Christmas Obsession

by Darcy Rose

  The next day, Tony arrived at my door. He was a squat, intimidating man, wearing a pinstriped suit even though it was August at the time. I had been up all night, fretting about where my parents could be. I’d called the police several times, but they were no help. Tony informed me that my parents were dead, but he would make me a deal. If I never went public with who killed them and agreed not to sue, he would make sure I was protected and provided for the rest of my life.

  “It’s my nephew, you see,” he had said, waving his hands as if to dismiss the fact. “He is a good kid who makes some bad choices. But the Fontanas protect their family, no matter what. We’ll protect you too, Vincent.”

  He told me to sleep on it and handed me a full bottle of Ambiens.

  “I survived off those when my ma passed away,” he had said with a sympathetic glint in his eye. Even at sixteen, I had no illusions about what Tony was asking me to do. He was giving me a lifetime of financial security to forgive and forget his nephew killed my parents.

  I ended up taking the deal, but I never forgave nor forgot. Frederico still died at my hand. Sometimes, I think Tony knows, even though I made it look like an accident.

  For the first four years, until I turned twenty, Tony had me working small jobs. It didn’t make the big bucks, but it was enough to get by and allowed me to prove my loyalty and trustworthiness.

  One day, he told me he had something fun for me to do. He took me to the shooting range the same day. That short hour at the shooting range changed my life entirely. I hit every target perfectly.

  The next day, I carried out my first hit.

  Twelve years have gone by since then, and I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else. Yes, I’ve had men and women try to kill me. I’ve had near scrapes with death and moments I wasn’t sure I could pull through. But I did, every time. Lately, I’ve been thinking that maybe the reason I stayed alive was to find Faith. To save her.

  I shake the thoughts out of my head and snap back to the present. Dave Sobaski has apparently returned home as a warm light glows from behind his curtains. I can see the shadow of him moving inside his apartment, but it’s not nearly enough to get a clear shot. I’ll have to wait for him to open his curtains. Goddammit.

  Without taking my eyes off of the window of his apartment, I pull my phone from my coat pocket. I position the screen so I can still see Dave’s window and pull up the feed of Faith in her bedroom.

  She’s asleep on her bed. Facing me—well, the camera I installed in a picture frame facing her bed. Her hair falls slightly into her face. I watch her breathe up and down and wish I could curl my body around her.

  Suddenly, the screen freezes as a call comes through.

  It’s Tony.

  Confident that no one below will hear me, I answer the call, putting the phone to my ear. The wind is still howling around me, so I cup my hand over my mouth and the speaker to block the sound.

  “Well, Merry Christmas, Tony.”

  “You, too. Now, Vincent. Is it done yet?” he growls, getting straight to the point.

  “Not yet,” I respond, gritting my teeth. Tony gets in moods like this lately, where he believes that everything could be done better, even if you’re already the best at the job.

  Suddenly, Dave opens his window curtains.

  “Hang on, Tony. Clear shot,” I say into the phone before setting it on the ground and resuming my position with the rifle. Dave Sobaski is shirtless, leaning against his window, one cheek pressed right to the glass. Admiring the snow, no doubt.

  Dumb motherfucker.

  Trigger. Pull. Pssssh. A small crack.

  “Happy goddamned holiday,” I mutter under my breath as the bullet whizzes through the window.

  With a newfound hole in his forehead, Dave falls backward onto the floor of his rented room. I pick my phone back up.

  “All right, Tony. Done.”

  “Good. I need to talk to you about something.”

  I stop, not even asking what. I know Tony will continue on with or without my acknowledgment.

  “You’ve been distracted lately, Vincent. Not yourself. Is there something wrong?” He’s not asking me out of concern. The edge to his voice belays a threat. He doesn’t mean, tell me your troubles; he means stay in line.

  “I’m fine. I got the job done, didn’t I?”

  “You sure did. Just trying to watch out for you. Make sure there is no problem, you know.”

  “There is no problem,” I assure him, getting really pissed by how personal he is getting with me.

