Nice: A Dark Christmas Duet book 1

by Vivian Murdoch

  With a growl, I hurl the empty cup into the fireplace, a satisfied stillness creeping in as the glass shatters into a million pieces. It’s not Kringle’s passing that I mourn; it’s Kris taking up his mantle. Instead of learning at his father’s side, he’s spent his days filled with carousing and drinking eggnog. It’s a wonder the old man didn’t leave him to fend for himself. Jackass wouldn’t last one day out here in the wilds. A smile eases across my face as I imagine Kris going toe to toe with a polar bear.

  Unfortunately, Kringle always had a soft spot for kids. Rubbing my hand over my chest, I blink back the sudden tears that threaten to escape. He never once raised his voice to me in anger. To think, my uncle showing more charity to me than my dear old dad. Casting a scowl over at the portrait of my father hanging prominently over the fireplace, I start to rethink where I threw my glass. His haughty visage would have been a much better target and far more satisfying.

  Pulling out another glass, I manage to fill it up and take a swig before more murderous thoughts threaten to make me throw it. The burn as the liquid flows down my throat grounds me for a moment. Kringle was always a father to me, and now, at the moment I needed to be by his side the most, I’m turned away. I grip the glass again, and close my eyes, forcing my breathing to slow. At this rate, I’ll have no more glasses and will have to swig the whiskey directly from the bottle. I eye the drink in question but shake my head. That’s a level I would never stoop to.

  I pour myself another drink and make my way over to the sitting chair in front of the fire. From here, I’m able to watch as fireworks light up the sky as they send Kringle on to become one with the winter night. I close my eyes and say a few words to the stars, hoping to help ease him on his journey. It’s not fair for such a fine man to leave this earth. Hopefully, he’ll be able to join in with the other Father Christmases before him and bring joy and hope to the word. That any Santa should be so lucky.

  Acid burns in my stomach as I watch the display. Nothing but an ostentatious show. Knowing him, this isn’t what he would have wanted. He would want to slip away as quietly as he came. Curling my lip in contempt, I look back up at my father’s portrait and down the rest of the whisky in a gulp. After I salute him with the empty glass, I set in on the small table next to me and pull out my naughty list and flip through until I find Caitlin again.

  Her beautiful face beams out from the pages. She looks so innocent and fresh, someone I’d expect to find in Kris’s harem, not in the dregs of my dungeon. Smiling, I close my eyes and slide my fingers down to stroke myself through the leather. Yes. She’s exactly what I need. She will be the perfect distraction for me.

  Chapter Two: Caitlin

  Work parties always suck, but for some reason, the Christmas ones are even worse. Everyone is in just a “holly jolly” mood, paying no mind to those of us that don’t want to be a part of it. Christmas always comes too soon. In a blink of an eye, it’s Christmas again. There’s no escaping it. Sighing, I look around the cluttered office building. Even being at work doesn’t mean having a moment of escape. The entire office is festooned in mistletoe, Santas, and reindeer. It’s like they raided the biggest department store and threw it up into the offices and cubicles.

  Closing my eyes, I try to remember what Christmas was like before. There were always trees, decorations, music, and laughter. Now, all that’s there is an empty house, pathetic tree, and haphazard ornaments strung about. Shaking my head, I rub at my temples and force myself back to the present. I don’t know why I torture myself like this.

  Why do I even attempt to act like Christmas is a big deal when it’s not? Now that my parents are gone, what’s even the point? They were Christmas. They were the magic. Without them, it’s just one more excuse to get drunk on festive alcohol. Shaking my head, I go back to the idea of just escaping and taking a vacation. Somewhere far away from Christmas and its merriment, but, just like all the years before, I just can’t bring myself to do it. A half-assed Christmas is still something.

  A niggle of guilt worms its way into my gut. Neither of them would want this for me. They didn’t do anything halfway. Yet, here I am, one foot in Christmas and one foot out, completely sucking at both. Guilt be damned. This year, things are going to be different. I just need a good, hard reset, and a vacation is just the thing. As soon as I make it back to my office, I’m going to research destinations that are anti-Christmas. Surely there are others like me that don’t want to think or feel this time of year.

