I swallow nervously.
“Don’t think you can get out of this, Ms. St. John. There’s nowhere for you to go.”
My throat tightens.
A teenage employee walks by, placing some forgotten items onto shelves. He barely acknowledges us as he passes, just keeps working, not even realizing the man in front of me is threatening my life in the middle of a grocery store.
Moseley lowers his voice even more, his tone riddled with frustration. “He’s very excited,” he mumbles. “He doesn’t like to be disappointed, so you better not try anything stupid.”
My hands begin to tremble, so I shove them into the pockets of my coat, refusing to show fear. “I don’t belong to anyone,” I whisper.
He laughs quietly. “I’ve got your signature. You always seem to forget that part.”
We move again, passing by the frozen food section that I’ve already been by twice.
He grabs a box of puff pastry and holds it up for me to see. “These are excellent,” he says firmly. “Perfect for appetizers. You could make little pinwheels. People will love them.”
A couple walks by, laughing. Neither of them sees the terror in my eyes, or my silent cry for help.
“Such a happy time of year,” he declares, stepping away from me for the first time. “Just remember, Ms. St. John. If you try to disappear, I’ll find you.”
Ice floods my veins.
“I have friends everywhere,” he continues. “Borders don’t matter. Safe houses don’t matter. Beastly Bikers don’t matter.”
I stop walking, his threat clear.
“You think hiding with that filthy biker protects you?” he asks, still smiling. “Men like him attract attention. That makes you easier to find, not harder.”
My vision blurs.
“Finish your shopping,” he says kindly. “Go home and enjoy Christmas.” He leans in closer, breath stale like cigars as it hits my cheek and crawls across it. “It may be your last.”
Then he steps away, turning down another aisle like this conversation never happened.
But it did, and the fact that he could find me in the middle of a grocery store, makes me wonder how easily he could find me anywhere.
My cart suddenly feels too heavy to push, and I barely make it to the register, pay for my groceries, and out to my car, before the tears start to fall.
By the time I make it to Krampus’ place, my hands are numb, my chest aches like my heart is a lemon being squeezed, and I can’t take a steady breath without stopping.
I barely remember the drive. Hell, I don’t even remember parking. But the second I see his face standing in the doorway,I’m running, rushing into his arms, until I’m in the safety of his embrace.
“What happened?” he demands.
I collapse against him, tears soaking the fabric of his shirt, my fingers trembling as they clutch the lapels of his leather cut.
“He found me,” I declare, words spilling out broken and muddled. “Mr. Moseley. He cornered me at the grocery store.”
“What the held did he say to you?”
“He said—he said once the new year hits, I belong to R—Rico, and I better not run,” I stutter out, barely able to contain my cries of desperation.
Krampus’s body goes rigid. “I’ll protect you,” he affirms immediately. “I swear to you, Mindy, nobody’s going to fucking touch you.”
Even his swears can’t stop the numbness, the hollowness that aches in my chest, the fear that doesn’t ease.
“I don’t feel safe anymore,” I whisper. “Not anywhere. Not even here. He’ll find us. I know he will. It feels like I’m running out of time.”