  “Good.” He hangs up without saying goodbye.

  An uneasy feeling is gnawing on me. Tony is acting off, and my mind immediately goes to Faith. If someone finds out about my obsession with her, she will be in danger, and that includes my boss. He would see her as my weakness, and that would be a weakness to him by default.

  Before I begin to pack up my rifle, I decide to delete the live feed app from my phone. On the drive home, I vow that I will delete it from my computer as soon as I arrive home.

  It pains me to give that up, but I will not put her in any danger.

  Time to quit. For Faith’s sake.

  7

  Faith

  After that disaster with David and Vincent, I’m too exhausted to function, so I go upstairs and into my room, where I flop down onto the bed. I lie looking up at my ceiling for a few minutes, reliving the bizarre front porch showdown again and again. It was shameful, but watching Vincent breathing hard, veins popping out of his neck, glaring at David like he wanted to kill him…well, it was terrifying. But it was also really, really hot. Part of me hoped that he would lose control, lift me over his shoulder, and take me across the street and into his house.

  I don’t know how he got into my yard so fast.

  Was he listening? Was he paying attention to me? No way. There’s no way he’s been looking at me just like I’ve been looking at him.

  Unless…he has been. Between how friendly he was last night and the way he spurned my mother…oh my god, those times I swore somebody was watching me.

  Was that him? Was I possibly not crazy?

  The thoughts swirl around in my head until they melt together, and I eventually nod off. I dream of the way Vincent glared at David, speaking to him as if he were no more than a bug on the bottom of his shoe. Vincent swooped in to protect me.

  No one’s ever protected me like that before.

  When I wake up, the house is empty, and Mom’s car is gone. I roll my eyes, figuring she’s gone out to find her own Santa Claus to get drunk with. Maybe this will be one of her longer benders, and I can have the house to myself for a while. A girl can dream, right?

  Sitting up in my bed and stretching, I remember that I have Vincent’s phone number now. Anytime I want to, I could call or text him. Just to hear his voice. Not that I would, though. That would make me look like a clingy girlfriend. God, we’re not even dating.

  I shake the last bits of sleep out of my head before standing up, grabbing my romance novel, and heading downstairs. I put on a pair of fuzzy snowman socks, pad down the stairs, and curl up on the couch in front of the Christmas tree.

  With the snow outside, the setting sun, and warm glow of Christmas lights, I feel cozy for once. This, honestly, is my ideal Christmas. Reading on the couch, no one to bother me, a beautiful tree to look at. I take a deep breath and relax, reading voraciously. Before I know it, I’m losing myself in the story.

  I’m nearly done with the Elf King novel but read slowly to take in every bit of depravity the king puts his peasant princess through. In the scene I begin with, he treats her to a full day of rejuvenating magical spa treatments, but she is forced to make love with every servant and Mage that applies the treatments on her. All while the Elf King watches.

  Even though the Elf King is described as wiry and blonde, I imagine Vincent’s bulging shoulders and dark eyes as I read. I imagine myself as the peasant girl, unmoored in a new world and discovering her blossoming sexualit
y. All for the viewing pleasure of a mighty, all-powerful king. Knowing that if she refuses, he will send her and her family back into poverty. Knowing that in order to survive, she must give in to his every whim.

  The idea of being submissive appeals to me. Maybe for no other reason than I would have no idea what to do in bed once I got there, but I think it is more than that. All my life, I’ve had to take care of myself.

  When I find a man to deflower me, I want to be taken care of. Maybe it’s weird, but I just really want a man to take control, to tell me what to do and when to do it. It seems so… freeing. Not to have to worry about anything because someone is taking care of you in every way.

  I slam the book shut and hide the cover under my thigh when I hear a key in the door. Ugh, Mom’s home. I can hear her drunken giggles as soon as she swings the door open, letting a beam of weak light into the hallway.

  “Fa-aa-ith!” she calls in a drunken singsong voice.

