PROLOGUE
NICKIE
Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t you dare look, ya dumb twat.
I could hear sissy’s voice yelling at me in my head. Instead of chancing a glance behind me like that little defiant streak wanted me to do—I hated being bossed around just because someone was a bit older or bigger—I stared up at the night sky and then down at the blood coating my hands. It was still sticky and wet to the touch. Warm too. But I didn’t have time to think about where it all came from when I needed to be running.
I had to keep running or they’d find me and they’d…
I shook those thoughts away and lifted my knees as high as they would go while my shoes struggled to cut through all the freshly fallen snow. My ass wasn’t made for this weather. The sudden gust of wind that billowed out my t-shirt, shot straight through my leggings, and traveled up my spine like a creepy-crawly spider reminded me that these clothes weren’t neither.
That’s what ya getfor being vain, Nickie.
Noelle piped up again, and I refused to prove her right. To prove any of them right. I wasn’t a brat just because I didn’t like to share my things. They were mine. There weren’t nothin’ wrong with that.
I swiped at my face, at the tiny popsicle tears forming on my cheeks every time I sucked in a breath, and a puff of white air danced around in front of me. A little farther. I just had to push myself a little farther.
I could already make out the flickering candlelight in the cabin window. But before I could get there, my foot caught on a fallen branch and I tumbled head over ass the last several feet down the frozen hill. Rolling to a stop against the pieces of wood stacked up by the front door. With a loudthud.
I dusted myself off and ducked behind the pile, squeezing my eyes shut as I counted to ten in my head. When I didn’t hear nothing other than the occasional night bird out in the distance, I crept out of my hidey hole and made a mad dash for the door. Tugging on it till my face was blue and my arms were like spaghetti noodles.
It didn’t budge, so I stepped up to the window, cupped my hands together, and peered inside. Granny was sittin’ her plump ass on her favorite rocker, oblivious to the factmycheeks were freezing off through my leggings. I tapped on the glass over and over until she finally looked up and squinted my way. And then she was hobbling towards the door with her knitting needle in hand. She swung it open and stared at me.
“Hey, Gran! You locked me out again!” I smiled at her.
She paused a moment to look me over, but Granny appeared to not be seeing much of anything these days.
“I’m sorry, dear. Come on in. Let’s warm you up.”
CHAPTER 1
NICKIE
“Bingo!” I pulled the box out from under the bed and peeked inside at the contents.
Looks like Granny knows how to have a little fun after all.It wasn’t necessarily the good shit, but who was I to complain about free weed?
Old people were notorious for leaving lighters around, so it didn’t take me long to find one in the junk drawer in the kitchen. I relaxed as soon as I took that first hit.
The cookies in the oven were making everything reek like potpourri, but it gave the room a better smell than the stink she had perforating the walls. Nothing was worse than old people stink.
“Holy fuck, Gran, this place smells like rotten eggs. Not sure the cookies are gonna be enough.”
Granny wasn’t gonna respond, obviously, but talking to myself felt better than admitting I was alone.
Why did I think it was a good idea to come here again?
The radio crackled as the song ended, and I turned the dial until another one came through. This one wassomething twinkly and festive like Granny’s personality. It was the kind that made everything seem so…happy.
I swayed to the rhythm as I cleaned up the counter, wiping away the crumbs and tossing out the plastic wrap while humming Christmas carols under my breath. The air was thick with a mixture of sugar, cinnamon, and Granny’s stash. My cheeks were warm, and my apron—calling methe best chef alive—was dusted with white powder. I kept telling Granny this shit would kill her one day, but that old bat didn’t listen for shit.
“Almost Christmas, Gran,” I said in a cheery, sing-song voice while dancing around the pine needles littering the floor.
In the corner, where Granny’s old rocker sat, a crooked pine tree leaned against the wall, still spitting its pokey branches onto the hardwood. I’d dragged it in myself this morning. It’d hurt my face to be outside in this cold, but it was worth it, especially after I’d found the perfect little guy rooted behind the house. It was wet with frost and still smelled like the forest. It wasn’t pretty—not exactly like the ones in magazines. Hell, half the branches were bare, and one side was so flat it looked like it had been crushed beneath a car tire.
But it was mine.Ours.
I smiled. “We’ll fix you, wittle tree, won’t we? Granny loves Christmas.”
