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The Bosworth’s seem like the average snobs but I stay polite, greeting them though my eyes never leave the man. Did he just linger a second longer on Greta than he should? I squeeze his hand harder and he grimaces but at least his eyes leave Greta.
My wife brims with happiness. She’s rounder and fuller after the pregnancy and looks good enough to eat. Hunger burns in my throat and I put my hand on her thigh under table. A pink flush spreads over her cheeks. She glances at me as if telling me to behave but I think I’m being pretty well-behaved.
Doing most of the small talk, Greta laughs and gesticulates with her hands while telling some anecdote and I’m smacked by a sudden urge to just take her the hell away from here. I don’t like the way the male keeps looking at her, keeps looking at her mouth...
And fuck did his eyes just linger around her cleavage?
A muscle ticks in my jaw and I reach for my gun.
“Isn’t that the funniest thing, Dacre?” Greta sniggers together with the woman and I frown.
“Hilarious,” I snarl even though I have no idea what they were talking about. I’m too busy keeping myself under control and Greta brushes me off with a laugh and reaches for the baby who’s woken up and is all cranky.
And hungry.
Smacking her lips, Greta tugs at her top and the male’s eyes flash with interest. Fuck, I’d rather die than let that piece of filth watch her while she nourishes our family and I put the gun against his balls.
He straightens, gulping and our eyes meet over the table.
The women don’t notice anything and Greta’s pulled a scarf over to conceal herself but it doesn’t matter. He’s not watching her anymore. He’s too scared to lose his balls.
A smirk pulls at my lips.
The whole gun thing cuts the meetup short and the couple excuse themselves and leave.
“I hope it wasn’t anything I said,” Greta murmurs, looking after them in confusion. “Do you think I came on too strong?”
Putting the gun back, I shake my head. “Nah. You were perfect.”
She beams up at me and sighs. “I was, wasn’t I? Let’s finish our tea and go home.”
Finally.
I’m done sharing Greta with everybody else and she knows me so well.
“Oh and Dacre...,” Greta muses, flicking her hair back, “maybe next time, you could try not to pull your shooter?”
A grin crosses my face. “You noticed?”
“Having a mobster for a husband has taught me a few things here and there,” she smiles and I yank her in close.
“About weapons?”
She nods, eyes lowering before our lips meet in a kiss. “And I’m pretty sure that bulge down your pants isn’t your gun.”
The End
The Fixer’s Angel
1.
Skyla
This isn’t how I thought my life would turn out. At the age of twenty, I thought I’d already be married to a strapping handsome young man who’d relentlessly work day and night to put a bun in my oven. We’d live in a nice little house and enjoy very practical and comfortable things such as heat and running water.
I have none of that. Instead, I’m sitting on a park bench in the middle of the night and shivering like a pathetic little leaf in my rags. Turning myself into a pretzel to keep the warmth, I blow on my hands and rub them together to get the circulation going.
I’ve been on the streets for a month now and it doesn’t look like there’s a silver lining coming my way anytime soon.
