Page 92 of Mayhem and Minnie

Her eyes widen. Her mouth drops open and she doesn’t answer for a moment.

“Well?” I repeat.

“I d-don’t care,” she mumbles, flustered. “It’s all your fault and your rules. I’m not allowed to see other males, but you can go out to pubs and find other females? You think I don’t know that’s where you humans find your one-night stays?”

“I think you mean one-night stand,” I say, a smile pulling at my lips. “And what’s with the you humans? What are you? An alien?”

She blinks in shock.

“Uhm…erm… Anyway, I am not leaving until you show me what’s behind that door. And if it is a woman…”

“If it is a woman…?”

“You won’t like what happens then,” she states, her cold gaze finding mine. To say I’m surprised by her demeanor would be an understatement. But it’s not the first time, is it? Minnie can be both soft and cute but also sharp and alluring. A deadly combination, if I do say so myself—for me in particular.

I stare at her.

She stares right back at me.

We engage in a silent battle of wills and as the minutes pass, I realize she won’t give up.

To be more precise, after ninety-eight minutes pass, I realize I’m fighting a losing battle. And I’m hungry. And tired.

Murder does that to people.

With a weary sigh, I walk to the door and unlock it.

Minnie is sporting a triumphant smile as she strides inside, her eyes taking in every inch of the expansive room.

“There’s no woman,” she mumbles to herself.

“Told you.” I chuckle.

“But what’s that?” she asks as her eyes zero in on the middle of the room where my fake Pollockesque painting lies. “You paint?” she asks, her lashes fluttering at me.

That’s rather…distracting.

I clear my throat.

“Occasionally,” I lie.

“And what is it supposed to be?” She walks toward the painting, eyeing it with great interest.

But as she gets closer, she trips on something and loses her balance, falling to the ground.

“What…” she whispers.

I look with horror at what she tripped over and force my brain to come up with some sort of an excuse.

“What is this?”

“Don’t touch it!” I shout, rushing forward and grabbing it before she can do so. The mere thought that she’d touch Paul’s dick makes my blood boil, and I can’t even kill him again. “It’s silicone and cement,” I hurry to say. “And the cement is still wet. I don’t want you to get any on your hands.”

She nods slowly.

“Another art project?”

“Yes… Something like that,” I mumble awkwardly.

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