Sexy Holiday Delights

by Shara Azod

  There was no use of him denying it, because it was true. Cayenne, like his sister, was the type of woman who took a whole heap of effort. Rennes grunted, recalling the many times he, Merc, and a few of their buddies, had to team up, go in stealth, and murder-death-kill to keep them safe.

  The last time was in some third-world hellhole. They’d left nine bodies, two burned-out houses, three live chickens, and one freed donkey in their wake. The Mexican government didn’t know about the bodies, but what they knew about the fires was enough for them to ask Cayenne and Revelry to leave and never come back. That worked for him because he didn’t need a cartel up his ass anytime soon.

  To ensure that neither Revelry nor Cayenne had anymore run-ins with cartels, Merc had called upon one of his buddies to fix their passports so that they were denied entry into any countries that ended in –stan; any country that had the words “Islamic Republic of” in its official title; any country that was an absolute monarchy, and that included Vatican City, because he could envision the women starting some shit with the Pontifical Swiss Guard.

  Cayenne and Revelry would probably, definitely have something to say about it once they discovered what he’d done, but he’d rather beg forgiveness than ask permission. Keeping them confined to countries where the Pope and some former Presidents could negotiate for their release was simply safer for humanity at large. While he was calm under fire, all of that went out of the window when it came to anyone messing with his family.

  Family. Amid the fallout around him, Rennes’s subconscious zeroed in on that word. And then his brain directed his eyes off of the torch and back onto the woman holding it. Family. Shit. He was in so much fucking trouble.

  Cayenne was everything he wanted in a woman, and of course, it had taken a clusterfuck of epic proportions for him to finally realize that. Hearing the thwack of the sledgehammer hitting metal, Rennes tabled his desire.

  Clearing his throat, he made sure to stay clear of Cayenne’s swing and her fire. “Um, Cayenne.”

  “There’s a dick in my dishwasher, Rennes.”

  “At one time there might have been a dick in your dishwasher, but since there isn’t much left of the dishwasher, it’s probably a moot point.”

  “It’ll never be moot. Never! There was a dick in my dishwasher. Actually, assorted dicks and whatnot.”

  He’d feel so much more comfortable when that torch was anywhere but in her hand.

  “A dick,” she paused. “In.” Thwack from the sledgehammer. “My.” Spray of fire from the welding torch. “Dishwasher.” Thwack and a spray of fire. Thwack, thwack, thwack. Spray, spray, spray. Thwack, spray. Thwack, spray. Thwack, thwack, thwack.

  Now probably wasn’t the best time to be thinking about how Cayenne’s fitted dress shirt stuck to her damp skin, showcasing her substantial breasts. Definitely not, Rennes thought when she threw down the torch, pulled out a knife, and started stabbing the bits that had survived her rage. He was going to have to stop her before she injured herself or the cobblestone. Coming up behind her, he quickly relieved Cayenne of the weapon.

  “Give it back, Rennes!”

  “Not happening, Cayenne,” Rennes said as he folded himself around her. Bad idea number one million, he thought, the moment he had her lush form in his arms.

  “Let me go. I’m not done destroying the dishwasher.”

  Letting go was the last thing on his mind, especially when Cayenne’s thrashing pushed her ample ass against his groin in the most delicious way.

  “I believe you’ve properly vanquished the dishwasher, and from the looks of things, part of your quartz countertop, a bit of the cabinetry, and maybe a few of the travertine floor tiles.”

  “Well, I still have to kill Drago.”

  He was tempted to say something along the lines of other than his lunatic sister, the lunatic Russian was the only one who could put up with Cayenne for more than five minutes and not want to kill her. However, he was a smart man, and though Merc had cleared the scene of anything sharp, Rennes wasn’t about to chance getting shanked. It wouldn’t matter if Cayenne was buck-naked in a room full of cotton balls, getting shanked was always a possibility if Cayenne was a variable in the equation.

  “Besides Revelry, Drago is one of your best friends.”

