by Chiah Wilder
“When? I mean, I’d like to be there when you do.”
“Just when I get some free time. We gotta go.”
“It was great seeing you again. You look real good still. How do you think I look?” She ran her hands over her body.
“You look fine.” He walked to the cash register and Jack rushed in front of him. After paying, he headed for the door, and Brianna came up to him.
“Don’t I get a hug?”
“No.”
“Jack?”
Jack’s eyes darted to Chas. He pulled Jack to him. “He’s not into that.”
Bracing himself, he stepped out in the cold, and with his hand on Jack’s shoulder, they went to their car.
As they drove to Pinewood Hospital, Jack blew his breath on the window and made patterns on the steam with his finger. “Do I have to start going over to Mom’s again?”
“No way.”
“For real?”
“Yeah. I mean, if you want to, I’m not gonna st—”
“I don’t want to. I love Addie. She’s my mom. Is that bad?”
Chas shook his head. “Not at all. Addie loves you too. Your blood mom wasn’t so good to you. It’s okay not to love her the way you do Addie.”
A satisfied smile spread over Jack’s face as he settled back in his seat. Chas reached over and ruffled his hair, then turned on the radio.
There’s no damn way I’m letting Brianna start trouble. Clean or not, Brianna only had one agenda in life—getting whatever she could for her. It was her world and she didn’t give a shit about anyone. She gave up her parental rights to Jack years before, and there was no way she was going to start anything up.
Snowflakes swirled around and landed on the windshield.
“It’s snowing again. Maybe Ethan can come over and we can build a snowman. Can I ask him?”
“Sure.”
Jack took out his phone, and as he tapped his text, warmth spread through Chas. Seeing Brianna reminded him how lucky he was to have Addie in his life. His family was everything to him.
The SUV rambled down the slick, snow-packed street.
Chapter Sixteen
The Crazed Grinch
Laughing as he checked off the names of three more families, he leaned back against the car’s leather seat and turned the heater up. An eerie stillness sheathed the world outside as the falling snow choked the land, covering trees, lawns, roofs, and cars. It was like he was in a cocoon, safe and protected, all the windows covered by white making his world inside the vehicle charcoal gray.
As he stared ahead, a small boy appeared in the theater of his mind. The image was in full color and the boy sat on the soft cushion of a brocade chair, the fire’s glow highlighting wet tracks on his face. His father, bent over, stuffed brightly wrapped presents into a large black bag. Standing in the corner of the room was his mother, her hands covering her mouth as she looked at the scene unfolding before her.
Gripping the steering wheel, memories from his younger days flooded his mind. He’d come from a wealthy family, lived in a mansion, took equestrian lessons, and had a lifestyle a lot of children would’ve killed for, but they didn’t know what was hidden behind the columned porch and hand-carved front door. Inside, a monster ruled them—all of them. The mother he’d clung to before he went to school had betrayed him and his sister. She’d stood by and watched as the puppet master yanked their silvery strings, manipulating, humiliating, and punishing them without mercy. And all she’d done afterward was offer them cookies and lemonade.
Scrubbing his face with his fist, he glanced at the illuminated blue numbers in the car—midnight. Darkness without a glow. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember when there was a life without misery, but he couldn’t. Blackness crept in when he hadn’t been looking, and it never left.
His father had been a cruel and controlling man. There’d never been any physical signs of abuse on his wife and children—his dad was too clever for that. All the scars he’d given them were internal, and they never healed.
“You’re a loser. You’ll never amount to anything, you stupid, worthless brat. The day you were born was the worst day of my life.” His father’s words resonated through him, making him wince and shudder even all these years later.
All the commercialism in the world couldn’t ruin Christmas the way his father had—he’d been an expert at it. From the age of four, he remembered the puppet master taking away their gifts to give to needy children. In the beginning, his mother had sneaked a gift to them, but somehow their father had always found out; the gift was taken away from them, and then he’d berate their mother for days. Then one year, she stopped trying: no secret gifts, no Christmas tree, no lights in the window, no cheer of any kind. The fight had seeped out of her, and she let the puppet master reinvent the holiday for their household.
