Noche Sin Paz (2022) Page

In the shadows of the wine cellar, a man in a soot-stained red suit groaned, leaning against a rack of overpriced Chardonnay. This wasn't the Christmas Santa Claus—the real Santa Claus—had envisioned. He was tired. He was disillusioned. He was nursing a gut wound and wondering when children stopped wishing for wooden trains and started wishing for cold hard cash.

Santa looked up, his eyes glowing with an ancient, magical hearth-light. "I'm not a myth, kid. I'm the consequence." Noche sin paz (2022)

"Bah humbug," he wheezed, pulling a half-empty bottle of gin from his sack. He took a swig, the burn fueling the ancient, Viking fire still flickering in his veins. In the shadows of the wine cellar, a

The first mercenary died near the chimney. He didn’t hear the heavy boots; he only felt the crushing weight of a sack filled with heavy toys smashing into his jaw. Santa didn't use a silencer; he used a sharpened candy cane and a heavy-duty sledgehammer he’d nicknamed "Skullcrusher" back when he was raiding coastal villages a thousand years ago. He was disillusioned