“No.”
“Because you want a lifetime sentence, don’t you?”
Humor tints him. “Marriage, yes. A lifetime with my precious dove is exactly what I want.”
“Right.” I’m shaking. “So. Convince me there’s more to you than cruelty. Because, if you want awife, sir, you’ll have to start treating me like one.”
His head bows, and he looks at me through his dark lashes. “For clarification…I have to start treating you likeone…or likemine?”
On wobbling limbs, I rise. “I suppose this’ll be a test in your discernment. Discernment,” I bite back vomit, “is an important trait for husbands.” My voice trembles. “I’m going back to work now.” One last time, I glance at the ink across his chest—at the brand of what he calls me and my legal namesake depicted all over his heart—then I barely swallow. “And you should probably put your clothes back on before your next meeting.”
With that, I flee from the dark, dark room, toward the light of my workspace, barely reaching my chair before I collapse.
Chapter Four
?
Torture me, dove.
Malcolm
Darling Dove:I’ve learned he has what could be considered an incriminating tattoo on him. I understand your claims surrounding your organization’s ability to keep me safe regardless of how things play out, but you’ll have to forgive me my doubts and caution. No matter how much it pains me to admit, I no longer believe it wise for me to take a hands-on role in this; however, since I am more convinced than ever that he cannot be allowed to live, I am willing to assist to the best of my abilities so long as I’m not getting my hands dirty. As of today, I believe we’re participating in something akin to courting, so it’s likely I’ll be able to get him to places where accidents might happen. This is not only the smartest method I can discern, but it is also the only assistance I am now willing to provide. Since I didn’t take the money, you should have the funds still to distribute to the cause. Please let me know how I can position the target in light of this information. Looking forward to ridding the world of this great evil.
Blinking at my burner phone, I wonder exactly how long Azalea spent typing this out on the number keypad. An hour? Several? My word, woman. Writing a proper email via text on a flip phone concerning the murder of someone else must be the definition of insanity.
Melting into a smile, I lift the towel hanging around my neck and dry my hair as I exit my bathroom on the way to my bed.
She’s so…diligent. My Azalea.
Diligent and crazy.
Exactly my type.
Exhaling a curse, I secure my personal phone and plop into bed.
Me:Good evening, little dove. I miss you already and dread the weekend before us.
Reclining, I smile at my screen when dots immediately appear to disappear, then appear and disappear again. Once they’ve vanished a seventh time, I chuckle. “Come now, I’m not that hard to talk to, am I?”
At long last, she blesses me with a response.
Dove:Our sentiments concerning the matter of this weekend find themselves on starkly opposing sides.
I bite my lip as another curse slips through my head.
Iloveher.
Me:Is it cold on your side, without me?
Dove:No.
A man can dream, I suppose.
Me:What are you up to tonight?
Dove:Cleaning.
Why am I not surprised?
