Page 25 of Wicked Mistletoe

I’m almost there. Almost. Just a few more seconds, and I’ll let Rafael have it, give him a piece of my mind and?—

“What the actual fuck?”

My jaw drops as I drive up to my destination. Did I take a wrong turn? I glance around the street in confusion, but no, I’m at the right place. Even if I hadn’t been reliving this hellscape inmy dreams the past few years, I’d remember it. That’s the curse and blessing of having a brain that’s wired like mine—I rarely forget anything.

But what isthis?

Where there should be a crumbling warehouse, a hub of nightmares and criminal activity, there’s a… supermarket? A massive, gleaming supermarket. Huh? But when my gaze locks onto the name blazoned across the front, my heart does a complicated little dance, and I know it was all Rafael’s doing.

AZALEA’S.

My middle name. He built a goddamn supermarket with my name on it. Right where my world shattered into a million pieces. I pinch myself, hard, because this has to be some kind of twisted dream. But nope, I’m awake.

And I’m out. I’m not doing this.I can’t do this. I’m about to throw the car into reverse, sanity finally kicking in, when my phone chimes.

Rafael: Three minutes to eight. The door is unlocked,piccola. I’m waiting.

In that very instant, I understand just how worried I should be about the hold Rafael has on me. Because despite my reservations, my better judgment, and okay,fear, I’m parking and out of the car.

I need answers.

My brain starts buzzing with agitation as I approach the supermarket, but I try to drown out the panic by admiring the strong, modern structure.Maybe it’s not so bad, a small voice whispers,to have something named after you.A middle finger to the demons of the past.

I pause in front of the thick, double glass doors, taking a bracing breath before pushing them open.

Inside, darkness greets me, broken only by the faint glow of street lights filtering through the windows. A shiver of uneasesnakes down my spine. I stand stock-still, forcing air into my lungs as I squint at the signs hovering above the shelves. Each aisle is meticulously labeled, but it’s the mistletoe dangling from the ceiling that makes me frown.

On my right, the checkout registers sit in eerie silence, and next to them an enormous Christmas tree looms ominously in the empty space. It should feel festive, but in the deserted supermarket, it just feels… wrong. My skin prickles. Through the dim lighting, I can make out bright, cheerful cherry walls, and beneath my feet the once grime-covered concrete floor is now gleaming tile, polished to a shine that reflects the faint light.

It’s all wrong. Nothing at all like the gloomy warehouse that once served as a criminal hotbed. Now, it’s been cleaned, dressed up in a false mask of normalcy. But I can feel it. Underneath the fresh paint and shiny surfaces, the memories are still here… buried but not forgotten.

A dark chill settles at the base of my spine as I walk deeper inside, eyes darting around with every sense on high alert. Suddenly, a huge, monstrous shadow appears in front of me, and my heart jumps to my throat. Fear skitters through my body like phantom nails racking down my skin as the monster approaches me.

I don’t think—there’s no time. Training kicks in, overriding terror. My hand flies to my holster as I plant my feet, refusing to give ground. In one fluid motion, I pull out my gun, flick off the safety, and aim directly at the monster’s heart.

“Stop right there!” I command, proud that my voice comes out strong.

But the shadow keeps advancing until the tip of my gun is pressed against solid flesh. Then… it chuckles.

“Very brave,amorina.”

Rafael.

A dizzying wave of relief hits me, and I sway a little as I take a step back from him, lowering my weapon and flipping the safety back on. “You’re sick,” I hiss, willing my heart to crawl out of my throat and back into my chest where it belongs.

What the hell is wrong with him? Luring me here, to the source of my deepest traumas, only to try and scare the living crap out of me? And what the hell is wrong withmethat now, with the fear receding, a familiar heat begins to simmer low in my belly?

“We’ll talk about how quickly and efficiently you pulled that gun out later,” he comments, sending alarm bells off in my brain.Shit. Shit. Shit.The Emilia he used to know didn’t even know how to hold a gun. I just slipped up. Big time.

Before I can spiral into all-out panic about potentially blowing my cover, he continues. “But right now, we have more important things to discuss. Have you thought about my offer?”

I roll my eyes, trying to mask my relief as I re-holster my gun. “Is that why you dragged me back to this cursed place?”

“It’s not cursed anymore. I cleared up the ashes of your nightmare and made it into something new—a place where people can find happiness.”

My heart stutters, swelling in my chest as I watch him in the half-light. I already knew he did it for me, but hearing him confirm it… “Why would you do that?”

“Because I couldn’t stand to have the ground remain the same after what happened. That’s not why we’re here, though. I want to add to my offer. I know you still have nightmares about that night. I want to make them stop. What if I told you I could do that for you?”

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