  “Was—past tense—one of my best friends. That was before I, out of the kindness of my big heart, let him stay in my house so he wouldn’t have to stay in a sterile hotel, when he was suddenly traded from Atlanta. And what do I get for being all benevolent and shit?”

  What did she get besides ten percent of one of the most lucrative pro sports contracts in existence?

  “I’ll tell you what I get. The aftermath of some wild, drunken orgy and overrun with dicks, anal plugs, nipple clamps, and some thingamabobby that looks like it’s used for surgery on fucking race horses.”

  Ah, she must be referring to the steel anal bondage hook. Yeah, he could understand why she was losing her shit. He’d lose his shit, too, if that was anywhere near his house, much less his dishwasher.

  Though Rennes secretly wished the Russian would be traded to another team, like Invercargill for the National Basketball League® of New Zealand, he called upon his diplomatic skills.

  “Well, maybe Drago was just getting into the holiday spirit considering everything seems to be a shade of red, green, gold, and silver.”

  From the hiss-snarl-battle cry Cayenne emitted, that was the absolute wrong thing to say.

  “Well Happy belated Thanksgiving, Merry Freaking Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Chalica, and New Year. Drago better enjoy the shit out of these holidays, because I’m going to murder that motherfucker to death.”

  Reason number two million and three why Cayenne’s first name should’ve been Overkill.

  “And then you know what I’m going to do?” She asked like what she’d just said wasn’t enough to qualify her for candidacy for a straitjacket.

  Absolutely. No. Fucking. Clue. Because once someone was murdered to death, that was pretty much the extent of it. “No. I don’t know what you’re going to do then.”

  “After I murder him to death, I’m going to reanimate Drago and chase him around with a shotgun, and kill him some more. By the way, I need to borrow a shotgun, preferably one that’s already sawed off.”

  Rennes wondered if there was a nearby asylum with some openings. And then he wondered if the crazy gene would skip a generation if he procreated with Cayenne. How fucked up was he right now?

  “No, to the borrowing of any weapon registered in my name. Or to the firm. Or to anyone I know. Saying that, how about we table the raising the dead, murder, assault, and conspiracy to commit murder, and head inside. I hope you cut off the water supply before you went all insane contractor.”

  “Of course I cut off the water supply. I’m not stupid, Rennes.”

  Rennes moved to placate her. Cayenne might be crazy, but her professional degree from Stanford proved she wasn’t stupid.

  “I know you’re not stupid, but you are angry, and that’s usually not when people make the best decisions. Now how about we go see what other kind of damage you did to your house?”

  “I didn’t do any damage to my house. It was a pristine, dick-free zone when I left. Now it’s overrun with dicks. No offense to you and Merc.”

  “None taken.”

  “Let’s just go in and have a look. You know, to make sure there aren’t any more dicks lurking in any of your other appliances.”

  “Being facetious is not a good look on you, Rennes.”

  “That’s not what the ladies tell me.”

  Rennes smiled when he saw her eye twitch. He’d like to believe Cayenne’s reaction was a result of her not liking him talking about other women. Good, because he didn’t like the fact that Drago had her personal phone number, the keys to her house, and as far as he knew, an actual dick.

  “I’m sure the ladies told you all manner of lies, just like I’m sure that all the “ladies” who complemented you wer
en’t all ladies. Ba-zing. Don’t try to win a war of words against me. You have a dick. You will lose.”

  I should’ve backed away from her taunt...should’ve backed away from the temptation. Should’ve. Could’ve. Would’ve. Yeah, you know what they say about that.

  “You’re right,” I said as I got right in her personal space. Of course, Cayenne didn’t flinch; didn’t step back. Cayenne Creighton, Esquire, best friend of Revelry, didn’t back down from shit. Damn, her boldness was sexy as hell. Just like her brilliance. And her ass in that skirt. And her legs in those heels.

  “I do have a dick. If you ever want to play with it, we’ll both win. Unlike the dicks in what used to be your dishwasher, mine is attached to a real man.”

  I stepped back and waited for what she’d do. Cayenne didn’t disappoint.