  The loud, raucous noises become too much for me. I need to get out of this hell and back to work. Shoving away yet another drunk guy, I smooth back an errant lock of hair and pat down my clothes. Thank god he didn't spill his drink on me. The shoes can be saved, but this is my favorite skirt. They don't pay me enough to just go out and get another one. Jerking my head about, I narrow my eyes at my coworkers. This morning, they were respectable people; now, they're basically humping anything that moves and some things that don't. With a groan, I ease my way around people making out and head back to my office. If I must be here, I might as well do something productive.

  It's not like I'll be missed. My lips thin as the bitter thought crosses my mind. Everyone seems to have someone, and as always, I'm the odd one out. I yank my office door open and tromp inside, ignoring the bitter ache developing in my chest. Just because I like my job doesn’t mean I can’t unwind and have fun like the rest of them. I toss another glance at the bacchanalian scene and shake my head. Maybe I am too different. I just like to know who I'm about to fuck and not just jump on someone with a dick. Apparently, that's too prim and proper these days.

  I make my way over to the desk and start shuffling some papers about. Do I want to start planning my trip? Or should I try to get some actual work done? With a groan, I click about on my computer. Glancing about, I click on a folder in the center screen, revealing three other folders. With another quick glance, I click on the middle and keep going down the folder rabbit hole until I reach the program I want.

  Clicking on it, I wait with bated breath as it loads, exhaling sharply when it does. There's so much wrong with the company that could just be fixed with the right set of eyes. Words, names, and data figures fly across the screen. I follow them, clicking on inconsistencies. Once this program is finally bug-free, I can submit it to the head boss. Maybe then he'll finally take me seriously.

  Squinting my eyes, I look across the desk at the "World’s Best Secretary" mug. My lips twist up in a scowl as I reach over and push it off the desk. The soft plunk as it hits the carpet is not nearly as satisfying as I want, but it will have to do. Eventually, I will shove it off enough times that it will break, and I'll be rid of it for good. I sit there for several minutes, my fingers flying across the keyboard. Intent in my work, I don't even hear the door open. It's the loud throat-clearing that grabs my attention.

  My eyes fly up to a nameless coworker, his face far too red and jovial for my liking. I shut down my program and slide a touch back. "Can I help you?" Jovial's face lights up. Fuck. I'm encouraging him.

  "In case you didn't realize, there's actually a party going on out there. Why are you squirreled away back here? Hoping Santa would come find you?"

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I plaster on a smile that doesn't quite reach up high enough. "Are you Santa?"

  He blushes, the red from his cheeks spreading to the rest of his face. "I could be if you wanted."

  His eyes shine with hope. But no. It doesn't matter how desperate I am for company, Mr. Can't-Remember-His-Name is not on the invite list to Pound Town. I take a moment to look him up and down. Tall, lanky frame; glasses way too big for his head; red, sweaty cheeks from way too much alcohol; small, beady eyes. Not quite my style. I prefer men that are bigger than me, and poor Mr. Wishful Thinking would probably snap in half if he tried even half the positions I was interested in. With a sigh, I push away from the desk fully and head towards him and the door.

  "I don't need a Santa, but I could defin
itely use a drink."

  Jovial nods his head rapidly and steps out of my doorway. Finally, blessed peace. I ease my way back out into the foray, only to catch the eye of my immediate boss. He looks between the door and me, shakes his head, and motions for me to head over to his office.

  My spirits lift from their doldrums. Reggie never wants to speak with me. As I shuffle my way over, my brain goes into overdrive. Facts and figures flow through almost too fast for me to keep up. Maybe he's finally noticing all the stuff I'm doing around here? There were whispers about the office of a promotion. Finally! Excitement fills my soul. I can almost taste the freedom!

  Another drunk couple bumps into me, their drink jostling onto my favorite skirt. Looking down, I stare at the spreading wet spot, my brain and my eyes not agreeing on what's happening. I shoot the two a scathing look but say nothing as I head towards the office. What does a small accident matter when I'm finally going to be noticed and appreciated for the work I do? When I get promoted, things like skirts won't matter. I'll finally have enough to buy several of the same skirts if I need to.