  I roll my eyes, confident that she can’t see me until she stumbles into view with a strange man on her arm. She’s still wearing the emerald green dress from last night, but now it’s so wrinkled and stained that it looks like she found it in the gutter. Or maybe laid in the gutter herself. The guy on her arm has his eyes half-open.

  I don’t know what it is about the guy. But the moment he walks in the room, my blood runs cold. He’s squat, with a good amount of bloating around his jaw. He leers at me drunkenly, but his eyes are too sharp—dark and cold. I don’t think he’s as drunk as Mom is. He might not be drunk at all.

  “Faithie, honey,” my mother slurs, one eye drooping half shut. She pats the guy’s face, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of me. “This is Franco. He’s Italian.”

  “Rico,” he says to me, lightly flipping the R sound.

  “Faith, this is Rico,” she says, stumbling to one side. “Rico, I’m gonna go get us some more wine, be riiiight back.”

  Mom pats his face and chest again before stumbling off. Rico stays standing in the entrance to the living room, leering at me with those cold eyes. With my mom out of sight, he apparently drops the drunkard act.

  “You’re very beautiful, Faith,” he says, and something about the cool tone in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. Every nerve ending screams get out of here, NOW!

  I stand quickly and decide to make a break for it, trying to walk as far around him as possible. He watches me the whole time, and I try to duck my head, but the moment I’m within his reach, he lunges forward and grabs me by the wrist. I yelp, but he puts another finger to his lips.

  “Wouldn’t want to alarm Margaret now, would you?” he croons, spittle flying onto my face. I try to jerk away from his grip, but he holds me tighter. Suddenly, his eyes land on my novel.

  “Please, let go of me,” I say, pulling away. He grabs my novel with one hand, and he inspects the cover, a painting of the half-naked peasant girl clinging to her king. His bushy eyebrows rise halfway up his face as he takes in the sultry cover.

  “The Making of a Princess,” he reads sarcastically. “You’re very naughty.”

  “Just let me leave, okay? You and my mom can do whatever you want. Just leave me out of it.”

  “No, no, no, sweetheart,” Rico purrs, tutting slightly. He brushes the book against my cheek, and I startle away, but he still has that grip on my wrist.

  “You see, sweetheart, your mother owes me a lot of money. I mean a lot. She will do anything to pay me back. Give me anything.”

  The way he’s growling sends shivers down my spine. His lips are shiny with spit, and though he’s no longer acting drunk, his breath is heavy with whiskey. Every possible warning bell is going off in my head as I realize I’m in serious trouble. My stomach twists into knots, and my pulse begins to race in my ears.

  “Okay, sure, great, please, let go of me,” I whimper. I want to gather up all my inner strength, but I’m just scared. There’s no strength to pull from. The past twenty-four hours have been such a rollercoaster, and I’m too exhausted to feel anything but fear. But I am shaking in my fuzzy socks, trying to get away from this man.

  “I’m afraid you don’t understand,” he says in an almost jovial tone, tilting his head forward to glare at me from beneath his brow. He’s not much taller than me but significantly stronger. He’s older, maybe in his mid-forties. The wrinkles on his face hint at heavy drug use. Or a hard life. Either way, I need to get away from him right now. But he doesn’t let go and continues lecturing me while my mom putters around in the kitchen.

  “You see, cara mia, I have a rather large appetite. So your mom made a deal with me. Once she and I have finished, I am going to make my way to you, and if you want to keep your home, you will satisfy me.”

  My blood runs cold when I realize what’s happening. My mom, possibly intentionally, has whored me out.

  “If you lock your door, princesa, I will ruin your mother’s life. And yours. I am very well connected. Understand?”

  “Yoohoo, Rico!” my mother calls from the kitchen. He does not let go or stop staring at me.

  “Be right there, cara mia!” he calls back, bringing the drunken tone back into his voice. At long last, he releases his grip on my wrist, and I run instinctively to the stairs. It was fight or flight, and I had chosen flight. Hot tears stream down my face as I take the stairs two at a time, only wanting to get away from that bloated creep.

