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“Fine,” I mutter. He’s referring to Paul’s final attack on my body last year. He sliced the bottom of my foot open with a switchblade, and had one of his lackeys stitch it up. Hurt like a motherfucker, but like everything else, it eventually healed. “It’s eerie how much you know about me.”

“Aha!” he exclaims with an excited grin. “I do make you uneasy.”

I recognize personality breaks more often now that I’m living with a person with an atypical mind, and talking to him feels like talking to every other person in the porn business; he’s not only fucking with me, but he’s also fucked up, trying to act tough as shit, and then pretending to joke around.

“David told me many things about you when I took Paul’s position in Vegas, but I have to admit, I was the one asking the questions.”

“Marcus, when do you want the check, who should we make it out to, and when are you leaving this city?” I cross my arms in defense. “And again, how’d you know David was dead?”

The rodent before me has a smile the size of a football field on his face. “Sometimes, you just never know what happens to people. They can disappear, never to be heard from again, or occasionally they show up dead, like David.” With a laugh he stands and puts a pair of lavish sunglasses over his light blue eyes then places a hand on my shoulder. “We may never know what happened to him either. That’s why that book I quoted last night has been a favorite of mine since I was a kid. My father gave it to me before he vanished off the face of this earth. It became my bible as a teenager. You need to eat, fuck, and conquer, like the little wascally wabbits. No time to waste, my friend. And you’re right... what you said about the bigwig rabbit, the book ends in a battle, and the old worn out furry beast probably died in the mouth of that dog.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I think I did.”

“So you’re the dog?”

He takes a step closer so we’re toe-to-toe, shaking his head and staring into my eyes. “No, you need to read between the lines. Last night you asked me what my style was, and I mentioned the ease of knowing your wife’s every move. But there are other things about me you may want to be aware of. Like, how I can kill a dumbfuck and make it look like a suicide. Oh shit. Right? Well, there you have it. I’m not going to make you wait forever to find out what happened, no need to keep guessing ‘til the end, or even after the end. We may have a lifetime together, and I’ll sleep better knowing I’m in your head rather than that parasite of a man, David. But, what can you do? Tell the cops? That seems laughable. No proof my friend. I’ll make sure you come across as a liar, trying to take the spotlight off your family and the fact that he was found behind your business. Damn, that’s some fucked up shit. But, there’s a reason for everything, right?”

In a sudden about-face he moves down the stairs, yet pauses and turns back when he gets a few yards away. “Afraid of me now?” he asks. “You suicidal lately? If you ended up dead, would it be a big surprise to anyone?” After taking another step he stops and points his finger toward my face. “I’m just fucking with you. I love you too damn much to ever kill you.”

And down the trail he hops, disappearing behind a thicket of trees like a rabbit in Watership Down.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

My wife has a way of getting into my head the instant I see her, leaving all thoughts of Marcus far behind. Stunning is the first word that comes to mind when I walk into our loft after my jog. She’s showered, dressed, and is ready to leave the house for the day.

Her long dark hair is draped over her shoulders, left to air dry, and her favorite jean shorts, the ones that are cut so high the pockets hang out the bottom... yeah, those, are snug against her body. Uh, they kill me. I lick my lips a hundred times while getting ready, thinking about her legs. Modest is a word that will never be used to describe her, and if my dick was game to go again, I’d nudge it past the small amount of fabric and into her pussy. I can’t hide what I’m thinking either. Well, I guess the handful of times I try to slip my finger inside of her sheds some light as to what’s on my mind. She dismisses the playfulness to talk about Marcus, who she calls ‘that guy,’ and keeps asking about the gun incident. I’d do anything to avoid this discussion.

The rest of the afternoon is ours, and I’m not going to spoil it by bringing up the disturbance at the Arch, talking about ‘the guy,’ or my unpleasant evening at the Scarlett. We’ll discuss these things eventually, just not right now. My silence drives her mad, and she pursues me like a hawk, asking about the gun and commenting on my depression. She’s concerned. I assure her that I’m better now, thanks to her open heart the night before and the expression of regret traded between my father and me. She understands how painful some of my memories are, but doesn’t grasp how I could’ve sunk so low as to contemplate taking my own life. I don’t either. I look at her, and her stomach, and realize my actions last night were outrageously selfish.

After learning about our plans for the day, she skips through the loft like an excited five-year-old, and by the time we’re walking out the door, she has a list of ten homes to drive past and more listings saved on her phone.

We stop at Starbucks then head for the first house. Hopefully she found a few with garages. That’s important to me, while she wants a big living room and updated bathrooms, and we both hope for a home with bedrooms on the same floor so we can keep an eye on the kid. Also, being in a good school district, close to my parents, the business, and with a nice yard are a must. I guess that’s asking for a lot. I’m giving up on having a pool for myself. The baby comes first.

“Haverty wanted to drive us around today.”

“I want to spend time with you, not Haverty. We need a day together without any distractions, have a little fun, you know? He can drive us to and from the Scarlett tonight. We’ll be fine on our own.”

She nods and drinks her Decaf Skinny Vanilla Latte. She’s been avoiding an overabundance of caffeine with the pregnancy, and watching what she eats each day. I’m thrilled that she’s taking care of herself, and damn, I can’t stop staring at those long legs.

She notices and smiles. “You look just as pretty as me.”

“Handsome,” I laugh and take a drink of my coffee. “And that’s an egotistical comment, but one I agree with. We’re relaxed and happy, and that’s my goal for the day. By the way, did you make a doctor’s appointment yet?”

“Yeah, for next week. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you yesterday.”

“I understand why you weren’t able to bring it up.”

“You’re going with me, right?”

“Duh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Do we get to learn the sex of the thing?”

“I already told you to stop calling our child a thing. He or she is our baby, Cove. Be nice, alright?”

“Sorry. Do we find out if the baby’s gonna be a boy or a girl?”

“Nope, too early. You’ll have to wait at least six more weeks, and I’m not sure if I want to know.”

“Oh hell no, I do. You mean you’d actually wait seven or eight more months to find out if the thing’s a boy or a girl? I can’t stand surprises.”

“Cove!”

“Sorry. I meant baby.”

She shakes her head and shoots me a dirty look. “The appointment is a quick check-in to establish myself as a patient. Oh, look! Over there!” her tone instantly changes to excitement as she points to a recently remodeled ranch home. It’s in a decent neighborhood, with a park a block away, and only fifteen minutes from our loft building.

“Soph, it looks like an old lady home.”