  I open the door and ease my way through, a wide smile on my face. My cheekbones ache, my muscles fighting against the inertia of my ready frown. Reggie sits at his desk, his suit and tie immaculate. While others have been carrying on being crass and slovenly, here's a prime specimen of a man, working away, caring nothing for the revelry just outside his door. My eyes linger on his chest, the muscles straining against the shirt with every move of his arms. Yummy.

  "You wanted to see me Sir?"

  His looks up, a frown marring his face. "Yes, come in and have a seat."

  I close the door behind me and make my way to one of the plush seats in front. My fingers fidget about as I sit, excitement zipping down my spine. I want to move and bounce about, but how would that look for someone about to be promoted?

  "Listen, I think you're an excellent worker. You're one of the best we've ever had. You're honest, hardworking, punctual." He waves his hand about. "I could go on."

  "Yes Sir. I do try my best at all times." My insides twist and turn. Can he just get on with it? Why drag out the suspense?

  "And that's why-"

  Here it comes!

  "-It pains me so much to have to let you go."

  I sit there for a moment. A faint ringing fills my ears, blocking out all other sounds. I shake my head. I must not have heard right. "I'm sorry, did you say you're firing me?"

  "No. Not firing." He steeples his fingers and leans forward. "You are an exemplary employee. You've done nothing to cause you being fired. We just don't have the budget to keep you on. You are more than welcome to file for unemployment, and of course, I'll give you a glowing recommendation."

  I slump down into the chair, mulling over his words. They replay in my brain repeatedly as I try to comprehend what's happening. Everything feels like it's passing me by at slow speed, but I still can't catch up. As my brain finally comes to grips with what's going on, the deafening roar in my ears gives way, letting in the raucous merriment. It seeps deep into me. Jumping to my feet, I plant my hands on his desk, startling him out of whatever bullshit work he was doing.

  "You can't afford to keep me, and yet you can afford this office party?"

  "Caitlin I-"

  "No. There's nothing you can say to make this right. I did above and beyond, and now that just means nothing?" I take in a deep breath, trying desperately to quell the nausea climbing up my throat. The air is way too warm, the walls way too close. Reggie makes a move to stand, but I hold my hand out, effectively stopping him. "Don't worry about it. I'll clean out my desk and be out of your hair."

  Whirling around, I fling the door open, the sounds and smells crashing into me like a tidal wave. Bile continues to creep up. Somewhere in my brain I hear Reggie calling out to me, but I can't make myself turn around and face him. I just can't do it.

  Scanning the main office area, I spy several boxes that once housed copious amounts of liquor. Wading through the sea of sweat and lust, I worm my way through and grab as many as I can manage to keep a hold of. On the table next to me is a bottle of peppermint vodka. I contemplate it for a moment, staring at the swirls of red and white circling the bottle. Making my decision, I drop one of the boxes and grab onto the bottle, bringing my small treasure trove to my office.

  Slamming the boxes down on the floor, I make my way over to my desk and sit down. I look about, seeing not much that belongs to me. There are no pictures, no memorabilia, just papers and office supplies. Unscrewing the cap, I tilt my head back and take a large gulp. Fire races down my throat. I cough and sputter, trying to keep most of it off the equipment.

  After my hacking dies down, a small kernel of peace permeates my body. My limbs feel soft and heavy. Smiling, I take another sip, this time only taking in small increments at a time. The burn is still there, but it's much more manageable. Leaning back in the chair, I take my office in again and laughter bubbles up out of my mouth.

  The sound is harsh as it fills the office. Standing back up, I sway for a moment and amble about, grabbing a box. With a sweep of my hand, I knock all the contents into the box, office supplies and all. A dark niggle of glee fills me as I walk around the office taking staplers, pencils, pens, the works. Any and everything goes into the box. After a few minutes, all that isn’t boxed up is a marker and the computer. Leaning over, I pluck the marker up, tuck it behind my ear, grab the box and bottle and head out into the party.

