Love & Other Killers

by Brynne Weaver

Everybody’s gotta have a hobby, even if it is hunting the most wretched pieces of shit on the planet in a blood sport competition, and I intend to maintain my run as champion of the Annual August Showdown.

The worst things in the world are always other people, and I love hunting the kind of killer who disguises themselves in a myth.

“my adorably murdery wife will suck the eyeball from your face with an industrial-size vacuum in your sleep if you won’t stick to the deal.”

“I thought you’d said you’d take a raccoon to the face for me. And I’m not even putting her in your face. It’s chest-level raccooning.”

“You’re adorable when you’re angry,” Rowan calls after us. “Get fucked, Butcher.” “Love you, too, Peaches.”

I do find a tub of Tillamook Cookies & Cream ice cream, however, and snap a photo on my burner phone to send to Rowan. Ahh, memories. Do you think this was milked fresh? I can check the label if you want. 37 Are you intending to win this year’s game by making me sick to my stomach? Because it’s working.

Rowan chuckles. “No, love.” He drops an arm across my shoulders, and I lean into his warmth as he presses a kiss to the crown of my head. “That they’ll marvel at the Orb Weaver. My goddess of chaos.”

“Just take it like a good boy.” The change in Rowan is instantaneous. From wary interest to absolute hunger. From man to ravenous beast. I shriek as he grabs my waist and drags me to the center of the bed in a single swift tug. And then he’s looming over me, devouring every laugh that tumbles from my lips. “Like a good boy, love?” he says as he drags my sleep shorts down my legs and tosses them to the floor. I can barely cage my moan as he spreads my thighs and prowls toward my pussy. “When have I ever fucked you like a good boy?”

With one last kiss, we fall asleep, two monsters wrapped in each other’s arms. Right where we’ve always belonged.