  “I’ve seen dicks before and like most things that don’t involve chocolate, wine, or tropical beaches, they’re overrated. So I’ll see your dick, that spends most of its time deflated and resting on a pair of balls, which, for the record, are not the best-looking parts of the male body, and raise you one woman.”

  With those words, she turned around, executed a seductive hip swivel before dropping low and slowly working her way back up. Damn. Fuck. Shit. That had my cock at even fuller attention.

  “All real. And good to look at, all of the time.”

  All I could think was yes, yes, and yes.

  “Now since you have enough energy to talk all of that shit, maybe you and Merc can arrange for someone to come clean up this mess,” Cayenne said as she pointed to her driveway. “I’m going to pack a bag, check into a five-star hotel, and then I’m going to let one of you...or both of you, take me to dinner.”

  Well, damn. Since Merc was steadily tapping on his smartphone, I was confident he already had a clean-up detail on this, along with a contractor in place. I appreciated his efficiency.

  However, there was only one man who would be taking Cayenne to dinner, and that man was me. And Cayenne wouldn’t be staying at a hotel when I had a three-bedroom, four-bath luxury high rise apartment.

  I couldn’t wait to get Cayenne into my home.

  Chapter Four: My Country ’Tis of Tree

  The kitchen was worse off than Rennes imagined, but as Cayenne said, she had at least shut off the water supply.

  Like house hunters who had more money than sense, Rennes took one look at it and declared. “Total remodel.” He would’ve said “total gut job”, but Cayenne had been there first, and had pretty much taken care of the gutting. And the sawing. Along with the hacking, the smashing, and just generally fucking shit up.

  He might not be overly fond of Drago, but if the Russian knew what was best for him, he’d keep a minimum of two counties between him and Cayenne until she had time to calm down. From the volume of cussing he heard coming from upstairs, Rennes guessed that would be a while.

  Hearing the phrase “fucking dead” for the fifth time in sixty seconds, Rennes fired off a text to Merc. Cayenne is hot enough to burn. Russia isn’t far enough away.

  In addition to being the consummate professional, Merc was also one of the most intelligent people he knew. Thus, all Rennes had to do was give him a decent hint.

  He hoped Drago was up to speed on his begging, and had saved his money because it was going to take a lot of both to placate Cayenne. He was going to need to buy her a new kitchen to go along with that new dishwasher. He was also going to have to pay to have her steps repaired, and a few of the stones in her driveway replaced.

  Rennes smiled as he looked down the driveway. If he squinted, he could pretend that the bits of dishwasher resembled tinsel.

  And the dicks? Well, they just looked like dicks. All twenty of them spread up and down the driveway.

  Chapter Five: At All Frost

  “Merc, did Rennes catch Cayenne, or do I need to cancel my flight to Dallas, and arrange travel to São Tomé & Principe or Vanuatu?”

  Merc appreciated how prepared Revelry was to pack up her life and go on the lam with her best friend. Instead of saying something smart-assed, he was up-front with her. “Rennes has her. However, the Russian should remain in hiding until he ponies up the cash to replace her whole kitchen and attend the collateral damage that was the result of Cayenne’s wrath.”

  “Well, at least the house is still standing, and the fact that I actually reached you means that Dallas is also still standing. So there’s that.”

  “You ain’t never lied, Revelry. When you get here, I’ll show you the video of what she did to that dishwasher…and to half of her house in her rage.”

  “Oh goodie, video. When this blows over without a homicide or a bunch of homicides, and we can go to São Tomé & Principe and Vanuatu because we want to rather than because they don’t extradite, I’ll show her the video and remind her how crazy she was.”

  Irony. Revelry reminding someone else how crazy they were was pure irony. Revelry, who had Russia and China on her top ten places to hide out because there was a chance she could have a snow leopard as a pet. Yeah, that was straight irony, but Merc was going to leave it alone…for now.

  “What time does your flight get in?” he asked.

  “One-ten a.m.”

  “I’ll be at DFW International an hour before then to pick you up.”

  “I can catch a cab.”