After that, he’d outdone himself: forcing them to go to parties and give their toys away, taking them shopping for ornaments, lights, and a tree, then making them give it away, playing Santa Claus at all the parties, banning anything that hinted of holiday cheer in their home. But the fucking bastard didn’t give up his presents, the roast beef dinner he insisted Mom make, or his goddamn lectures on the spirit of giving.
The brown-eyed man breathed heavily as the snippets from his fucked-up childhood ran through his head like a B-rated movie. How could you have given him any presents, Mom? He treated you like shit. He treated all of us like we didn’t matter.
“I fucking hate you!” The pain from slamming the steering wheel shot up his arm as the car windows threw back the echoes of his voice. Resting his forehead on the steering wheel, he tried to sift through the decay of his life to find something salvageable. Nothing. His whole world was black.
“You fucking took in foster kids and lavished them with love and kindness, and you turned your back on your own flesh and blood, you bastard,” he said aloud. An image he tried to keep hidden burst through: his sister dangling at the end of a rope she’d tied to the ceiling fan in her room.
His nose ran and saliva trickled from his mouth. “She was only fourteen years old. You made her believe she was ugly, fat, and unlovable. You bastard!”
The chime of his cell phone sounded distant, like it was from a different place and time. It kept ringing, dragging him out of the past. Sweeping his palms over his eyes, he inhaled through his nose. The ringing stopped. Picking up his phone, he saw his wife’s name and threw the phone on the floor mat. The pictures from the past fled to the dark recesses of his mind. Spite resurfaced, pushing all other emotions into his soul’s dark hole.
Coughing, he straightened in his seat and grabbed the list beside him. Tomorrow night I’ll hit the Montoya and Duggan houses. Christmas was the one holiday he hated the most. All the yuletide and joyful feelings made him want to fucking puke. The look of anticipation on the children’s faces when they went to see Santa or looked at their wrapped gifts under the tree made his skin crawl and his blood boil.
“Fucking brats,” he muttered under his breath as he switched the defroster on high, grabbed the snow brush, and exited the car. Stretching gloves over his hands, he frowned at the multicolored lights twinkling through the white mist. Several inflatable angels and snowmen lay on their sides, having been blown over by the icy wind.
He’d come up with the idea to stamp out Christmas one inflatable at a time when he’d turned sixteen. With money earned from his part-time job at the hardware store, he’d bought a BB gun and snuck out of the house at night, canvassing the neighborhood and shooting inflated snowmen, penguins, snow globes, and nutcrackers. He’d hated them with a passion, and his mission was to rid his small Illinois town of all inflatables. On one of his nightly excursions, a policeman had caught him in the act, and he’d pled guilty to criminal mischief. Afterward, he’d made sure he was smarter and more alert the next time.
And there’d been years of next times as he moved around the country for his employment. He’d always been so meticulous with his hits, b
ut the day at the outlaw biker’s house, he’d lost his cool. He’d let a pretty woman turn his head. He didn’t know what he was thinking by waiting in the house for her and Paisley. Not thinking he’d have the nerve to do it, he’d begun to leave when he heard the garage door open. If it’d been the Neanderthal, he’d have slipped out the first chance he had, but she and her daughter had come in and a rush of adrenaline shot through him.
In all the years he’d been stamping out Christmas, he’d never confronted the people in the houses he destroyed. He didn’t want to; there was no fun in it. The pretty woman made him stay, of course, but it was the rush of knowing the house belonged to an Insurgent. He couldn’t stand how they walked around town acting like they owned it, like they were hot stuff. In his opinion, they were nothing more than criminals and hoodlums, yet women flocked to them and the town tolerated them.
The bikers tried to act like they were good guys, putting on stupid toy drives, but in his eyes, they were a bunch of nobodies. So he’d enjoyed the rush of adrenaline as he destroyed property that belonged to one of them, and scared the shit out of the biker’s wife.
