Page 23 of Dark Christmas

Part of me wants to grab my motorcycle and chase him down—no doubt I’d catch up—my bike being faster and more relentless than he could ever hope to be. But I can’t do that. Not with Amelia still inside, no doubt terrified after what just went down. I grit my teeth, pushing the impulse aside as I hurry back into the house.

As I pass the front door, I notice the shattered glass from the window next to it. That’s how they got in. Amateurs. If they’d been professionals, they wouldn’t have needed to break a window to get inside, and they certainly wouldn’t have let it turn into a chaotic, botched attempt like this. The plan was sloppy— sneak in and take me out while my guard was down.

They greatly miscalculated.

But none of that matters now. Only Amelia does.

I rush into the kitchen to find her in a daze, her eyes unfocused and wide, as if she’s still processing everything. Her body doesn’tappear as tense and her breathing is shallow. The adrenaline is clearly wearing off.

I crouch beside her, my voice calm and quiet. “Amelia, are you okay?”

At first, she doesn’t respond, but then her hands start to shake, her breath quickens, and I can tell panic is creeping in. Her breath comes in short, panicked bursts, and her eyes dart around the room, not really focusing on anything.

"Oh my God, oh my God," she mutters, her voice shaky. "He, he could’ve killed me. I thought I was going to die. I really thought—"

She chokes on her words, tears spilling down her cheeks as she grips the countertop like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Her hands are trembling so badly that she starts rubbing them together as if she’s trying to get rid of the fear crawling under her skin. "I can’t... I can’t stop shaking. I don’t even know how to—" She stifles a sob, her voice breaking.

I move closer, placing my hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her down. “You’re safe now,” I say. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise.”

She’s struggling to pull herself together, and I can see a lump forming on her head from where the man hit her. A fresh wave of rage burns through me. That motherfucker’s days are numbered. He’ll regret ever laying a hand on her. But I push that anger down for now. She needs me to be focused.

“Look at me,” I say firmly, and she meets my eyes. I make her follow my finger back and forth, checking for any signs of a concussion. She’s shaken, but responsive. “You’re okay,” I tell her.

I place one hand on her back, one on her chest, guiding her through each breath. “Breathe with me. Slow and steady.” She starts to match my rhythm, her breaths coming a little slower, more controlled.

Her body begins to relax but I don’t let go, keeping her close.

She’s slowly calming down, her breathing becoming more even as the panic fades. I’m confident she doesn’t have a concussion, but I ask anyway, needing to hear it from her. "Does your head still hurt?"

She nods slightly as she wipes her eyes. "A little, but it’s getting better.” She looks at me with a curious expression on her face. "How do you know how to check for a concussion?"

I pause for a moment before answering. "I’ve had experience with them before."

Her eyes search mine before she finally blurts out, "What the hell just happened? Did you really kill someone?"

I know she has many questions, and I have to stop myself from smirking at the irony of it all. Although this night wasn’t planned, once she agreed to stay for dinner, I’d hoped to keep it simple, keep things light between us. But instead, she unexpectedly got thrown into the deep end of my world without warning. She’s already seen too much.

I see she’s waiting for an answer, but now’s not the time. Not yet. "I can explain, but for now, I think it’s best if you go upstairs and sit for a moment."

She nods, and I help her to her feet, noticing that she’s handling this better than most people would.

I guide her upstairs, sitting her down on the edge of my bed. Then I grab a glass from the bathroom and fill it with water, taking it to her and placing it in her hands. She drinks slowly.

Her breathing is almost back to normal though there’s still tension in her eyes. I sit beside her, keeping my hand on her back, letting her know I’m here.

She’s quiet for a moment as she gathers herself, then she looks up at me, her voice small but determined. “I want to go home.”

I understand her need to be somewhere familiar, somewhere she deems safe. But she has no idea what she’s dealing with.

“You can’t,” I say, my voice definitive. Her eyes widen, and I see the confusion creeping back in. “That man who got away knows where you live. He and others might come for you to get to me.”

She looks away, biting her lip like she’s trying to process it all, but I don’t give her time to argue. “You have to stay here, Amelia. With me. I’m the only one who can keep you safe.”

Her head snaps back up, eyes locking on mine, and I can see defiance in her eyes. She’s not used to being told what to do, but this isn’t negotiable.

I kneel in front of her and lower my voice, leaving no room for discussion. “It’s the only way I can make sure nothing happens to you.”

She looks like she’s about to argue, but I can see the reality of the situation hitting her. She knows this isn’t something she can fight alone. She’s in real danger, and she knows I’m right.