the wheel.”

If only she saw me driving.

Wednesday moves inside the dog carrier, and I pet her head absently as I keep my eye on the blue car ahead.

We’ve left the Futon River District behind and are heading west toward Garfield Park when my phone goes off.

“Talk to me, Reacher.”

“The car is registered to a Milly Gordon. I sent you a picture. Is she the same woman you saw?” Rami asks.

I look at my phone screen and quickly access my email to look at the picture. “No, this woman is too old. But there’s something about her… her eyes, they look similar to the one I’m tailing.”

“Okay. Let’s see. Milly has a daughter. Martha. Here.”

“It’s definitely her,” I tell him, as I get a look at the new photo.

“Forty-five, unemployed. She started young with shoplifting then she was arrested for auto theft, and fraud. She seems to have changed lines of work now. She was accused of impersonating a law enforcement officer a couple of years ago, but released for lack of evidence.”

I don’t think there’s a place on the Internet that Rami can’t hack.

“I might have seen a blue uniform under her coat,” I tell him. “It didn’t look like a police one.”

He hums in contemplation. “She is single and has no kids.”

“Fuck!” I exclaim, feeling angrier by the second.

“Raph is coming your way from Austin,” Rami informs me. Where’s Gabe? “Serena has her eyes on you. Could you give me a description of the kid? I can see if there’s a missing report or something in the police database.”

I close my eyes and tune out the rest of the world, focusing only on the image of the boy inside my mind. “Around seven or eight. Blond hair, bowl cut, brown eyes. Missing one front tooth, wearing a red jacket and a blue backpack with a big yellow, round keychain.”

“Not bad. Linda’s training meditation?”

“Yes.” Linda has taught me some tricks on how to shuffle through my memories and then halt and concentrate on the one I need. We train when I go see Meg at the hospital. It helps Linda to keep her mind busy.

“We are turning on Jackson Boulevard,” Petunia exclaims. “If your pet bird lays an egg, it's mine.”

“Who’s that?” Rami asks.

“Petunia. The best taxi driver in Chicago,” I reply, winking at her in the rearview mirror.

“In Illinois, baby!” she retorts.

“I’ll get a background on her.” Rami’s is very protective of the family business. Nobody can know what we do obviously. “Raph is ten seconds away. And should appear behind youuuu…now!”

I look back, and Bully Boy’s black motorcycle is following us. Wow!

“I see him.”

“Check your emails again and tell me if that’s the boy Miss Gordon has in her car.” Rami’s tone sounds grave, which is rare for his forever-teasing attitude. I do as he says.

“Yes, it’s him. I’m a hundred and one percent sure.”

“Damn it! The kid’s name is Irving Weiss, gone missing two hours ago from an arcade a mile from your apartment.”

“The kidnapper is mine!” I growl.

“Kidnapper?” Petunia’s eyes widen before she curls her black lips over her teeth. She leans toward the steering wheel, looking even more invested in the tailing now.

“All yours. Call Raph,” Rami replies before ending the call.

My phone starts ringing before I can. It’s Bully Boy. “The kid was kidnapped. The maggot is mine,” I clarify before the blood-loving dude can get any claim.

“Noted. I’ll take care of the rest then.”

“The rest?”

“Isn't it obvious?” I have no patience for his superior act right now.

“The donor impersonated law enforcement to get kids to follow her and kidnap them. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it. I’ll ask Rami to check for witness statements in old missing children reports to see if they saw a policewoman around the time of the kidnappings.”

“That's fucking awful.” Snatching children while using their compliance toward an authority figure is despicable. It makes me fucking sick.

“There’s something else,” Raph says, not sharing my disgust, but psychos are not known for being empathic people. “I don’t like kids. You have to take care of it.”

“Me?” I don’t think so. I turn to the taxi driver. “Hey, Petunia? Any good with kids?”

“I have four younger sisters, what do you think?”

“It’s settled then,” Raph says before hanging up.

“What are your sisters’ names?” I ask her, curious to find out if her parents gave old-fashioned names to the rest of their kids.

“Azalea, Camellia, Dahlia, and Magnolia. My mother is a botanist.” That explains the garden-variety names. Lovely—bordering odd.

“The kidnapper is parking her car in front of that house,” she declares a moment later.

The suburban area looks deserted. There’re just two more houses around, which seem abandoned.

