Page 8 of The Mercenary's Guide to Mishaps and Romance

Okay, no. Ellis, think this through. Figure this out. There has to be a way to prove I’m innocent.

“Don’t I deserve the benefit of the doubt? Please?”

“No.”

“You would condemn an innocent man?”

“You would grab a woman, take her off to your fucked-up little shed and dice her up piece by piece while she’s still alive, and expect that I should let you go free? Or maybe I should…” He slams a knife down into the table I’m facing, making me jump. “Maybe I should cut a few pieces off of you? How about I cut just a sliver off every time you complain? That sounds like fun. Maybe your poor victims will get some peace of mind then while I take a piece of you.”

“I feel like our ideas of fun are vastly different. My idea of fun is like… going for a walk in a park.”

“Is that where you find more women?”

Anxiety eats at me. “I’ve never?—”

Tavish raises an eyebrow. “Is this a complaint I’m starting to hear?”

“A statement. Not a complaint.”

“Well, your statements are fucking boring, my man. What about a board game? That sounds fun.”

I eye the man, unsure how exactly I’m expected to play a board game tied up and bleeding, but hey, maybe it’s likeThe Simswhere I can fill up his affection meter—not to “Best Friend” level but at least to “Won’t Murder You First Chance I Get” level.

Really, is that too much to ask?

“Sure. I would enjoy that. Thank you.”

“Let’s see,” he says as he gets up and heads over to a stack of board games. “I wonder if these games were for his daughter that you murdered.”

“Still didn’t murder her, but… that’s a sad thought.”

“How aboutThe Game of Life?”

“Sounds good,” I say as he grabs it and places it in front of me. He merrily sets it up and then with a smile turns to look at me.

“I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let you go first.”

“Great, thank you,” I reply as he sets my little guy down, tosses it on the “road” and “drives” over it a few times with his car before putting it in my own little blue car.

“Was that necessary?”

Tavish pulls out his knife. “Was that a complaint?”

“Oh hell, no. I was praising you for your assholery skills,” I assure him.

“Good,” he says, waiting as he apparently expects me to spin the dial.

“I can’t spin it.”

“You better fecking figure it out. I get a bit… stabby when I’m bored.”

“Ha, I read a book when I get bored,” I tell him before using my face to spin the dial. This is so ridiculous, and it’s proven by the way he laughs at me.

“Fuck, I love it,” he says. “You, my soon-to-be dead man, are hilarious.”

“Ha. Glad one of us is having fun.”

“Was that a complaint?”

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