  Once in my room, I slam the door behind me and sink to the ground, back against the door. Could he be bluffing? Maybe he only wanted to scare me, all bark and no bite.

  But as much as I tried to convince myself, I knew that wasn’t true. When I looked into his eyes, there was no empathy. No humanity. He had the blank, soulless stare of a shark. In my soul, I knew he wasn’t bluffing.

  A full-on sob racks my body as I realize just how awful this situation is. My mother pimped me out to pay her debts. At best, she’s brought home somebody incredibly dangerous. If I don’t let this man take me like a piece of meat, we’ll lose everything. Everything! I’m crying into my hands, trying to stay quiet and unnoticed. I can hear my mom and Rico laughing drunkenly downstairs, and it chills me to the bone. How he’s fooled her. Or she sees through him and doesn’t care. What did I do to deserve such a loveless life?

  But what do I do?

  I feel trapped. I could leave the house while Rico is distracted with my mother. Run down the hall, out the door, drive far, far away. But where would I go? How would I pay my way? My only job experience was a semester of work-study in the dining hall.

  “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” I mutter under my breath, feeling panic rise and take over. I’ve never been good with fear. I can’t keep my head. Thoughts race through my mind too fast for me to even understand, and the sound of Franco’s laughter downstairs.

  Suddenly, I remember something. Something I have now.

  A protector.

  I pull out my phone and dial.

  8

  Vincent

  My cock has been hard for hours, and even though I keep jerking off, it doesn’t seem to go down. I keep replaying this morning in my mind; when I watched Faith make herself come. Hearing her sweet voice moaning my name when she climaxed has the same effect on me as half a bottle of Viagra. Only there is no hotline for me to call for the erection that lasts more than four hours.

  I’m about half an hour away from home when my phone rings, interrupting my train of thought. I’m thankful for the distraction, as I had been mired in self-pity at having to give up on Faith.

  Tony’s voice reverberates through my skull, telling me over and over that I’ve been acting distracted. Not doing my work as well. Not hiding my obsession. Christ, it probably meant that Faith had already seen through me, too. She wasn’t stupid. All our interactions so far had only seemed good because I was wearing rose-colored glasses. She knew. She knew I was a creep.

  I don’t recognize the number flashing on my car’s LCD display, but the area code is local. My cell line is incredibly secure, so this perso
n must know me. I reach out and tap my phone screen to answer the call. As soon as it connects, the sound of heavy, panicked breathing plays from my car speakers.

  “Hello?” I ask, turning the volume knob down slightly.

  “Vincent?”

  My heart leaps into my throat, and I almost brake in the middle of the highway. It’s Faith. She sounds terrified. Panic has taken over her whole voice, her breath, her mind. Immediately, I put more pressure on the gas, pushing seventy.

  Just when I swore off her for good…

  “Faith?” I say in a low voice, not sure that my phone even picks it up.

  “Vincent, I need your help,” she whimpers. “You said to call you if I need anything, and I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “Of course. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “There’s a man here. My mom—” she chokes on the words, letting out a hushed sob. My whole chest lights with fire as I realize she’s in danger. That whore Margaret has put her in danger.

  “I’m scared…” Her words hit me like a semi-truck leaving behind a deep ache in my chest.

  All I want to do is wrap her in my arms and keep her sheltered from everything that could ever scare her. I have to save her. Then I’ll let go. This is the last time, I swear. Faith lets out another keening cry, and my jaw clamps shut.

  “I’m on my way, Faith. I promise. It’ll be okay.”

  She sniffles, taking in a sharp breath. I can hear raucous laughter behind her, and my blood boils. How dare Margaret laugh when her own daughter is scared out of her mind. How dare she. I nearly stomp on the brakes as my speedometer passes seventy-five, eighty, eighty-two…

  “My mom owes him a lot of money, and he said he’s going to…he’s gonna come into my room—” her voice breaks, and she sobs again, then shushes me. “They’re upstairs, don’t talk,” she whispers.