“Perfect place to bring a kidnapped child.” Petunia reads my mind. “What’s she planning to do with him? You’re going to stop her, right? And fuck her up a little?” She sounds hopeful.

I take Wednesday out of the dog carrier and leave her on the seat. “A little,” I reply. The torture bit will come later at the base.

I can feel it. It’s initiation time! Finally.

As soon as I see the kidnapper getting out of the car, I shout, “Stop here.” The taxi immediately halts. I open the door and scream, “Get the fuck away from that kid or you’ll lose your hand!”

The kidnapper spins my way as I slowly walk toward her. My grip tightens on the umbrella curved wooden handle.

Raph’s bike stops behind her car, making her take a step back. He keeps the helmet on; the revving of his motorcycle sounds threatening. Ominous.

“Who are you?” she asks as she continues to move backward, swinging her eyes from me to Raph.

Bully Boy ignores her question and asks one of his own, “Anybody in there?” He points the blade of the knife he’s holding at the house.

“Fuck you,” the kidnapper—M…something, her name is bloody inconsequential—snarls, glaring at us.

“Serena, let me know how many people are in the house,” I hear Raph asking the A.I. as he smoothly leaves his bike and stalks slowly toward the old porch.

There’s a pause of silence, and then Raph snarls back. He turns his helmeted head to me. “I’ll take care of the three fuckers inside.”

The kidnapper gasps, surprised. She flexes her right hand subconsciously signaling she has a weapon hidden under that side of her jacket. Linda’s training comes in handy again.

“Stealing children, such a Krampus thing to do,” I chide her, keeping a tight grip on my umbrella. I’m petite and sassy—my mouth gets me in trouble seventy percent of the time—usually my attackers are bigger and stronger than me, so learning to use whichever tools are available is a must. Hence Bartitsu and umbrellas used as a blunt weapon.

Bartitsu is a traditional English combat form. It isn’t all tweed and top hats, but it derived froma fusion of jiu-jitsu, bare knuckle boxing, andsavate, a French form ofkickboxing. It's fun and a great self-defense technique.

I move into a low guard position holding the umbrella slightly up almost parallel to my right leg, point dropped. My free hand is over my chest in a defensive pose.

I’m three feet from her now. “Here is a serious question: did your mom not love you?”

“You don’t know shit, you crazy fuck!” She sneers, looking me up and down as she slides her hand inside the right side of her jacket and takes out a long knife. A classic bowie, around sixteen inches, tang, brass guard, wood handle—my fiancé loves blades, it’s rubbed off on me. I bet he’d like this one for his collection.

“Better crazy than ugly,” I retort with a scoff at the end. My statement earns a furious hiss from her. In my defense sporting shaggy bangs with such a short forehead is an insult to good taste, therefore should be illegal—not that this bitch would care.

This close I can clearly see the security guard uniform underneath her jacket, probably from the arcade where the kid was snatched. Raph was right, she impersonates people with authority so children feel safe and compelled to follow her. Heartless bitch!

“You and your biker friend are dead,” she barks, moving from one foot to the other.

Being underestimated is the story of my life. It actually helps. It lowers the attacker’s guard which consequently fuels my confidence in my ability to deal with dangerous situations when I drop them flat on their backs.

“Guess the answer to my question is no. Your mom couldn’t stand your ugly face, ah?”

“Shut up!” she screams angrily. If a look could kill, I’d be dinner for the rats right now.

I might have hit a big nerve there. Her reaction only urges me to poke it more. “Crikey! You’re in serious need of a psychiatrist. Even better, would your mother be interested in couple’s therapy?”

“I’ll cut out that tongue and give it to my dog as a treat.”

“I’ll pass. Don’t want to give your Fido indigestion. My tongue is quite the sharp tool.”

“I got the kid!” I hear Petunia yelling from behind me.

I smirk cockily at the kidnapper . “Come on. Stab me with that big knife. Show your mommy how mean you can be,” I taunt her, and she doesn’t let me repeat it twice.

With a battle scream she takes a step forward and pushes the blade toward my guts. I deflect the knife by gripping the umbrella with both hands—holding the two separate ends of the shaft—and using it to halt her forearm, moving the trajectory of the blade to the left. Then I level the point of the umbrella with her chin and hit it hard, propelling her head back. She stumbles trying to regain her balance but I don’t let her. I turn the umbrella around so that the butt—the handle—is aiming at her body and land it on her right boob twice as I sink my red stiletto heel hard into her foot. She drops the knife and whimpers. It’s the best sound in the whole world. So good, I’ll be dreaming about it for years to come.

