Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Saint
Being a hitman is the loneliest of jobs. We don’t have many friends. Some don’t even have family. Lovers? Try explaining to your boyfriend why there’s blood on your shirt.
Christmas is the worst time to be alone, but this year, love is on the cards for me. All thanks to a letter I found in the street.
It reads, “Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is revenge…”
At first, I’m intrigued by the words, the grisly details, and the rage steaming off the page. The author doesn’t know it yet, but we are a perfect fit. His bloodthirst is equal to mine, his creativity in coming up with ways to kill is admirable, and when I track him down, I instantly fall for the wrath in his dark eyes.
His wish is my command, if he’s ready to pay the price - being mine.
Rowan
My therapist always tells me I should let go of my pain and rage. But I don’t want to let go. I want the men who attacked my family dead.
I just never thought I’d get my wish granted. But there’s a catch. The handsome monster who abducts me to his lair wants me as his payment.
Me, the strange loner filled with bitterness and sarcasm. Me, who never even had a boyfriend. Me, with my cane and irrational fears.
But I’d sell my soul to the Devil for revenge, so I might as well offer my body to a seductive assassin. After all, he cooks well, kills people, buys me bath bombs… What else could I want in a boyfriend?
***
“All I want for Christmas is Revenge” is a standalone M/M dark romance where an obsessive hitman desperate for love zeroes in on a young man willing to trade his life for revenge. (+Cute Christmas dates!)
Themes and tropes: Size difference, assassin, mistrust, snowed in, small town, revenge, loneliness, illicit arrangement, possessive hero, past trauma, dark humor, abduction, first love, soulmates, age gap, disabled hero, morally gray
Warnings: Kidnapping, violence, gore, stalking, strong language, and steamy, explicit scenes
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Saint
My uncle should have warned me being a hitman is the loneliest of jobs. The only people who get to see the real me? My marks. And I never get to enjoy much time in their company.
But it is what it is.
“How do you like your steak? It’s a pretty good cut, so I assume… rare?” I ask, basting the chunk of meat with herby butter while the gentleman sitting by the table grunts into the clean tea towel I stuffed into his mouth earlier.
Ugh, such an ugly sound.
“My thoughts exactly,” I say, careful to not splash any of the fat on my white shirt.
After almost twenty years in this line of work, I should know better than to wear white, but it just looks so good against my tan I end up with it more often than not. What can I say? I like the finer things in life, and a crisp white shirt is my indulgence. I don't have a boyfriend to spoil so I might as well buy myself a new shirt after every job.
The scent of the meat fills the kitchen, making me salivate. I am always happy to give someone a proper sendoff rather than just end things with a quick jab of the needle or an unexpected twist to their neck. There is something poetic in a person getting to contemplate all the mistakes they made in life, as well as wonder about the good things that will never happen. And as I plate the steak alongside a serving of potatoes and a salad, I'm regretful I can’t afford to let my victim have a final bite of delicious food.
Then again, he was the one who chose to reside in an apartment building in the middle of town, and I’m not letting him spoil my afternoon by shouting for help.
“I haven’t dined in company for a while. Can you believe it?” I ask, taking a seat across from my mark, whose bloodshot eyes regard me frantically, as if he still believes there’s a way out of this. Then again, civilians often do. They imagine themselves as action heroes capable of untangling my knots and then somehow escaping the clutches of a professional killer.
Obviously, if that kind of thing ever happened, I'd be out of a job.
Daryl, because that’s the name of the guy who picked the meat I’m going to have for dinner tonight, huffs, and a bit of saliva dribbles down his chin, having soaked through the bundle of fabric.
I shrug, starting with the salad as I regard him. “Thank you for noticing. I am quite handsome. Tall, dark-haired, firm muscles, amazing eyes… Oh, I get laid, all right, but it’s tough to date in my line of work. Suppose straight hitmen have it easier?” I ask.
The panic in his eyes makes me laugh, and he rattles in the chair as if he thinks I might want something sexual from him just because I’m gay.
“You’re not even my type, so don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s just…” I glance at the snow falling outside the window. It shimmers like glitter in the glow of street lamps. “I don’t know what it is about Christmas time, but it always makes loneliness feel more pronounced. People go pick trees together, drink hot chocolate in cafes, and frantically buy last-minute gifts. The irony, right? All this money I saved up over the years, and no one to buy a present for.”
Even the delicious steak tastes somewhat bitter.
Daryl grunts into the gag, no doubt telling me something about ‘having a family’, and I shake my head, cutting into the steak. The juices make the meat look delectable, and I groan with pleasure as I bite in. “See, that’s the problem. That dog you poisoned? It was Mrs. Walker’s only family. She’s right not to let that go. My uncle took out the people who killed our remaining family. And when he died, I avenged him too. It’s what makes the world tick. Don‘t you think it’s poetic that you’ll also die by poison?”
Daryl’s forehead shines with sweat but he tries breathing through his nose to calm down. That won’t change his fate either.
“What? You’re sorry?” I contemplate that for a while between one bite and another. “First of all, I don’t think you are. Second, too little too late. That dog died in her arms. No apology can undo that. I don’t even know why you have to make any of this about yourself when you’ll be gone very soon, and I’ll have no one to be honest with again.”
Daryl thrashes, screaming into the gag, but I keep eating even as he falls over. That man couldn’t unwind my knots if he dislocated each of his fingers, but I still peer his way. “On the way here, I was considering to maybe let you live until Christmas, but that would have been too much hassle. People like you aren’t good companion material. I did my research, and there’s a reason why you sleep alone and why you only have one steak in your fridge.”