Page 52 of Last Breath

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Pushing her hair out of the way, I kiss her muck-covered forehead. The tang of metal arouses me. Hugging her tight, slicking my hand down her body, I hand her my butterfly knife. “You were supposed to keep that knife of Malachi’s with you.”

Holding it up, Joy questions, “It’s yours though?”

“It’s only until we can find you your own, seeing as how you didn’t keep his on hand.”

Flicking it closed and placing it in her pocket, I tap her on the ass. “Let’s go, Hannibal.”

Did I think that Joy would become such an integral part of our lives? That she would enjoy my tendencies? Participating and relishing the blood and gore? No. Stopping at her house that day, I assumed, as did my devil, that we’d be leaving two dead bodies on the floor of that house. But she meshes perfectly. My devil loves her, protects her as his own, and listens as she tells him it’s been enough.

Malachi has always been able to deal with my need for violence, and Joy adds a sense of happiness that I’ve never had. In all honestly, I’m afraid of what a child will mean. Kindness, sweetness, compassion...those are not attributes when describing myself.

I can admit that.

Hell, anywhere we stop is a perfect example of why I can’t handle human contact. All it takes is a snide look, an evil remark about Malachi, or if my devilthinkssomeone is thinking wrong, he comes to light easily.

How will I keep that at bay, especially for a baby?

I hardly keep myself in check. How will I with a screaming, pouting, helpless innocent soul?

Laying in the bed, staring at the beauty beside me, I take in every nuance of Joy. There’s a freckle on her cheek, two tiny ones on her nose, the silver mark on her cheek, a slight red tint to her lashes, a little crease in her chin, and a mark where she at some point must have cut her lip. All her imperfections make her even more gorgeous.

Moving a stray hair from her face, she stirs and stretches out, groaning at the sun. “Salem, it’s bright out. What time is it?”

“It’s early, love.”

Whining and pulling the blankets over her head, I hear her mumble into the sheets. “Where’s Mal?”

“He went to get breakfast.”

Flipping the blanket back fast, her hair fluffs up as a bright smile curves her face. “What’s he getting? Is it pancakes? I could go for pancakes.”

Yeah, we know.

“You could eat pancakes at every meal, Joy.”

Shooting up out of bed like lightning, Joy runs to the bathroom. Slamming the door behind her, I hear her in the toilet, expelling her stomach contents.

“Joy?”

More noise ensues before she flushes and answers. “I’m okay, Salem,” she shouts through the door.

“Doesn’t sound so good. You need me?”

“Nope. Argh. No, Salem, don’t worry. This is just a part of being pregnant.” Making another retching sound, I stay where I am, leaving her to it.

As I sit there wondering what I should do, if anything, Mal walks through the door, carrying three bags of food, a tray full of drinks and a smile. A smile that dissipates quickly. “Where’s Joy?”

“She’s in the bathroom throwing up.”

“Why are you out here then?” he asks, setting all the food on the table.

“She didn’t want me in there.”

“Salem. Sweet, sweet Salem. When a girl’s puking out her guts, the last thing she really wants is to be left alone.” Filling a glass of water, he starts to the bathroom.

“So, I should have gone in?”

He smirks. “Don’t always believe that a woman says what she means. They don’treallyknow what they want.”

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