Home > A Fashionably Dead Christmas (Hot Damned #5)(15)

A Fashionably Dead Christmas (Hot Damned #5)(15)
Author: Robyn Peterman

“And why not?” Greed asked confused. “He’s here isn’t he?”

“Um… yes, he is. But this is totally wrong, not to mention illegal,” I said in an attempt to be reasonable.

“And your point about that would be?” Envy asked, perplexed.

Reasoning with the Deadly Sins was an exercise in futility. “My point is… Wait. How did you all get into the compound in the first place?” I knew it was locked down like Fort Knox.

“We broke in, silly,” Sloth said with an eye roll and a laugh. “It was easy.”

Fucking awesome. I was going to have a long talk with the guards later today.

As I loosened the bindings and pulled the gag from my unwilling guest’s mouth I leaned in. “I’ll get you out of here, Steve Perry,” I promised in a whisper.

“Thank you,” he replied in a hushed voice. “Just leave me tied up for the moment. I think it’s safer that way.”

I winked to show him I’d heard and stood back up. He was a smart man. Being chased down by my certifiable cousins could end very badly.

“Um… Astrid… I don’t mean to be rude,” Pride said diplomatically.

“Of course you do,” Gluttony corrected her.

“Oh my goodness, you’re right!” Pride said with a shrill giggle and a shrug. “So as I was saying… do you always wear a midriff sweater and men’s boxer briefs to bed? I mean I know you’re a hooker and all, I just didn’t realize you worked it at home.”

Slowly I glanced down at my attire and I wanted to melt into the floor. My ill-mannered ho-bag of a cousin was correct. I was showing bellybutton and my cinched cloth penis was on display for all to enjoy. My fucking dress had shrunk to the point of lewd. This would follow me for centuries.

“Actually… it’s my outfit for today’s festivities.”

I lied through my fangs and modeled it for them. I walked a grand circle as the gals gaped at me and my cinched underpants doubtfully.

“You know… I saw that outfit in Paris on the runway just last spring,” Steve Perry said as he gave me a covert wink. “How were you able to get it so soon? I hear it’s impossible to get your hands on that masterpiece.”

Journey’s front man was my new best friend. “I have connections,” I explained as the Sins began to hiss and whisper amongst themselves.

They were one enormous green-eyed monster and I was lovin’ it.

“Was it expensive?” Wrath demanded as she shoved her sisters out of the way and fingered the material of my sweater.

“Oh, you know. It costs what it costs. It’s Prada,” I said evenly as I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “Right off the model too. What do you think?”

“Son of a bitch,” Wrath spat as she turned on her sisters. “How did we not know about this trend?”

They argued with each other in voices that could wake the dead—and they did.

I grinned and gave the lead singer of Journey a thumbs up sign. The morning had started bizarrely, but it was looking up.

Rudely jerked out of slumber, my family stared in shock at the bound super star.

“Did Santa bwing me that?” Samuel asked as he pointed at Steve Perry.

“No. He did not. That is an ill-advised scheme of the douchecanoe Sins,” I told him. “Your presents are under the tree, baby.”

Blobbityflonk rose and had what I would safely call an epic shit-fit. His body shook violently and his eyes rolled back in his head. The pained shriek that flew from his lips halted all the bickering in the room.

He frantically ran to Steve Perry and began chewing through the ropes.

I was fairly sure Steve Perry would sue if he didn’t have a heart attack first.

“My God,” Ethan shouted as he sprinted across the room. “Is the baboon eating Steve Perry?”

“Nooooo… don’t let him eat Steve Perry,” Satan screamed as he got tangled in his bedding and hit the floor with a resounding thud. “He’s my hero.”

Satan’s fall sent Mother Nature flying off her cot and into the Christmas tree. Balls and tinsel flew willy-nilly. The baboon and Steve Perry got showered in red and green.

Gigi wasn’t a welcome or pleased ornament. Her purple panty clad ass and slippered feet were all that showed as her head and upper body were lodged mid-tree.

Her squeal of displeasure sent a minor earthquake through the room and my collection of porcelain Baby Jesuses went crashing to the floor in response.

“Motherfucker,” I yelled as I realized no amount of glue was going to fix the fourteen Baby Jesuses I’d collected. “You idiots broke my Baby Jesuses. What the Hell kind of people are you?”

“Blobbityflonk no eat the long hair man,” Samuel shouted above the din. “He save him!”

I sure as shit hoped my child was right. I wanted to keep the baboon, but if he habitually ate rock stars there would be a problem.

“Kidnapping singers, breaking my shit, and throwing grandmas into Christmas trees is not working for me,” I bellowed as the entire upper half of my body burst out in glittering flames.

The Sins dove for cover taking the Nutcracker with an erection down violently in the process. His head rolled underfoot of the now standing Satan, who freaked and then took a dive into the thankfully unlit fireplace.

The stockings that I’d stupidly hung with care were ripped right out of the garland. They fell onto poor Steve Perry, who was now blinded by socks and hanging on by a thread.

   
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