  The foray is still going in full swing. With a smirk, I tuck my loot closer to my body and head out to the main door. Near the entrance, a large poster with Reggie and other prominent members looms, their faces smiling down with smug glee. Setting my box down, I keep a tight hold of my bottle and take the marker out from behind my ear. I stick the end in my mouth and uncap it with my teeth. Glancing around, I snicker as I lean forward and start drawing on Reggie's face. A small hiccup escapes my mouth, and I chuckle even harder. It takes a few minutes, but finally my artwork is complete. I recap the marker and let it clatter to the floor. It's tiny but sounds thunderous in the deserted lobby.

  I bring the bottle up to my lips again and stare at him a moment. Sweet oblivion races down my throat, the burn taking a bit of the edge off. Pain and misery beat at my chest, but I ignore it, opting instead for yet another swig. I stand there for a bit more, looking about, guilt shuffling to the forefront. Shaking my head, I tamp it back down and head out the door, bottle still firmly in hand. The brisk wind tears into me as I shove open the glass door, but I push through, relishing the sharp bites of pain.

  Shifting the box firmer in my grip, I make my way onto the walkway. I should go to my car, but no way I can drive in this condition. What should I do? I pause and look around, trying to figure out my next move. Being just a couple weeks away from Christmas, there's got to be something open. Down the street, I spy a nearby diner, the windows blazing into the night. Tacky Christmas lights hang draped over every available surface. Even the patrons seem extra festive. Ugly Christmas sweaters dot a few of the booths. Grimacing, I take another swig and stare at the display.

  It's either that or I keep walking in this miserable wind to find something better. Opting for warmth and coffee over cold and achy, I take another gulp and start my way over. The box shifts a bit, and I stop and set it down. Already the adrenaline is wearing off. Before, the box felt like it weighed no more than a feather. Now, my arms and shoulders burn the longer I keep it in my grasp. I glare at the contents, cursing them silently for being so heavy and obnoxious. Glancing back between the diner and the box, I sigh and pick it back up.

  Chapter Three: Asmon

  My stomach clenches and burns as I watch my quarry stumble about on the sidewalk. Curling my lip, I look her up and down, trying to regain that sense of lust and wonder I felt when I first saw her. How did I ever mistake her for Angelica? As it stands, I'm going to have to sober her up before I can play with her.

  Humans. They never seem to know their l
imits. Most of the time, I enjoy that. My balls clench as my mind drifts back to the other mortals I've played with. Each one gave it their all, trying to reach some illusive nirvana that exists only in their minds.

  This woman, however, holds no such respect from me. Based on the scene unfolding, she probably is the type to get drunk, do all sorts of horrendous things, then blame it on the bottle. Shaking my head, I watch her stumble again, the weight of the box tipping her off balance.

  If only she'd put down the damned alcohol, it would be much easier for her to get about. Instead, she keeps putting down the box instead. Judging by her gaze, she seems to be headed towards that diner. A small smile stretches across my face as I shove from the wall to intercept her.

  Her petite frame looks overburdened by the huge box she's carrying, and for a moment, I tamp down the urge to help her with it. She looks so small and forlorn out here in the cold. Steeling my heart towards her, I make my way over, bumping my hip into the box. It flies from her grasp and lands on the ground.

  "Watch where you're going, you asshole," she mutters as she stoops down to pick it back up.

  I step closer towards her, letting the tips of my shoes brush against the box. Her eyes drift over my body in a slow, languid manner until she locks her eyes onto mine.

  "Holy hell you're hot." Her voice is low and melodic, throaty even.

  Chuckling, I help her stand, ignoring the alluring scent of chocolate and peppermint swirling about her. "So, I've been told. Sorry about the box. Would you like me to grab it for you?"

  She stands there, mouth agape. After blinking for a few moments, a faint tinge colors her cheeks and she looks away. "Dude, I'd so blow you for five candy canes." With a gasp, she clamps her hands over her lips, as if she had no control over her words.