Rague once told me he doesn't hit women. I think it’s because he could kill one with a mere slap. Me? I’m all for equality—vicious bitches included. No exceptions.

I hear a crashing sound from inside the house, but I’m not worried in the least. Raph is a cold-blooded killing machine.

I move to the kidnapper’s back and slide the umbrella over her neck, holding both ends between my fingers. My knees are bent, weight evenly distributed.

“You've been Loried!” I whisper in her ear as I pull the shaft just enough against her throat to put her to sleep. Don’t want to fucking kill her…yet.

She’s fighting me, rotating her body, hitting the umbrella—I’d turn extremely pissed if she breaks it—blindly attempting at grabbing my hair. She grips my horns instead, pulling them off. I push my knee on her back and yank harder, my fingers turning white around the smooth wood and colorful fabric.

“You’re a naughty one. Need to be punished,” I pant. “Santa is really disappointed in you… if you care what an old judgy dude with a penchant for cavity-inducing tidbits thinks.”

Wednesday’s shriek makes me shift to my left to check on her just as the bitch drops my horns and pulls a taser out of her pocket, shoving it back toward my groin. The loud crackling noise and bright pulsing light makes me jump back sliding the umbrella off her neck. She turns toward me, taser high in front of her—did she use it on the kids she kidnapped? She has her glaring eyes focused on me while she keeps coughing.

This is not going to end up like my last maggots. This is my final initiation, and I’m going to kidnap the kidnapper!

I’m trying to find the best way to go about this when Wednesday comes to my help once again. My fearless lady jumps on the house railing and then flaps her wings, landing on the bitch’s shoulder. The woman screams like a banshee, letting go of the taser. I toss the umbrella in the air, grab it again from the point with both hands and with a hard swing—which would have produced an ovation in a baseball stadium—I thrust the wooden handle right into her face. Blood and spit fly out of her mouth as she loses her balance.

The blow is so well-placed she drops on the dried grass like a wall of bricks. But to me it looks like the most spectacular sight in the world.

“That’s all she wrote, folks!” I exclaim with satisfaction to…no one.

The maggot’s chest is still moving. She’s out, but alive. Alive! I soundly kiss my umbrella, “smack” and take a spin of victory. Seems like the curse is finally fucking broken. Right?

I grab my horns from the ground and slide them over my head as I pocket the bitch’s knife. Then I taser her—she deserves it! Once is not enough so I enjoy the fifty-thousand-volt electric shock going through her jolting body another time.

Then I turn to my hen with a beaming smile and find her on the porch railing, again giving me that strange look. I take a step toward her, and I see something flashing in her red eyes…flames? I blink, and they are gone. But the feeling of wrongness is still there.

“Krampus?” I whisper hesitantly. “Are you inside my hen?” Okay, that came out wrong.

Raph appears on the house porch, halting my conversation with a demon. He’s holding his bloodied helmet under his arm, and his jeans are ripped at the knee, but otherwise, he looks his arrogant, psycho self.

“Opal and Hunter are coming to get the kid; they will take him to the police. They’ll make up a story. Rami is on his way to help you with the donor.”

“The people in the house?”

“They were human traffickers. Turns out, your donor is well known around pedophiles, child pimps, and black-market organ sellers,” he informs me.

I feel bile trying to reach my throat as I glare at her body on the ground. How long has this been going on? How many other children did she kidnap? I taser her again, pressing the device harder on her chest. This maggot has to die a slow, agonizing death. And I have just the right way. Need to ask Ash for a favor, though. Fuck!

Raph waits for me to finish before he adds, “Rague will take care of the cleaning.”

He will probably use fire to get rid of all the evidence—in other words the blood and gore Bully Boy left inside the house.

“I need to pick up Michael from work and get the fuck out of this hellhole. Here.” Raph throws me a rope. “For the donor. Gag her as well, just in case she’s a screamer.” He then mounts his bike and drives away, leaving a wave of dust behind.

“Does he know there’s blood on his helmet?” Petunia’s question suddenly reminds me she’s here.

