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“You know what happens to those who disobey me, love.”
With my eyes still trained on hers, I lean forward, parting my lips just wide enough.
And then I close them over the flame, snuffing out its light forever.
“I told you to shut the fucking door!” She rakes her hands through her hair and slowly spins in the middle of her bedroom.
I distinctly remember telling her that talking was forbidden, yet…
“If something happens to Biscuit because you can’t follow simple instructions, I will kill you.”
She’ll kill me.
I fight the urge to laugh and manage to ask with a straight face, “What the fuck is a biscuit?”
“A ‘Biscuit’ is my half-blind cat that likes to escape when the door is left open.” She glares at me and tips her chin to the open door behind me. “I told you to shut it behind you. I swear if my cat slipped out while you were bitching about having no elevator, I will slit your throat with my disposable razor.”
That sharp tongue of hers is going to get her bound and gagged if she isn’t careful.
“I’d watch your threats, Flower, or I might throw out a few of my own.” Ones that I will enjoy far too much.
“Oh, shut up.” She puffs out an exaggerated breath and wipes the sweat from her forehead. “I am already so over you talking.”
Ditto.
“I liked it better when you just stared at me and set fires.”
And I liked it better when I thought she had a code. She might have been stealing from wealthy men, but she never kept the money. It was all funneled into different battered women’s shelters along the East Coast. She wasn’t like any criminal I had ever met. I thought she was different, but then she proved me wrong. That won’t happen again.
“You have ten minutes to find your fucking cat and finish packing before I burn this place down.”
I’m not fucking joking, and she knows it.
“You know,” she muses, dropping to her knees and shimming under the bed, “you could just ask me to hurry. Most fiancés don’t need to threaten one another.”
Did she not threaten me first?
“I’m not your fucking fiancé,” I clarify. “I’m your warden.”
She slides out from under the bed and faces me. “Eh. It’s not a common pet name, but I’ll roll with it if that tickles your taint.”
Six years with this woman is just asking for a murder charge.
“You have eight minutes.” I take out a match and twirl it between my fingers. “Ask yourself what exactly your priority is: taunting me or preventing the untimely demise of a family pet.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re down to seven minutes.” Turning around, I strike the match against the door frame and toss it behind me.
“Are you fucking serious?” she screams. “Put it out!”
The muffled tears that seem clogged in her throat do nothing but bring on a migraine. That’s the only reason I stomp out the flame before it can do more than blacken a spot on the tile floor.
“You have five minutes. I won’t warn you again.”
Leaving her, I lumber down the staircase of the apartment complex and ignore a few curious onlookers as I settle against the side of my car and wait for Reese to find her fucking cat.
I click the lock on my key fob a few minutes later when she steps outside. “You’re not putting that cat in my car.”
