“Sweet bunny,” I whisper, “I’m going to fuck you, and then we’re going back to New York.” She looks up at me and tries to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “But . . . why?” I brush her hair from her face. It’s sticky with the salt of her tears. “Because I’m going to kill your fucking husband.” She shakes her head. “We can’t.” I fist her hair. “Which part?”