“Uhm, pretty sure he wants to show it to his husband.” Michael shares Raph’s love for gore. “He’s a medical examiner.”

“Oh. No vampires, pity.” She really looks disappointed. “Irving, the child, is fine. He conked out in the taxi. Too much crying, poor kid.”

That’s a relief. I walk to Petunia’s car to check on him. He's asleep in the back seat just like she said.

“Are the police coming?” she asks me, as I proceed to tie up the kidnapper, she even helps me to gag the maggot.

I shake my head. “Problems with the people in blue?” I lift an eyebrow at her.

“The Smurfs?” She smiles jokingly.“Let’s just say the dislike is well reciprocated.” It’s a vague reply that turns her smile into a mischievous smirk.

“So, can I count on your discretion then, flowery Petunia?” I give her my best Gabe-intense stare.

“Are you kidding me? What you did here was freaking amazing! You’re like a gentleman ninja. That umbrella stuff? Pow. Bam. Bada boom,” she exclaims with enthusiasm. “I need to learn that. And-and your pet bird with her little cape flying behind her? She is like-like your side kick!” Wednesday is still staring from the porch railing. I bow my head at her…him?

“Then again, your friend with the helmet is the scariest dude I’ve ever seen.”

I snort. She has no idea.

“But I’ll sleep better tonight. And it’s all thanks to you guys.” She nods. “So, hell yeah, you can count on me.”

“Brilliant! How much do I owe for the ride?”

“That depends. Are you rich?”

This girl is fun.

I hear a car approaching. It’s the kidnapping van, followed by Hunter’s car.

Before the van makes a complete stop in front of the house, the passenger’s door opens and Gabe jumps out, stalking toward me.

“The curse is broken!” I yell happily, forgetting about our earlier fight for a moment. But the cold, threatening look on his face is a quick reminder.

I open my mouth, ready to give him another bloody piece of my mind, when his lips crash on mine before I can let out a single word. His hands palm my arse, and he hoists me up, pushing my legs around his hips, red stilettos crossing behind his back, as his lips ravage my mouth without mercy. I drop the umbrella and the taser. All thoughts disappear from my mind as he keeps dominating me, body and soul.

I let out a whimper when he breaks the kiss and try to follow his mouth, but Bez growls at me, and then I find my back against the side of the house. His burning gaze engulfs me, and my heart stutters a beat.

“Where were you?” I ask him. I expected them to rush to help me. Instead they just arrived.

“You wanted to do this yourself,” Gabe replies.

They listened to me? Is this some kind of Krampus’s miracle? My eyes move to find Wednesday but Gabe takes something out of his coat pocket and slides it around my neck. It’s Gran’s urn pendant. The familiar weight on my chest makes me breathe easily again. And fuck, I think I’m falling in love with my men all over again.

“Don’t you ever, ever leave us like that ever again!” Bez snarls, but underneath the anger, I can see his distress.

His tongue invades my mouth once again, and I bite and suck on it hard. When are they going to understand that I will always come back to them?

“Uhm, Bez, can you let the Gremlin breathe?” I hear Rami saying. “This is his… initiation. He needs to do the honors here.”

And I will, in a minute. Or two.

“Rise and shine, sleepy head, I need to turn someone dead,” I singsong near the maggot’s ear. I’m in the FUNS room at the base, still wearing the itchy-as-fuck Krampus shorts. But it doesn’t matter, because this is my show.

I’m going solo here, baby!

Well, technically Wednesday is in the room with me, but only because I’m certain Krampus possessed her. And I need him to see I’ll keep going with the groveling plan—step three, the sacrifice.

Gabe is on the other side of the glass wall with Uri. I haven’t seen much of the Super Model lately. Not since he dropped the bomb of having a brother. He looks tired, I can clearly see the dark shadows under his eyes. He’s talking to Gabe, but with the intercom off, I can’t hear what they are saying. When Uri turns his gaze toward Sari, working in the lab, his body tenses, leaving me confused once again about what the hell is going on between those two.

I need to push up my Suri plan—Sari plus Uri, my ship name for them—and push them into each other’s arms. Can’t lose a bet to Gabe and Bez, even though time is running out.

“Why the fuck are you wearing that ridiculous outfit? Is it a new fashion statement?” Uri asks brusquely, and I flip him off, showing the little golden skull on my black polished nail.

