All I Want for Christmas Is Revenge (Murder and Mistletoe, #1)

by K.A. Merikan

Obviously, had I known he’d lost his whole family during a home invasion and house fire, I wouldn’t have let myself in, I’m not a psycho.

I could hardly believe it when he shot at me through the door. The excitement of finding out he had the guts to do that was a close second to seeing him naked. So much passion lay dormant in that compact body raked with scars, and I now long to unearth it all. So. Damn. Much.

Because now I’m determined to make him mine, and I will grant him the kind of revenge he’s never even dreamed of. But my prey is skittish and needs to become acquainted with me first. By the time we develop enough trust for me to reveal my true self, he will be ready to accept me as I am. He doesn’t need to know that he’s mine already.

he makes me feel an urgency that tingles in my gums and makes me want to close my fingers around his neck. Gently. But firmly, so he knows who he belongs to.

“If you just give me some time…” I whisper pressing into him, helpless against my fears. “Oh, God, I want you so much.” I can hardly believe I said that out loud, but it feels so natural to be honest about it.

It’s only when I hear an engine stop not far behind me that the inadequacy of my escape becomes painfully obvious.

why did you turn into a dead end forest road and get out of the car? lol

“God, you're pretty. It’s okay. All of this is for you. This cabin, the bath,” he adds, dipping his hand in to check the temperature of the water. “Me.”

A head. He’s got a fucking human head in a bag and he’s showing it off like a cat bringing me a dead mouse.

“I want a partner who won’t leave.” ‘Whatever I do’ seems to be the rest of that sentence. “I want access to you, be it for a cuddle, or to fuck your brains out.”

How the hell am I getting aroused when there’s a motherfucking head with us in the bathroom?

He’s right back with me and gently dabs my face with a tissue as if he’s not a man with a head in his fridge.

Saint smirks. “That’s a new achievement for me. Making a man come so hard he gets a nosebleed.”

But no matter how beautiful he is, I’m painfully aware that he’s fucking deranged. Which is either terrible or exactly what I need in a man.

“No, no allergies. I do hate beetroot though.” What a cute random fact to learn about my new boyfriend.

I give you my word that I will dispatch them all for you. With or without your participation. That’s your call.”

And… do you have any wishes for Ted’s head?” I ask, nodding toward the fridge. He stalls, glancing in that direction. “Can I… hurt it? I mean, I know he’s dead, but can I… stab it in the eye?

Oh, we truly are meant to be. “Yes. He’s yours. You can stab him, we can turn his skin into a lampshade, or anything you want.”

“You’re really something else. Cooks well, kills people, amazing dick, what else could I want in a boyfriend?”

“You have a murder board,” Saint says, putting away the scrapbook and coming closer so he can see the collage of pictures and text hidden behind the deer painting from up close.

I shake my head and take Ted’s photo off my murder board. Because he’s dead. Eliminated.

I can imagine waking up in a strange place, in a room covered with sheets of plastic and dolls watching you from behind the translucent film would make anyone frantic. I didn’t put the toys in the room to freak him out. The small nursery just happens to be the farthest away from the living room and least in use.

I put the mug of chocolate down on a side table and take a step closer. “You need momentum, baby. It’s hard to stab without a good swing.”

“I like baking. Killing is what pays for the flour and eggs.”