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There are unintelligible grumbles. Whimpers and crying.
But the motherfucker is smart enough to do as I say. There is some common sense left in him.
Eyes on his terrified ones, I hand over my knife and wait. The command is pretty obvious.
His lust for what’s mine has brought us here.
“You have five minutes.” While I’ve been speaking with Robbie, Javier found me a seat like his and placed it to his left. He’s holding out a wet rag and a bottle of water, the latter I drink down in three gulps after wiping my hands clean. “Thanks. Where are they now?”
“They’re picking up special gifts. Mariah threatened me to leave her alone or else.”
“She’ll shoot?” I snort. That woman still threatens him on a daily basis.
“Worse.”
“What is worse?”
“Don’t ask questions you’d hate to hear the answer to.”
I shudder. “Noted.”
As soon as the word leaves my lips, an agonizing scream rends the air and a wet thud meets the cold floor. The small appendage Robbie called a cock is at his blood-soaked feet and his body sways, legs caving in on him a few seconds before his body meets its final resting place while alive.
He shivers, his body curling in on itself from the pain as more of his life’s essence pools around his body.
He’ll bleed out beside his brother. The perfect ending for the sick fucks.
“Clean it up and erase all traces of these two ever being here, but dispose of them where they’ll be found.”
3
Present...
“YOU WANT TO talk?” Malcolm stalks closer, pausing just behind his throne. My king.
His presence within these walls is a heady feeling. A delicious distraction, but I can’t show the effect he has on me.
Not now. This is my show.
“I do.” Two words. Direct and to the point.
In the time we’ve been married and even before, in our first interaction within these walls, Malcolm Asher taught me a thing or two about intimidation. Not because he treated me like anything other than his queen, but because I dissected his every move. How he owns any room without uttering a single threat.
My husband taught me that those who talk the most have the weakest bite. An attacker won’t notify you of their intent to strike; he or she will announce their presence once it’s too late to stop the devastating blow.
So, I’ve done my homework. I know his ticks, and he knows mine.
I’m not that shy woman he met anymore—the girl afraid of her shadow and its intentions.
No. Not now. Not ever again, and it’s all thanks to him. My love. My husband.
“Regarding what matters, Mrs. Asher? Is there something you need?” His voice is low, his hunger controlled, and yet, his hands are clenched atop his favorite chair, the dark wood standing out amongst the rose petals. The upholstery matches their color.
Green eyes the hue of a priceless gem watch me. They traverse my small frame and take in my every curve, the way the short silk robe drapes down my front while the center of my chest and the flimsy bodysuit beneath is exposed.
Not fully, but enough to tease. To tempt him into playing my game.
There’s curiosity over my intentions. A heady yearning that reaches across the space separating us and makes my heart flutter.