“I brought you a change,” Gabe lets me know. He needs to stop being this amazing, or I’ll ride him right here in front of everybody.

“I’ll burn these rash-inducing shorts as soon as I’m done here.”

“No, keep them,” Bez growls low, letting me know his intentions.

“Now who’s the freak?” Uri turns toward my fiancés. They both ignore him.

“Happy initiation, Lori,” Gabe tells me, and I beam at him. I lick the dip in the middle of my lower lip, to guide his eyes to it. He loves my sexy mouth, and I just secured a hard fuck as soon as I’m done here.

The maggot moans as she finally wakes up, turning up my excitement exponentially. My eyes sparkle as I run what I’m going to do to her inside my head one more time.

She’s tied, hands and feet, to a metal chair, wearing only a bra and her horrific grandma panties—nobody is interested in her assets here. The room is covered in purple plastic with torture tools hanging from the ceiling and a hen walking around.

The maggot’s frightened reaction is quite average. She recognizes me, screams, cusses, and fights fruitlessly against the ropes around her wrists and ankles, then begs and tries to bribe me. Nothing I haven’t heard before—I’ve witnessed my share of maggots’ deaths. And I’m overly bored already.

I thought the bitch was a mean one. Especially after Rami found a file on her laptop with a list of all the children she’s kidnapped and sold, and another one of her clients. And let me tell you, they are both too long.

Instead, she’s just a typical evil twat, cold-hearted and ruthless in deciding innocent kids’ fates, while wailing like a baby when it’s her turn.

I slide both my index and middle fingers between my lips and blow out a whistle. A high-pitched, warbling sound pierces the air, silencing the maggot.

“No one wants to hear your rumbling, psycho speech, so shut up and listen, fleabag!” I hiss at her. “I thought about making a nice filet out of you. The secret for a good, tender one is the pounding part.” I move toward the bat hanging from the ceiling and brush my fingers over the rounded wooden edge. I hear her sharp gasp, and that’s another sound I’ll dream about tonight—stiffening a tad under the sheets, too. Kinky, I know.

“You are…” she starts saying, but I gag her again since she can’t follow the simplest command.

“I will tenderize you, and maybe let the bros have a go at you, as well. You see, they hate people who hurt children.” I hear growls and snarls coming from behind the glass wall. “But first, you see, I need to appease my demon. I promised him a sacrifice.” I let the word float into the air for a while as I grab the tattoo gun from the small table. “That honor belongs to you. I just need to be sure the other demons know that without a doubt when you drop your tushy in hell.”

The maggot is mumbling something behind the gag. Her face is bruised from the umbrella blow, and I sheared off her bangs while she was out. I was bored, surrounded by sharp tools, with a human-sized Barbie right in front of me. Fucking up her hair was only natural.

Wednesday/Krampus is near my feet now, and she/he seems to want to…watch.

I lift them up and place them on the chair, to give them a front-row seat to what I’m doing.

Am I crackers? I can debate that. Tolerant and acquiescent are words that better encapsulate my essence. Sometimes things don’t have a clear explanation. They just need to be accepted as they are. And I’m fine with it.

Right now, I’m taking a page from Uri’s torture book. Although carving is not really my thing. So I veered toward something more artistic. Ash gave me an old tattoo gun of his—which I’ll have to pay for in some embarrassing way. I’m using the thickest needle—that I might have washed in toilet water. No health concerns here whatsoever.

“Now stay still…or not. Actually, please don’t, much more fun if you move.” I chuckle, enjoying the horror forming on her face. I turn the gun on, the buzzing sound fills the room. The maggot’s eyes widen and sweat starts rolling down her face as I lean toward her forehead.

“Can someone tell me how to spell Krampus’s bitch?” I ask the bros, just to fuck with the maggot. And she buys it splendidly with a loud muffled scream and a frantic shake of her head. I feel bloody euphoric.

Gabe’s rare, hot, raspy laugh from the other side of the glass wall steals all my attention for three beats of my heart. I love that man.

“Who fucking cares? Disfigure the fucker, Little Wasp.” Bez snorts at the donor’s frightened whimper.

Love both men so bloody much.

Now, let’s push aside all this mushy thinking and focus on Krampus’s sacrifice.

I smile. Wednesday seems to lean toward me to get a better look as I utter, “This will hurt…so fucking much.”

The wait was worth it. Best initiation ever.