Page 115 of Forever My Saint

I was given a second chance, and it was time I took it, which is why I am standing in the hallway of my ex-husband’s home.

I peer around the doorjamb, gagging when I witness Drew kissing his new squeeze passionately. She giggles before pulling away. “I’ll see you after yoga.”

Drew spanks her ass, grinning like a pig in shit.

She grabs her backpack and bounces out the room, unbeknownst that I wait in the shadows, ready to strike. When the front door closes, I bide my time, wanting to give Drew a false sense of security. He loosens his tie before stepping onto the balcony.

The backdrop of when the last time I saw him isn’t missed, which is what sets my plan into motion.

I am barefoot, wearing a simple white cotton summer dress. It’s what I wore the last time he saw me, saw me being kidnapped all because he sucked at poker.

I creep into the bedroom, the soft carpet muting my steps. Drew takes a drag off a joint, leaning against the railings, oblivious to what’s coming. When I’m a few feet away, I stop in the balcony doorway and smile. Finally, I am happy because this is me, taking back my life.

What do you say to your ex-husband who only married you to settle a debt and now thinks you’re dead? There only seems to be one word that’s fitting.

Inhaling, I fill my lungs with victory. Let the shitshow start. “Boo!”

Drew jumps so high his joint slips from his fingers and tumbles over the railing. He swivels quickly, and the horrified look on his face has me rejoicing.

“Wil-Wil-Willow?” he finally manages to spit out.

I wave in response.

“What the fuck?” He grinds his fists into his eyeballs, hoping the weed is messing with him.

When he removes his hands and sees that I’m still standing, he yelps. “Are you a ghost?”

I would feel sorry for Drew if not for the fact he sold me to a Russian drug lord. And a ghost? Really? How did I ever find this dipshit attractive?

When I take a step toward him, he backs up against the railing, eyes wide. His fear spurs me on. I don’t speak, which seems to freak him out more than he already is. When I’m standing in front of him, I come to a stop and smile. It’s not a happy smile, however; it’s more along the lines of I’m here to steal your soul.

Drew looks down at me, wetting his lips. When I don’t speak, something shifts, and his fear is replaced with humor. “Holy shit,” he gasps, hand over his heart. “I will have to tell Keno that whatever he put in that weed I want more of.”

He actually believes I’m a hallucination. This just gets better by the minute.

He reaches out to poke me, which is when I shoot out my hand, grip his finger, and snap it in half.

Three…two…one.

“What the fuck!” Drew’s howls are music to my depraved soul because even though I have repented and made peace with who I am, that doesn’t mean I can’t be a little wicked every now and again.

He cradles his finger, hollering in pain, while I admire my freshly painted nails, bored with his melodramatics. “Oh, grow a pair. It’s just a broken finger.”

When I speak, his wails transform into a terrified shriek.

“This isn’t possible,” he splutters, shaking his head.

“Aw, Pookie, what’s the matter? Not happy to see yourwife?”

Drew tries to run, but he has nowhere to go. Unless he fancies taking a swan dive over the railing. But that would be far too easy.

“So how did you dig your way out of debt? I’m assuming you’ve burned through the money Alekpaidyou for me.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Because you married the wrong girl,” I counter smartly, tsking him.

He opens his mouth, but I am done listening.

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