Page 18 of Ho Ho Homicidal Mania
“Did you underestimate what your face and body can do to people?” He turns to a corner filled with much darker colors and I spot the Christmas Killer merch right next to a whole array of Grinch-themed products.
My mouth dries as I follow the harmonious lines of Nico’s back, identifiable even under the shirt. He has a beautiful shoulder-to-hip ratio, and for a moment I’m almost tempted to step closer and smell his top where the fabric dips between the shoulder blades. If I’d met him anywhere else, I could have been persuaded to give him my first-ever blowjob. Hell, I might have been the one doing the persuading.
But while I need him to like me enough to spare my life, I don’t want him to become possessive. This game is already far too dangerous without him on top of me.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit on-the-nose?” I ask, following him to the Christmas Killer’s corner, which features everything from T-shirts to mugs. “If you ended up tied to the murders somehow, the merch might be a giveaway.”
“Nah, people like you, Cryptic Boy, come here all year round. In the summer, these are actually some of our bestsellers. If I were able to reveal my identity, I could have been married to one of my fans by now.”
He’s just showing off to make me jealous.AmI jealous?
“And,” Nico goes on, picking up a black T-shirt with a grin. “One hundred percent cotton.”
I take the T-shirt, scrambling in the heat of his gaze. What is he trying to say? That he wants me to become his husband in the future and support his bloody endeavors? I’m not the marrying kind even if I could get on board with vigilante justice.
My heart beats faster, and I curl my toes as a wave of his scent reaches my nose. All this would be infinitely easier if I wasn’t a horny virgin. I need to redirect my thoughts. Now.
“So, you profit from your kills?”
The black top is stylized to look like a band T-shirt with a cartoon head wrapped in ribbon and a list of murder dates on the back alongside locations.
Is it better than a festive onesie? I’m not sure.
“No, I profit from T-shirts,” he says with a sneaky grin I’m finding weirdly endearing. Maybe it’s the edge of danger hanging over me like a guillotine, or just the contrast between my current situation and the one I was in two days ago that’s making me such a sucker for him.
“Or this one?” he suggests, showing a top that saysI met the Christmas Killer and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.
“Can I get them both for free?” I ask, meeting his gaze. He is a dangerous animal, and it would be unwise to make myself appear too weak.
It’s as though he’s been waiting to shower me with gifts. Not only do I get those two, but three more, a pair of Grinch pajama pants, a big green hoodie from the eco section, and cozy socks.
In the end, we leave the store with a whole pile in my arms. I suppose it makes sense for him to offer me something from his own store rather than paying way more someplace else, but I still want to roll my eyes at the hoodie featuring a very angry Krampus. Ah well, at least it’s not an elf.
As it turns out, Nico lives in the attic above his shop. I take note of the easy-to-open lock on the door and follow my host into his apartment, which is surprisingly pleasant after half an hour of the Christmas cacophony in the shop.
A massive skylight reveals a clear sky covered in stars, and Nico turns on fairy lights, which decorate the whole living room with a warm orange glow. The sloped wooden ceiling makes the place seem small, but the rustic kitchen area has enough room for a sofa. A Christmas tree adorned with green and red baubles is the main feature next to a table with two chairs, already set for dinner just as beautifully as the fake one in the shop. I only now realize how hungry I am, and the smell of potatoes with gravy makes me salivate.
When I spot the wrapped boxes piled up under the tree, I forget for a moment that I’m a prisoner here. And while, it seems, I can’t escape the most lonely of holidays for the duration of my stay, I intend to be a graciousguest. I wonder if there’s a phone inside the apartment, or if I’ll need to sneak out into the store once Nico falls asleep. For now though, all I want is to fill my stomach with savory food, because I can’t live on milk and cookies.
“And you live on your own?” I ask, trying to gauge what I’m dealing with.
He pulls out a chair for me like the perfect gentleman and rushes off to the kitchen counter, locking the door on the way. Of course.
“Yes, but I’d love to share it with someone special one day.” Nico winks at me as he puts on a green apron with his name on it in a whimsical font. For half a second I toy with the idea of being his boyfriend. How would such a life even look like? Would this love-bombing eventually stop, replaced by encroaching violence, as it often happens? Or would he always stay like he appears now, a maniac with a knife on December nights, and a perfect partner at any other time?
“How about you? Do you live with your brother?”
I’m surprised that he’d care, but I pour myself some water from the bottle in the middle of the table and take a sip. “Technically. He divides most of his time between New York, Austin, and LA. But he visits me almost every month,” I say, stumbling over the last word when Nico folds his sleeves, once again revealing the thick forearms. They look as strong as they felt.
He carves the turkey for us with the proficiency I’d expect from someone who claims to cook it once a month. I’m reminded of the saw cutting through my abductor’s neck and strangely enough, now that I’m removed from the situation, the memory doesn’t even make me lose my appetite. What if something’s wrong with me too? I’ve always kept the extent of my interest in true-crime from my brother, because I know it’s a bit morbid, and Idon’t want him to worry for no good reason, but I think my tolerance for seeing violence is higher than most people’s.
“Oh, so you’re not close?” Nico asks and puts a generous pile of mashed potatoes on both plates. “Are you out to him? Or did he not know what club you went to?”
I stick my finger in the hot potatoes and bring some to my mouth. They’re creamy, soft, and so heavenly I find myself grunting. “Um… no no, we are close! We often send each other memes and stuff. And he knows I’m gay. Other people aren’t lucky to have such accepting families, but he was actually the one to help me get the fake ID. Said it would be better if I got to meet other gay men in real life rather than online.”
Nico places a feast-on-a-plate in front of us both, takes off the apron and lights a few candles on the table.
I think my hormones are messing with me after the ordeal I’ve been through so far, because my chest gets all warm and fuzzy. Who would have thought the Christmas Killer could treat me to a better dinner than my own family?