Slipping back into the car, he banged the snow brush on the chrome door frame and then closed the door. Inside, it was toasty and the defroster had melted all the ice on the windshield. He shook his head; he hadn’t planned on the pretty blonde to be a fighter. I underestimated her. I should’ve figured the lowlifes would teach their women to defend themselves. But I bet their children can’t fight me. An evil smile began to slowly spread across his face. What better way to ruin Christmas than to have your child snatched?
A streak of excitement rode up his spine. If he could pull it off, it would be the best holiday season ever, but he couldn’t rush into it. Making a mistake would be deadly, he was sure of that. He’d have to plan out all the details, though he didn’t have much time. Christmas was only two weeks away.
Humming and tapping his fingers on the dashboard, he pulled away from the curb and drove down the quiet streets.
The phone rang again and he stopped abruptly, the back tires sliding. Looking down at the phone on the floor mat, his wife’s name flashed on the screen. He pounded his fist on the dashboard. “What does that fucking cow want?” he yelled out. He knew it wasn’t him. They’d stopped caring about each other years back. Probably wants me to pick up something sweet for her at the convenience store. Well, fuck you, bitch. You can forget that.
As he drove home, his wife’s face filled his mind. How did I ever think she was right for me? The truth was, he’d never loved her; she was just there when he reached the decision to marry. They had similar backgrounds and they both liked traveling, but as the years rolled by, she’d become nothing but a nuisance in his life. She was like a gnat that just wouldn’t go away, always buzzing around.
His fucking father had always called him a coward. If the bastard were still living, he wouldn’t call him that if he knew what he was planning to do for his Christmas finale. Once he proved he could brazenly go after the Insurgents’ kids, his next project would be getting rid of his wife. He was sick of her insults and sarcasm.
It’s time to shut you up once and for all, you stupid cow.
The garage door closed and he went into the house.
Chapter Seventeen
Belle
“I still can’t believe Dale wants to be Santa at the fundraiser on Saturday. I was preparing for a huge argument, and he just said ‘yes.’ Just like that. ‘Yes.’ Amazing,” Lindi said as she placed the pens and papers into a briefcase.
“I’m so glad he’s doing it. Mitch didn’t even answer me when I asked. His eyes just bugged out, he wrinkled his nose, and then went back to his crossword puzzle,” Torey said.
Joseph rose from his chair. “I’m just happy I don’t have to do it. Tell Dale thanks from me.”
“And me,” Evan chimed in.
“I asked Banger to do it, and he said he would as long as he could wear his cut and jeans. I didn’t think he’d be a very approachable Santa Claus.” Belle laughed.
“There’s no way I was going to ask Rock. Can you imagine it?” Clotille said.
“Or Throttle,” Kimber added.
“Or Axe.” Baylee sniggered.
“Frankly, I can’t picture any of the Insurgents down with playing Santa, so it’s a good thing Dale volunteered.” Glancing at his watch, Joseph gathered his laptop and file. “We all done here?” Everyone nodded. “Then I’ll see you ladies on Saturday night.”
Belle went over to the back table and put several of the mini Italian sandwiches Cara had made on a plate. Banger just loved the sandwiches Cara made, and he’d instructed Belle before she left that morning to make sure she brought some home for him.
“Take the whole tray,” Cara said behind her.
“Hawk doesn’t want any?”
“I probably won’t see Hawk.”
Before Belle could ask Cara what she meant, she scurried away. Wrinkling her brow, Belle pinched the skin at her throat. Something’s wrong. She’d noticed that when she’d called Cara the night before, she’d seemed preoccupied and sad. When Belle had asked if anything was wrong, she’d said no, quickly making an excuse to get off the phone.
“Garret!” Cara’s voice boomed.
Belle turned to the front of the room and saw Cara rushing out the door. She walked over to see what was going on.
“Garret!”
