Page 85 of Dolls & Daggers
“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m alright.” I repeat the words as he holds me close. It’s been like this since we left his bed—Wren needing to see me, touch me, hold me, just to remind himself that I’m here, that I’m real.
I’ve never felt fear while doing what I do. Murdering vile men has always been something I feel so passionately about that the adrenaline makes me strong enough to outsmart my victims.
But now, I understand. The sheer panic when I realized it was him, not a dog, making those sounds—it made me sick. I’d never been so scared for someone else in my life. I thought she’d hurt him, and I wasgoing to make her death a long, excruciating one if Wren had let me.
As it is, I worry this will haunt him. That Robyn has found another way to scar my songbird—to leave her mark on his soul.
“I love you, Dove,” Wren says, as if he can hear where my thoughts are spiraling. He pulls back, tilting my head up so our eyes meet, his thumbs brushing softly over my cheeks. “You. I only see you, baby.”
There isn’t a shred of doubt or hesitation in his gaze. I smile and pull him to me, sealing our lips together after I whisper, “I know, Songbird. I know.”
Wrenley’s retchingdoes not make a euphonious accompaniment to the screams clawing their way out of Billy Tweely’s throat.
“Geez, you’d think I was killing you or something,” I tease the man who looks about five seconds away from passing out or joining my songbird in emptying his stomach. “We’re not even at the good part yet.”
With one final swipe, my dagger severs the last stubborn sinew of Billy’s penis, and the man passes out mid-shriek before I can even reach for the soldering iron to cauterize the wound.
“I think it’s time to get this sharpened,” I mutter, assessing my favorite weapon before spinning to see my boyfriend still bent over, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth.
“Aww, baby. I thought you were jealous when I wastouching it earlier.” I dangle the mangled flesh back and forth like a wriggling fish on a hook. Wren looks at me over his shoulder—then promptly throws up again.
“Yup. Nope. Not jealous anymore,” he gasps between heaves.
I cauterize the wound before Billy bleeds out, then skip across the room to check on my man. “What did I tell you about doggie bags? Now it’s gonna take longer to clean up.”
“Turtle Dove, that’s the least of my worries at the moment.” Wren’s weak tone tugs at my heartstrings. Removing my mask, I run a soothing hand up and down his back.
“Baby, I ask this with love—but I watched you bash a head in without flinching. What gives?”
“My dick is experiencing sympathy pains,” he rasps before hunching over again.
At this point, he’s just dry-heaving. I try to keep my laugh contained, but it bubbles up anyway, escaping as an unladylike snort. “You sound like a cat throwing up a hairball.”
“Will you just hurry up already?” He waves me off, straightening as he runs a hand through his hair. “We have someplace to be, and at this rate, we’re gonna be late.”
Billy stirs, groaning as he teeters on the edge of consciousness. I twirl back toward my present, slippingmy mask on with a flourish to remind my songbird exactly whose special day it is. “Hey! You only turn thirty once, and last time I checked, today ismybirthday. I’ll cut off dicks if I want to.”
“Dick, Dove. Singular.”
“Keep rushing me, Songbird, and it’ll be plural.”
The Tipsy Tacois busier than usual, and as soon as Wren and I round the bar, I see why.
Pink sparkly garland ropes off the section around the pool tables, where a giant rose-gold “thirty” balloon floats above a tower of pink-and-white-topped cupcakes. A banner reading Happy Birthday, Dove hangs above a buffet table draped in pink, laden with tiny taco shells and all the fixings.
Most of our coworkers mingle, while Vixey darts between tables, balancing a tray of pink drinks. Everyone gives Bunny and Hunter a wide berth—the two of them clearly in the middle of an argument that has my best friend’s face blotchy with frustration.
“Baby.” My chest swells, and I grip Wren’s arm as he watches our friends with an annoyed expression. “Is this supposed to be a surprise party for me?”
His irritation melts into affection as his gaze slides to mine. “It was. But it looks like those two can’t stopbickering long enough to answer their damn phones!” The last part is said loudly and aggressively as we approach them.
Bunny jumps, her eyes widening as Hunter pivots toward us. “Shit! Happy birthday, Love Dove!” she shouts, throwing her arms in the air and waving her hands to get everyone’s attention.
A chorus of voices joins in as all eyes turn to me. “Happy birthday, Dove!”
“Aww, you guys shouldn’t have. Thank you!” I lean into Bunny while Wren pulls Hunter a few feet away, and everyone resumes whatever they were doing before we arrived.
Given the time it took us to clean up, go home, shower, and get ready, I’d say we’re over an hour late.
