Page 16 of Ho Ho Homicidal Mania
Nico raises his hands as if he’s an innocent. “Whatever happens, happens, but I mean adate. I’ll plan everything, you just have to bring an open mind and a joyful spirit. I promise there won’t be any dismemberment,” he adds quickly.
I laugh even as dread coils in my guts. “That would be preferable, I’m rather fond of all my limbs, digits, and appendages.”
Jesus. Will he now think of my cock as anappendage? Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut?
“And I’m fond of them too,” Nico’s eyes glide to the front of my tiny shorts and I suddenly feel so naked even the festive pajamas don’t seem so bad. “It would be a shame if you had to lose any as punishment for screaming when we go up.”
As terrifying as the not-veiled threat is, my heart pounds faster because he did say when not if.
“I’ll give you the passcode for my email. You can find the proof there and send it to yourself. We’ll have a mutual destruction pact to ensure we both behave. Does that sound fair?” I ask and stroke his palm to stimulate his dirty thoughts, because if I get stuck down here, he might never choose to let me go.
“My apartment is a bit messy…” he warns, but unless he’s sleeping on a bed of corpses, it will be preferable to the cot two storeys underground.
“That’s fine, I’m messy too,” I lie, though to be fair, I never needed to keep my place tidy, as the staff would do that for me. “I’m curious how you decorated it, since you put so much effort and thought into this,” I tell him, indicating the tacky trinkets around the cell.
He lights up, and while for all the wrong reasons, I have to admit his smile is pretty swoony. I wouldn’t be surprised if he spent his free time volunteering at a soup kitchen.
“Just a warning. I do only have one bed.”
What a fucking surprise.
Chapter 8
Blake
I am now reasonablysure that my kidnapper doesn’t want to outright kill me, which is a huge relief. Though if he does end up taking my life, I hope my head is found wrapped with the Christmas Killer’s vintage ribbon, so that I stay in the public consciousness as the next victim.
I can imagine my fellow podcasters expressing their not-so-genuine grief as they report on the serial killer’s revenge, while all that sweet ad money pours into their accounts. What would be the appropriate thing to advertise during a podcast or video discussing my death? A VPN service, so a dangerous individual cannot track you? A point-and-click murder mystery game? An online therapy service, to help deal with the trauma of listening to details about gruesome murders and whatever other mental health issues fans might be dealing with?
I know a few people who’d just sayfuck itand have a segment promoting microwavable meals before discussing violent crime. To each their own, and I won’t care once I’m dead anyway.
Nico did keep his word, and once he was satisfied with the contents of my phone, he gave me some privacy in the shower, which was a huge relief. A part of me suspects he might have been watching me through the keyhole, but I’m clean, I smell of Caribbean storm (at least that’s what it said on the bottle of shower gel I used) rather than sweat, and I’m no longer wearing the tight shorts/stockings combo. I detest the cheerful reindeer pattern on the cozy one-piece pajamas Nico left for me, but the garment is soft, warm, and not too tight around the hips, which is a giant improvement. I hope it means he does actually want to do more than perv on me at every opportunity.
I need to understand him better to play my part right. If he’s practically begging me for a date, then he does want to please me. Which means he won’t be throwing tantrums about not getting to fuck me yet. I can be his Scheherazade and draw out ourcourtingif that’s what he’s been fantasizing about. It’s hard to imagine him as a romantic, but okay I guess.
My heart is in my throat as Nico leads me up the same stairs which almost took me to freedom before.
“I prepared some of the food while you showered, even though it’s much later than I expected. You don’t mind eating late, do you?”
“I haven’t seen the sun since you brought me here. I have no idea how much time passed,” I say before I can stop myself, but he’s walking behind me through the warehouse full of boxes and decorative statues and doesn’t immediately grab me by the throat, which is… a positive. I wouldn’t go as far as thinking he wants the realme, but maybe he likes a challenge, since the date idea is his attempt at wooing me.
“Three days. You’ll see the sun tomorrow. In fact, you will have thebestday tomorrow. Like Christmas come early.” Nico smiles at me as we pass the flood of plushies and he pulls out a set of keys.
It’s happening. I’ve really managed to get out.
I willnotbe a basement-dwelling prisoner who loses his sight from the lack of vitamin A.
When I realize I’m feeling grateful to him for letting me out, I have to shake my head to force away the ridiculous thoughts. He trapped me there in the first place, and he’s no kind soul, but a psycho murderer.
I’m so antsy about leaving the underground that I can’t stay still and keep shifting my weight as Nico unlocks the exit before stepping into a short corridor. He switches on the light, grabs both my shoulders and leads me out of the hallway into…
Holy hell.
Golden lamps arranged in several spots around the cozy yet spacious interior finished with dark wood cast a warm glow on rows, piles, and racks of Christmas-related merchandise. It’s as if I’ve stepped into one of those tooth-decay-sweet holiday movies and entered Santa’s own workshop while the elves are all on break. It takes me a moment to realize that we are inside a… shop. Freedom is just outside the frost covered windows. I can see the street lamps, but as much as I want to seek help, I cannot afford another false start. Nico won’t give me a third chance, so I need to focus on milking his crush on me and seize the opportunity to escape when it presents itself.
The silence stretches between us, and as I notice that Nico’s watching me, I realize he craves a reaction.
“Wow,” is all I can give him. “This is… quite something.”