Cara’s voice sounded hollow in the large hallway as it bounced off the concrete walls. Belle walked into the open hallway. “Who’s that?”
Cara spun around, shaking her head. “I know he heard me. He just rushed off.”
“Who?”
“That guy,” she replied, pointing at a retreating figure with stringy brown hair. “He came into my office about a week or so ago. He gave me the creeps, and now he’s here in the building.”
“Are you suggesting he’s following you?”
“No, not exactly. I don’t know. It’s just weird that he’s here.”
“Maybe he works here. Anyway, if you’re freaked about it, you need to tell Hawk.”
“Have a nice day, Belle and Cara,” Evan said as he walked past them.
“Evan, do you have an employee working for you named Garret?” Cara asked.
“I don’t think so. Lindi? Does someone named Garret work for us?” He smiled at the women. “I don’t know all the seasonal employees.”
Lindi and Torey came over, shaking their heads. “Not that I know of, but I can double-check with human services,” Lindi replied.
“Could you?” Cara asked.
“Sure. I’ll give them a call this afternoon. I have another meeting I have to go to.” Lindi grimaced, then smiled as she scampered away.
Cara walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window that looked out at the parking lot. “He’s driving away!”
Belle came over and saw a sun-faded turquoise blue van plastered with bumper stickers and duct tape leaving the parking lot.
“What kind of car is that?” Cara asked.
“It’s a van, but I have no idea what make it is,” Belle replied.
“Can you see the license plate number?”
“I can make out the last two digits—75. Kimber, can you please come over here?” Belle looked over her shoulder and saw Kimber walking toward them. “Can you hurry it up?”
“What’s up? What’re you two looking at?”
Cara tapped the window repeatedly. “That van. Do you know what make or year it is?”
Kimber nodded. “It’s a 1975 VW van. Very popular. They were made from 1952 until 1990. A fuckin’ great van. You thinking of getting one? Hawk could make it into a beauty for you.”
The vehicle disappeared, and Belle turned away from the window.
“No, it’s nothing like that. I just saw someone I thought I knew. Thanks.”
“I wanted to ask you guys something, but I don’t want to do it in the hallway. Voices travel around here,” Kimber said.
Bel
le and Cara went back into the conference room.
Kimber closed the door. “Is Evan married?”
“Yes. Why?” Belle asked.
“It may just be a coincidence, but some horny bitch named Christiansen has the hots for Throttle. She has an account with his business, and she keeps wanting him to come by to talk about the work they’re doing. Throttle told her he’s too damn busy and they could talk by phone, but she’s a persistent one. This damn bitch is the poster woman for bored suburban housewives.”
“I hadn’t heard that he and Britany were having any trouble. They seem to get along at the functions. Not like Torey and Mitch,” Belle said.
“Or Lindi and Dale. I still can’t believe he agreed to be Santa Claus. The last few years he didn’t even show up.” Clotille brought a glass of orange juice to her lips.
“It’s probably a cousin or something. I just don’t want to beat the shit out of someone he’s related to because that’s what I’m aiming to do to the Christiansen who keeps calling Throttle.”
The women laughed, but Belle was a hundred percent sure Kimber wouldn’t hesitate to do it.
“The name’s sort of common. Maybe there’s no relation at all,” said Cherri.
“Talk about wanting to beat the crap out of someone, Chas’s mean-as-hell ex is back in town,” Addie said.
Kimber shook her head. “Fuck.”
“Are you serious?” Belle said.
“That fucking sucks,” Cara added.
“I’m so sorry,” Clotille said.
“She’s up to no good. Jax said she’s an awful bitch,” Cherri commented.
“And she works here, apparently. She’s a damn receptionist. I’m here all the time helping out. I can’t believe I’m going to run into her.” Addie folded her arms on her chest.
Belle went over and patted Addie’s shoulder. “Don’t you dare let this stupid woman get to you. And don’t make Chas think you question his loyalty. According to what Banger’s told me, he went through the ringer with this woman.”