Page 83 of Sunshine & Sinful

Bingo.

“Yes.” I set the bottle next to another empty one. I have an entire case of empties to collect before we leave tonight.

“Why?” he asks, assessing me as if he doesn’t know what to make of a woman causing this much chaos.

It’s a good question and one I often ponder. Why did I follow in my mother’s footsteps? Why do I continue to use my knowledge to help the Sacred Sinners? Why do I like killing people? I guesslikeisn’t the right word. Save is. I like to save people from those who do them harm. Those Ipoison aren’t innocent. They deserve the pain. They deserve to rot.

“It’s what I do,” I answer with a shrug. “What I’m good at. Usually, it’s much cleaner than this.” I gesture to the gore. “I was testing a new formula, and as you can see, it didn’t go as planned.”

Just as the man nods and relaxes his stance as if he’s satisfied with my explanation, the front door of the warehouse opens. In struts, my hotter-than-sin husband wearing a pair of dark denim jeans, a gray t-shirt that matches his eyes, and his Sacred Sinners cut. Right on his tail are the reinforcements.

Inspecting the space, Sunshine smirks but doesn’t say a word as he climbs over multiple corpses to reach me.

Cupping the side of my face, he chuckles, all warm and gooey, like an underbaked brownie. “You did make a mess.”

“See. I told you. I am really sorry.”

“Awe. It’s not a problem, Sweets. This is what I do. You make messes, and I clean ‘em up. Yeah?”

“I suppose so. Yeah,” I mumble, wishing this night had gone smoother and he didn’t have to witness my fuckup in all its fuckup glory. I thought the poison would have done what it normally does—make their hearts race, pass out, and maybe someone would puke, but I didn’t anticipate this. Two of them bled from their eyes. At least it didn’t take long once it started—fifteen minutes, at most, and they were gone.

From behind the bar, Angel lifts the basket of cell phones and wallets I collected for them to gather intel. “Got the loot.”

“Put it in my van,” Sunshine orders, and Angel nods as a small group of bikers get to work, rolling out thick sheets of plastic to dispose of the bodies.

A buff biker I haven’t seen in ages whistles as he strolls inside and approaches the victims. “Nice job, Kali.” Bonez, the man in charge of helping the survivors of trafficking get back on their feet, lifts a hand in greeting.

I return the gesture. “Thanks for coming, Bonez.”

“Anytime.” Doing what he does best, he speaks to the men and women to get them out of here and someplace safe, like I promised.

My husband hooks his fingers in the front of my orange, blood-stained boho pants and pulls me flush against him. The thick, firm snake hidden in his pants imprints against my belly. I tuck my boob rock into the front pocket of his jeans, then circle my arms around his neck and rest my chin in the center of his pecs to look up at him.

Someone’s turned on.

Naughty, naughty man.

“Happy six-month anniversary, Sweets.”

“Has it been six months already?” I tease, and my husband growls.

We've celebrated our union every month since we said I do. This might sound lame to some, but not to Sunshine. He’s determined to commemorate each of our milestones.

The first time we had shower sex—he bought me a cake. Sugar made it. Double chocolate. Absolutely divine. We ate it off each other in bed. It was a fun night. Messy but fun.

The next day, since we’d had our first cake sex, hebought me a new plant and wrote me a silly poem.

Roses are red, frosting’s delish,

Your cake’s so sweet—I’ll eat it twice.

Thrice.

Forever yours, in mischief and joy,

Colton.

A year ago,if you told me this is what relationships could look like, I’d call the cops to have you placed in the nearest mental ward.

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