Page 38 of Bullet for my Sweetheart
“Well, you did say I had to do something of equal value.”
“Your secret is safe with me, sweetheart.”
“See if you had big mean guard dogs this wouldn’t have happened,” I tease him.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He slides my plate in front of me. “Eat up.”
I pick up my fork. My arm is sore, but will be good as new in a few days. The doctor said it was a clean graze and I’m lucky the headboard took the bullet and not my shoulder. I think I went into shock from shooting Cassie.
I feel bad about it, but in that moment, it felt like it was her or me, and I chose me.
Theo pours me a glass of wine. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He presses his lips to mine. “I had one of my guys pick this up, but I’ll take you to the jewelry store to pick out whatever you want tomorrow.” He slips a ruby ring in the shape of a heart onto my ring finger.
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He sips his drink, watching me stare at my ring.
Our story is only beginning.
It’s crazy and unconventional, but when you know you know, and with Theo all it took was one dark night in an alley. One shared look.
He’s mine.
“There is one more thing I need you to do.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve got to meet the family.”
One year later
“Harder,” I cry out as my husband thrusts into me from behind. “Theo.”
“That’s it.” He slaps my ass. “Say my name. Tell everyone who this pussy belongs to.”
“Theo. Theo.” He fucks me harder and deeper. My face pressed against the window in his office that overlooks his nightclub.
No one can see or hear us, but the idea that they can gives me a little thrill.
This past year has been everything I’ve ever wanted and more.
He spoils me with trips on private planes and clothes. More shoes than I can ever wear. But the best gift he’s bought me to date has to be the property outside of the city for my animal sanctuary. No more begging people to take the strays I find in. I think what pushed my man into purchasing it was me bringing home another kitty.
He says the only pussy he wants to take care of when he comes home is mine.
He pretends he hates having our cats running our household, but when he thinks I’m not around, I often catch him giving them treats and pets and talking to them like they are babies.
To the world he’s a brutal man, a criminal, a killer, but for me he melts.
“Fuck, baby.” He bites my shoulder, marking me with his teeth.
I plan to get a tattoo there of his bite.
He owns me. Body. Mind. Soul.
I am his and he is mine.
