My wife. She might be The Gardener, but she wasmine.
I plastered her to the wall, suffocating her with my bulk. Her chest rose and fell in the sliver of space I allowed. Her softness irresistible. My fingers made an anchor of her dark tresses.
How far could I push her before she broke? How far would she play this game before she admitted the truth?
I wanted her cherry lips to spit the words out. I was a starved man in need of the sustenance of her confession. Her capitulation would give me the energy I needed. It tore my insides apart, emotions flaying me like iron-tipped whips. Her warmth against mine attracted the primal part of me. How easy it would be to inch up her black, modest skirt and pull aside her underwear. I ground my hips against her, hardening at the idea.
Would she open for me? Would she bite my lip again? My head spun with the possibilities.
My wife was a murderer. Her blood was colder than ice. To think I had agonized over sullying her purity. She was as twisted as I was.
“Enough,” I ground out. “Enough, Anita. I know the truth. I only want you to admit it.”
I shouldn’t have underestimated my wife. Her fingers scrambled on my hips, jostling my shirt to reveal a sliver of skin. My eyes fluttered closed, cock surging against my slacks as her fingers grazed my scorching skin. I ground my teeth together, desperate for the touch to continue. Her nimble fingers slid deeper. Her questing touch found the edge of my trunks. I let out a plaintive groan.
Give in.I wanted to beg her.Give in.
The words were on the tip of my tongue. I pressed my forehead against hers, beseeching her. Anita’s eyes narrowed. The darkflash flooded me with excitement before I felt a prick on my hip. I froze. My lungs screamed as I made myself still. Adrenaline surged in my veins, and my teeth clenched.
“Let go of me, Romeo. Or I won’t apologize for what happens next,” she commanded.
So soft. So fucking irresistible. Even while she threatened to kill me.
My fingers loosened, and I held them palm up. I glanced at my hip, where Anita pressed a tiny pin. She pulled it back, but I knew if she plunged it in, it would be the end of me.
“What does that have on it?” I asked, curiosity winning over fury. “I assume it has some type of poison.”
She pointed the sharp end toward me for a moment before crouching down and swiping the chain from her bracelet that had fallen to the ground. I stayed still as she fit the needle into the hollow metal of the bracelet. She reattached it to her wrist, turning it over with a discerning eye. It was so innocuous.
“You want to see what I laced the needle with?” she beckoned over her head, giving me her back. A curious lightness settled over me, my steps almost jaunty as I followed her.
My wife had threatened my life. Now, she sauntered into the backyard without a care in the world. The sweet, innocent Anita, obliterated.
She was giving up the pretense.
I followed in her wake, mesmerized as she sloughed off the physical shell of meekness. Her shoulders snapped back, her strides became haughty. It sent a prickle of delicious foreboding down my spine. This was a dance I could do. I tapped my gun, stuffed down the back of my pants. I’d re-armed myself before I confronted Anita, just in case.
“You aren’t afraid I’ll hurt you, Anita?” I leaned close to her under the cloak of darkness. There was no moon tonight, and a crisp chill in the air cooled my flushed skin. I wanted the bite ofher violence. Anita huffed and unlocked the greenhouse with a key she pulled from her pocket. She shot me a disdainful look. So much venom. It was a wonder she could have hidden it for so long.
“You won’t kill me. You need me too much.” She shrugged, ducking through the door. I made to switch on the lights, but Anita snapped.
“Leave them off. The Lady of Deathonly blooms in the dark.” She paused in front of a potted cactus, eyeing it keenly. My eyes adjusted to the low light, my other senses assaulted by the musky scent of dirt and plants. I fiddled with an abandoned sécateur on the workbench. Anita made her poisons here. I looked at every plant with a renewed interest. Each plain box and container held years of secrets. I wanted them all. Anita scowled at me and snatched the tool out of my reach.
“The Lady of Death, why didn’t you use that moniker as your alias?” I joked. Her lips twitched, and she bustled around the room, collecting gloves, a metal container, and the confiscated secateurs.
“I bet you never considered The Gardener could be a woman, am I right?” She leaned against the workbench across from me. Her arms locked over her chest, proud armor. The air in the small space felt thick, or perhaps it was from the lump in my throat.
“You’re right.” I kicked myself for my continued failure. My ingrained beliefs had kept me from seeing her power. Did she know everyone in Greenich Bay was terrified of her? They whispered her name like a curse, a nightmare.
“Did Paolo tell you?” She tried and failed to seem unaffected.
I knew why. Paolo was the only person who knew her true identity and if he had sold her out to me, it would be a bigger betrayal than the hurtful lies she’d overheard me say. Incredulous laughter bubbled inside my throat.
“It may surprise you, given how slow I’ve been, but I came to the conclusion myself. Although I believe Paolo set us up, so I would figure you out, because we are much the same.”
I meant it as a compliment, but it was the wrong thing to say. Anita’s shoulders stiffened, and she snarled her upper lip from across the room. Her finger was ramrod straight as she stalked over to a small, bulbous-shaped bloom.
“This plant induces nausea, abdominal cramping, and, in a large enough dose, death.” She moved on, stabbing at another dark-leafed vine.