Festive Fugitive – Murder and Mistletoe Read Online K.A. Merikan

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Dark, M-M Romance, Mafia Tags Authors: K.A. Merikan Advertisement

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But then I got close, saw the opportunity, and made the split-second decision.

Now, here we are.

My bullets skewer into his chest, and for a second, I’m frozen like the expensive ice sculptures on the tables.

All it takes is the screams erupting for me to turn around despite my brain being as empty as a bauble.

What a fuck up.

What have I done?

Sullivan deserved it, but did I ruin what’s left of my sorry life? I’m only twenty-five.

Is… everything over for me?

I suppose it’s not like I have anywhere to go to enjoy Christmas this year. Might as well spend the festive season in jail. Har-har.

Guests flee. Others duck under the large tables, but it’s all a blur. The only sharp point ahead is a corridor I can use as my quickest way out of here, as if my lizard brain activated to increase the chance of survival.

Fat fucking chance.

A security officer darts my way like a quarterback speeding for the touchdown. I might be tall, but months of undereating means I’m skinny as fuck. If that bulldozer gets his hands on me, I’m done. But just as he’s about to clash with me, I hear a gunshot, and he falls on his face with a sickening crack.

Who made that shot?

Tumbling past me, the officer slaps my shin with his arm, and that jerks me out of my stupor.

The speakers still blast ‘Jingle Bells’ when I set off past a row of Christmas trees with decorations referencing various countries of the world. A table crowded with soft drinks is in my way, but it can’t hold me back. Plastic bottles, cups, and jugs collapse like bowling pins, but just as I reach the other end, damp but whole, a gang of elves descends on me out of nowhere.

I swear that in the corner of my eye I see another Santa being tackled, so at least my disguise is of some use, even if the red stands out like Rudolph’s nose.

I make an instant turn when the men in green costumes close in on me. It would have been a hilarious scene if I hadn’t shot Arthur Sullivan point-blank.

A tower of gift boxes, as tall as a Christmas tree, becomes my target. When I slam into it, some of them fall on me, but most topple behind me. The elves fall over like characters in some gruesome sequel to Home Alone. In my case, it would be called Homeless Alone.

The elves are yelling something, one even manages to jump over the mound of presents, but I turn my gun at him while running, and he falls to the ground. I don’t intend to shoot anyone else, but I’ll do what I can to get to my car.

I have no illusions about what’s to happen next.

I’ve fucked up big time.

I’ve fucked up so bad, I might as well consider my life over.

But even though it might be for the best if I give myself up now, something inside prompts me to try the impossible and run.

There will be a manhunt, with helicopters, trained dogs, and hundreds of cops, and I can’t see freedom in my future, but some tiny voice at the back of my head whispers that there’s always a chance. Camping out in the deep, deep woods no one ever goes to. Or, somehow evading capture and settling in a country with no extradition treaty with the US. For that, I’ll need way more money than my meager belongings are worth, but there’s no point counting my chickens before they’re hatched.

All I know now is I need to keep moving. To change my appearance and disappear.

Inflatables depicting festive creatures stare at me, jeering as I dash past them, bursting through the door only used by staff, then down the hallway, straight for the exit.

I don’t know how, but I’ve managed to lose my pursuers. Even the exit sign above the door seems to be winking at me with its wonky light.

For the split second when I slam into the door, I expect it to be locked, but no, I burst into the cold air outside, and not a soul awaits me here. No cops yet, only the twinkling lights on a row of giant Christmas trees.

I sprint through the dark parking lot like a madman and reach my car in record time. I didn’t even know I could run this fast. I rip my beard off on the way, and my jacket is already open when I get to my belongings in the back seat. I did plan for an escape, so I’m fully dressed under the Santa outfit. All I need to do in order to not appear immediately suspicious is take it off, and put on a jacket.

I change faster than Superman in a telephone booth, and I’m behind the wheel of my junk ride in no time, high on adrenaline.

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