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My ethical dilemma of lusting after a patient is suddenly overshadowed by kissing a fucking murderer.
Maybe this was his entire plan since we first met. Stalk me, kill my date, and then drag me back to the sex hovel he made for me. Honestly, no one’s ever made me anything before. That’s a level of commitment that’s as flattering as it is disturbing. I mean, depending on the state of said hovel. A hole in the ground would fucking suck. What the hell am I thinking? He lets me rip away and looks down at me in surprise. I shouldn’t have moaned. How embarrassing. Kidnapping one-oh-one: don’t moan.
I look in the backseat and see Soren has buckled in the dead body, too. Lord forbid he gets a head wound in a collision.
There’s a certain Hell for people who blush when a killer calls them their wife.
Too bad Thanksgiving is over. I could have shared that I was grateful for murder.
“They say not to take work home, but what if work takes you home?” She asks some higher power.
This is a lot more fun than the last kill. Everyone should drag their therapist along for murders.
“Soren, honey?”I bite out. “Yes, wifey?” He calls over his shoulder. “I think you left something in the freezer.” He walks over and peers inside. “Shit, I was looking for that,” he sighs. I watch him root around in the freezer, rearranging the hand under frozen bags of vegetables. When I see another body part poke out, I decide to leave the room. This is officially a shitshow, so I’m taking a bath. Eucalyptus salts can cure anything, right?
“Did he beat up the guy?” My aunt asks with a dreamy look. “He looks like he could kill a guy.” A hysterical laugh comes barking out my throat. Everyone looks alarmed. “This guy? No way. He’s a teddy bear. Harmless. I mean, look at him.” Everyone looks at the six-foot-four Nordic nightmare.
One more night of play fucking and another set of twins will be on the way. My stomach feels elated, and I grimace. No breeding your therapist, you psychopath.
