Page 76 of Don't Shoot Me Santa

Then drove his knee into his groin.

A sharp, instinctive strike fuelled by a thousand buried nights.

Blackwell folded with a strangled sound, gasping. Aaron stepped back, breath ragged, keycard still clenched in his fist. Knuckles white. Hewantedto do more. Felt the urge burning through him. To tear the man apart for eventhinkinghe could touch him.

His teeth ground together. His whole body ready to ignite.

But the monster inside him, the one born from blood and survival, had been softened.

Tamed by gentler hands.

Meaning he was cornered.

Chapter thirteen

Perfect For Me

Kenny turned into the dog shelter’s gravel drive, headlights slicing through the encroaching dark. The car park appeared deserted, coated in silence beneath a low-hanging winter sky. Everything felt still. Watchful.

Only one car sat in a marked bay. A sleek black Range Rover, gleaming with polished chrome and quiet menace, frost starting to crack along the windscreen. Money oozed from every curve. That was a car bought to be seen. Kenny didn’t need to ask who it belonged to.

The new CEO.

The previous one had been different. She’d founded the shelter, encouraged Aaron to take a job, handing him purpose when he needed something to hold on to. She’d driven a battered Ford Transit, took minimum wage, and funnelled every spare penny back into the dogs. Warm. Practical. Unpretentious.

This? This was power dressed in vanity.

Kenny didn’t need a meeting to know it. That car told him everything.

He pulled in facing the main doors, realising now whyAaron had been off lately. Then he noticed Chaos tied to the post outside the office. Alone. His tail tucked low, ears pinned flat, body rigid with tension. Eyes fixed on the building.

So he killed the engine and stepped into the freezing air, breath misting as he buttoned his coat and wound his scarf tight. Snow was coming. He could feel it in the wind’s sting, the cold damp kiss on his cheeks. This far end of the island wasn’t the place to get snowed in. Their cottage by the sea wasn’t exactly winter-proof either. He should’ve picked up a shovel from Gerald at the Forager’s Table when he was there for supplies earlier, but that thought slipped away as Chaos let out a single, high-pitched bark.

He jogged over and crouched. “Hey, boy.” He ruffled his ears, then unclipped the lead from the post, stood and squinted through the office window, shielding his eyes from the glare of the headlights.

Nothing but darkness inside.

“Where is he, eh?” he asked the dog.

Chaos whined.

Kenny tried the door. Locked. Of course. Locked unless you had a keycard. Which he didn’t. He clucked his tongue. “Come on.”

He jerked his head towards the car and led Chaos across the gravel where he opened the back door. The dog jumped in without protest, but as Kenny closed it behind him, Chaos whined a low, heart-tugging sound and sat up at the window, ears flicking, eyes on the building. Waiting.

A sharp, jarring bang cracked through the air, spinning Kenny around.

Behind the glass doors, half-shrouded in shadow and clawing to get out, Aaron yanked the handle and, although the glass barrier muffled his voice, Kenny heard every word. Cutting clean and precise, a scalpel through stillness.

“Stay the fuck away from me!”

The doors burst open, and Aaron stumbled out as if shoved from a ledge, legs tangled in panic, eyes wild. There was no grace in his movements. Only terror. Raw. Feral. Panic in full command.

Kenny’s heart slammed into his ribs. Chaos barked sharply, tethered and alarmed, but before the doors could shut, a man Kenny would bet was Blackwell slapped a hand to the pane and pushed them open.

“Aaron!” he called, sharp with exasperation, as if this scene, Aaron’s unravelling, was a mere inconvenience. A tantrum to be quelled.

Aaron threw up his middle finger and spat, “Fuck off,cunt!”