Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Eli
One bullet. One dead man. And now my wreck of a life is spiraling out of control.
The bastard deserved it, but I’m just a regular guy. I botched the escape, and since I killed him while wearing a Santa costume, they call me the Festive Fugitive. Cute. Too bad I’ll be spending Christmas behind bars or in a body bag.
Then he appears. Cesar.
My dark salvation. A trained killer who looks at me as if I’m his personal miracle. I killed his boss, yet he says I did him a favor. He wants to protect me, claim me, cage me in his arms, and God help me… I let him.
Because what’s falling for a monster when there’s a manhunt hot on my tail and a target on my back?
Cesar
Taken as a child, I was turned into a loyal weapon. I killed, tortured, burned, and bled. I was respected and needed. Until I wasn’t.
When I lost an eye, my master pushed me aside, but as I waited for my ‘one last job’ so I could retire, Eli pulled the trigger.
I never expected some half-starved, grief-drunk civilian in a Santa outfit to free me, but that’s what happened.
Eli is everything I am not—fragile, impulsive, untrained. And yet he killed the man I was bound to. He doesn’t know it, but he owns me now.
He thinks I’m his protector, that I’ve taken him under my wing. But it’s more than that.
He’s mine. My obsession. My purpose. My beautiful, reckless mess of a man, and I’ll burn the world before I let anyone take him from me.
I guess Christmas came early for Eli this year.
★★★★★★★★★★
“Festive Fugitive” is a standalone M/M dark romance where a trained killer takes an amateur vigilante under his wing and gets increasingly obsessed with his new ward. (+Christmas crafts!)
Themes:Size difference, trained killer, snowed in, on the run, only one bed, hurt/comfort, revenge, loneliness, possessive hero, past trauma, brainwashing, dark humor, disabled hero, morally gray heroes, touch starved, free use (within the couple)
Violence, strong language, PTSD
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Cesar
You know how they say to not gift a puppy for Christmas? This rule should be extended to not giving away your child to erase a gambling debt, but my parents already did that, so I don’t get a vote.
At thirty-three, I’ve had a lifetime to resent the Holiday season, but this year is especially aggravating. This year was supposed to be the Christmas when I get my freedom back from the man who took me in, trained me, tortured me, and made me his favorite weapon.
The man who’s been refusing to take my calls and left my messages on ‘read’, communicating through an assistant who can never give me any information. I’ve killed, maimed, and bled for him, but since I lost my eye, I’ve only been given menial jobs that don’t make full use of my skills, nor are worthy of praise.
At first, I thought it was because I lost some muscle mass during the rehabilitation period, but I’ve been determined in my training, and I know I’m ready to buy my life out with a final deed. If only Sullivan lets me.
That is why I am here, enduring the greens, reds, and golds, the cheerful music that reminds me of the last time I saw my mother. The air smells of pine, but it’s an artificial aroma originating from diffusers, and the undertone of fakeness it carries makes the protein bar I’ve eaten rise in my throat. My artificial eye feels particularly alien in its socket tonight. I haven’t worn it for days, but Sullivan doesn’t like it when I walk around with an eyepatch, so I bear with the discomfort for the sake of putting him in a good mood.
Sullivan loves to show off, so he paid for this grand gala to celebrate him becoming the new mayor. As his bodyguard—my replacement—trails behind him, I can see the mistakes he’s making from my spot on the mezzanine. To think I was tossed aside in favor of such a rookie… If Sullivan had more brains than cruelty in him, he’d have at least three guys like Lyle guarding him. This asshole was far too busy glancing at a woman in a short red dress to spot the man passing far too close to Sullivan. She smells of expensive perfume I can sense all the way up here. Women are not the kind of prey I seek, but the click of heels she makes with every step? As enjoyable as the ticking of a well-timed bomb.
My job tonight is being on standby, which pretty much means doing nothing but remaining on call. I’ve had enough of that and I will talk to my boss. Face-to-face. I might have been a five-year-old sniveling kid when he took me in, but now I’m taller than him, bigger than him, meaner than him, and I could snap his neck if only—
Sullivan and Lyle disappear from my sight, so I move along to see them descend the stairs. They’re headed for the restrooms. Perfect.
Whatever happens, I will convince him to set me free, to let me enjoy a future I’ve been preparing for years now. It’s the least I deserve after everything I’ve sacrificed for him. I might not know the exact debt my parents accumulated, but my work must have long paid it off. With interest.
I will not be ignored.
I push my way through a sea of guests and staff, including the waiters in Santa outfits. I’d call the way silver beards cover their faces a security risk, but I guess it’s not my job anymore. I snarl at someone who pops a cracker filled with glitter right next to me, covering the whole arm of my black suit in shiny particles.
Someone’s camera flashes close by, and I stiffen as the hair on my nape bristles. For a terrible moment, I expect lightning to go through my body, but we’re indoors, the weather outside is as perfect as it can be in December, and I have no reason to fear a storm tonight, so I ball my hands into fists and offer the guy with the cracker a fake smile. My boss would resent me if I slit this bastard’s throat, but I wish I could do it anyway. At least it’s just my glorified uniform, not something I wear because I want to.
When I can, my style of choice is much more utilitarian. A soft hoodie, a fitted T-shirt, a bomber jacket allowing movement, and cargo pants with many pockets to hide weapons, paired with combat boots to crush people’s toes with ease.
I have to accept the civilian’s apology, because I don’t want to lose Sullivan in favor of an argument I don’t truly care about. Shiny tinsel hangs over the restroom doors, as if pissing in December was somehow different from doing it any other time of the year.