Home > Christmas from Hell (Neighbor from Hell #7)

Christmas from Hell (Neighbor from Hell #7)
Author: R.L. Mathewson

Chapter 1

November 26, 2015
Thanksgiving Day

“I fucking loved you, you fucking bitch!” the man wielding the carving knife screeched, making Duncan’s headache a hell of a lot worse and making him wish that he hadn’t volunteered to work today of all days, but he’d needed a break from his family and the walking disaster that lived next door.


“Sir,” he said tightly, shifting to the side to come between the incredibly pissed off man in front of him and the naked couple cowering on the bed behind him.


Not that he could really blame him, Duncan absently thought as he shifted to the left, wondering when the police were going to finally show up so that they could take over and he could put an end to this fucked up day from hell.


“How could you do this to me?” the man wielding the large knife shouted, sounding more hysterical with every passing second, which Duncan knew from experience was not a good thing.


“Son, now calm down,” the elderly man trembling on the bed behind him said, temporarily distracting Duncan as his words registered.


There was no fucking way that-


“Don’t tell me to calm down, Dad! You fucked my fiancé!”


Okay, perhaps there was a chance that this could get more awkward, he realized as the understandably pissed off man lunged to the left, desperate to get his hands on his father or the bitch that had cheated on him. Duncan wasn’t sure which one this guy was more pissed at, but it didn’t matter. It was Duncan’s job to stop him before he did something stupid that he’d regret later.


Praying that this didn’t end with him landing in the Emergency Room tonight getting stiches, or worse, Duncan grabbed the man by his arm, twisted it and forced him to drop to his knees while he applied just enough pressure to make the man drop the knife.


“Ow! Get the hell off me!”


“What the hell is wrong with you? Get your hands off my son!” the elderly man snapped, reminding him just how stupid people could be.


“Get back, sir,” he said calmly as he kicked the knife to the opposite side of the room and forced the hysterically sobbing man to the ground.


“Get your fucking hands off my son!” the elderly man said, coming over to pull him off his son, but Duncan had had more than enough bullshit to last him a lifetime tonight.


“Back the fuck up, sir!” he snapped at the asshole, truly not caring if this ended with a write-up or a fucking suspension, because he refused to add wrestling with a naked old man to the ground to his day.


Today he’d had more than enough bullshit to last him several lifetimes.


“You can’t talk to me like that!” the old man said in outrage while the other moron tried to get out of his hold, most likely to throttle his father, which once again, Duncan really couldn’t blame him for.


“I just did, sir. Now step back and put some clothes on,” he said, turning his attention to the woman pouting on the bed, “you too.”


“You can’t-”


“Now!” he snapped when the asshole opened his mouth to argue with him, startling the old man enough to get him to shut the hell up and do as he was told.


Duncan just needed to keep this situation calm and then he could-


“What is going on in here?” an elderly woman demanded from the doorway.


He opened his mouth to yell for his partner when everything went to hell.


“Jane, I can explain,” the elderly dumbass said, yanking up his pants just as the woman on the bed said, “We’re having a baby!”


And just like that, his night got a hundred times worse.




“Is there a reason why you’re standing there, staring out the window and watching the neighbors? Are we preparing to kill them and drag them down to the basement and bury them alive?” Grandpa asked, making her smile despite the butterflies going wild in her stomach as she searched for his truck.


“No,” she said, rolling her eyes as she turned around to find her grandfather perusing the sweets that she’d worked all day making. “You know that you’re not allowed anything sweet.”


“It’s Thanksgiving,” he murmured with a dreamy little sigh as he stared down at the orange and yellow cupcakes that she’d just finished frosting.


“So?” she said, deciding that this was probably a good time to place the covers on the food and set them carefully in the cart.


“So, it means that I can indulge a little bit,” he said with a slight pout that had her rolling her eyes, because he should really have known better than to try to bullshit her by now.


“No,” she said, standing on her tiptoes so that she could kiss his whiskered cheek, “it really doesn’t.”


“Well, it should,” he said, heavily as he gave the platters of cupcakes, brownies and cookies one last glance of longing and reached for the bowl of fruit that she kept well stocked for him.


“Tell that to your doctor,” she said with a wink as she grabbed a tray of extra large double chocolate chunk cookies and placed them on the cart’s bottom shelf.


His eyes narrowed dangerously. “I thought we’d agreed that you weren’t going to call my doctor anymore.”


“I crossed my fingers,” she admitted with a shrug as she grabbed a tray of double chocolate brownies with fudge frosting and placed it on the next shelf.


Somehow he managed to narrow his eyes even further. “You’re fired,” he said tightly, making her roll her eyes, because really, that was just never going to happen.


“Uh huh,” she murmured absently as she glanced around the kitchen, wondering where that last tray of cupcakes had disappeared to when she realized that her grandfather was leaning back against the pantry doors, trying to avoid making eye contact with her.


“Really?” she asked with a sad shake of her head.


“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, managing to keep a straight face.


“I don’t have time for this,” she said, shaking her head in annoyance as she walked over, grabbed his arm and gave it a gentle pull, which did absolutely nothing since he outweighed her by at least fifty pounds.


Closing her eyes in defeat, she said, “Move or I’m calling your doctor right now and telling him that you’re trying to eat junk food again.”


“You’re bluffing.”


She opened her eyes and met her grandfather’s hard grey eyes head on, grey eyes that had been known to make grown men cry, and matched it with a glare of her own. She was the only one, besides her grandmother that is, whom he couldn’t intimidate.


He’d tried.

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