Page 11 of Ink

“Well, no.” I’m still soaking wet, and I see his cock is still hard. “I want to finish this.”

“We will. I have to take care of something first.” He turns toward me. “Wait in the bedroom and don’t come out until I say. Understand?”

The thud hits again. This time from the bedroom window.

“What is that?” I shake my head.

He grabs his gun off the table by the door. “Go to the bathroom. The window is small in there. Stay until I tell you to come out.”

I must be getting used to doing what I’m told because my feet are moving faster than my brain. That, or I’m watching out for the baby I’m carrying. I’m going to go with the latter, though I think I’d have done what he asked me to either way.

“Good girl.” He kisses my forehead and closes the bathroom door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

A minute? We both know he doesn’t mean an actual minute. He’s talking a proverbial minute, which could mean anything from one minute to forever. I won’t know until he comes back.

My heart slams against my chest and my stomach stays tight.

Seconds go by, then minutes. Nothing happens. The world is quiet. No knocking, no yelling, no fighting.

Nothing at all happens… until a ruckus explodes into the otherwise quiet night.

Chapter Four

Ink

No one ever said I was a good man. In high school, I was voted most likely to end up in prison. I think it was a joke, but I did in fact end up in jail.

For nearly a decade, I spent time cracking skulls when I was younger. If you had a guy in a rival gang that needed to go without your involvement, I was your man. And trust me when I say, it was lucrative. Beyond lucrative, I was living better than I’d ever lived in my life. Morally, I told myself that I’d stop when I’d saved enough money to pay off old debts, and that everyone involved was a criminal, so who cares, but the obsession and drive for cash was so overwhelming that I got sloppy. That’s what happens when a poor guy gets good things too fast. I didn’t know the responsibility I was holding.

I stare down at the lifeless body before me and contemplate how I go about telling my bunny that I’ve taken out her ex… for good. I’m sure she heard the gunshots. How could she not? I’m only twenty feet from the house.

I drag the body to the edge of the woods and text my buddy Reaper.

Me: 187 up at my place. You free?

Reaper: On my way.

Me: I’ll text you later.

Reaper: Copy

187 is an urgent burial. Reaper takes care of that shit for us. He has experience cleaning up crime scenes, and he knows what needs to be done to protect the MC.

I tuck my pistol back in my jeans and turn toward the cabin, filtering through all the possible options and how I should go about talking to Bunny about this, but I land on the same one every time.

I can’t tell her.

It’s not that I want to be dishonest. I want to tell Bunny everything, but I’m not sure she should know everything. Some things a man should shield his woman from. He should be the force that protects her from the world. He should not only keep her safe physically, but emotionally as well.

I know Bunny. She’s the kind of girl that worries. She worries about people that hurt her. She worries about people that don’t hurt her. She just worries. If I tell her I killed her ex, that’s only going to make her anxious. That’s not good for her or the baby.

I swing open the cabin door and step inside, washing my hands in the kitchen sink a long while. I scrub between my fingers, pay extra attention to the nail beds, and give a rough, thorough cleaning to the rest as though I’m managing some serious compulsions. I don’t need to go this hard. My hands were clean, but it’s ritual. When I do something awful that needs to be done, I wash my hands of it. Feeling guilty for ending the life of a man who hurt my bunny isn’t an emotion I’m going to let drag me down.

When I open the bathroom door, I see Bunny in the shower with water running down over her naked body, steam filling the room. Her face is drawn out and pale.

She glances toward me. “Oh my God! You’re okay! I didn’t know what happened. I heard some rustling, then two shots, and then… nothing.”

I nod and move toward her. “Must have been a bear or something. I scared him off. You okay? Why are you in the shower?”

---