  “You could catch a cab if your brother’s best friend was a cunt. I’ll be the devastatingly handsome man at arrivals holding a sweet tea in one hand for me, and a sweet tea in the other hand, for you.”

  “Thank you, Merc.”

  “Revelry, I’m not your brother. Not for one minute do I believe that show of meekness. If you attempt to catch a taxi in the middle of the damn night, I’ll be the devastatingly handsome man with a paddle in one hand and your ass in the other.”

  Her surprised intake of breath did surprise him. Revelry shared her brother’s calm under pressure. Still, he wanted her to know…needed her to know…that while he might appear to be an easygoing man, it was a pretense. He was a righteous motherfucker, as his teammates could attest to.

  Of course, he didn’t expect Revelry to care, or remain silent for long. “I know you’re not Rennes, but I’m not Rennes, either. I might be a doctor, but I’m the type of person that if you hit me first, I’m going to hit you back twice, and keep on hitting until you drop. And once you’re on the ground, I’m going to start in with the kicking, and being as I’m a country girl, you know I’ll be rocking cowboy boots. Once I start kicking, I’m not going to stop until there is a little bit of brains on the floor. So you think about that before you even think about touching anything on me, Merc.”

  “Is this the part where I’m supposed to shake in my boots? Because I’m not. I’m a real man, not those pussy boys you hang around who allow you to run all over them.”

  “I don’t know why every conversation with you has to end with you being a total asshole, Merc.”

  “Because I’m an asshole, Revelry. And according to my friends, a son-of-a-bitch, though I’m sure my mom would object to that, considering she’s been married to my father for over thirty years.”

  “Well, I’ll cosign on the asshole, som’bitch part. I’m not cosigning on you telling me what to do!”

  Merc bet she was all red in the face, stamping her foot, and looking around for something to punch. He was way too turned on by that image.

  “You don’t have to cosign, Revelry. You simply have to walk out of arrivals and to me. Easy peasy.”

  He wasn’t a man who tolerated much. However, he definitely wasn’t about to tolerate Revelry putting herself in danger. Rennes would lose his shit. And so would you, asshole. Great, even his subconscious called him an asshole.

  “I might be there. I might not,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” Merc responded, and then clicked off before Revelry could begin cussing. He could take her cussing him out; he simply couldn’t take how long it would take. With her southern drawl, her words to
ok twice as long to say. Lucky, his name was one syllable and it wouldn’t be hard for her to scream out.

  His phone vibrated indicating an incoming text. Thank you, asshole.

  Revelry was nothing, if not mindful of her manners. She was the type of woman who would send you a thank-you card for your thank-you card. She was also the type of woman to apologize for killing you, and then thank you for dying quickly because she had shit to do.

  Merc wondered if Revelry would continue to thank him when she realized that she would be staying with him at his North Dallas spread, being as Cayenne’s house had a big-ass hole where the dishwasher used to be, and Rennes’ house had Cayenne in it.

  If this week ended with most of Dallas standing, it’d be nothing short of a miracle. No, his subconscious chimed in. A miracle would be if you managed to have Revelry in your house and not seduce her.

  Revelry might grate on every damn last one of his nerves, but that didn’t stop his cock from getting hard around her.

  Chapter Six: Family, Friends and Bows

  Like the majority of his countrymen, Zinoviy Vityaz loved Mother Russia. However, that didn’t stop him from wanting to be his own man.

  Though he came from a line of people who worked hard, things were often lean in their house. He didn’t have the bells and whistles that many of his peers had. For that matter, he hadn’t had the eyebolt to hang the bell or the rope to string the whistle. Still, he didn’t bemoan the things he didn’t have. It had only taken a few months of abject poverty for him to appreciate how fortunate he was to have just enough: enough clean water, enough food, enough heat, and most importantly, enough hope.

  While others worked to pay for the latest music and clothes. Zinoviy worked to help his Mamasha and Papasha make life more livable. Like half of his peers, he attended college in order to put off his mandatory conscription in the Russian army. He attended Lomonosov Moscow State University and graduated with a specialist degree in history.