Angelise （8 months later）
"And who are you here for?” the prison guard asked.
“Henry Santerre,” I said.
The guard checked our IDs and then led my husband and I over to a little plastic table in the visitors’ room.
“It’s so nice of you to travel to see him when you’re so pregnant, ma’am. He doesn’t get any other visitors.”
“He’s my husband’s twin,” I said. “We like to make time now and again.”
Hunter opened the pack of Go Fish cards and pulled out my chair.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Any more of those Braxton-Hicks contractions?”
“Not today,” I said, feeling my swollen belly. “But I think I’ll go into labor any day now.”
He dropped a quick kiss on my palm, then grinned and began to deal out the cards.
“I can’t wait.”
It wasn’t very long until they brought out my ex-husband. Without his testicles, he looked shrunken somehow, his face long and bitter.
“I wish you two would stop fucking coming to visit,” Henry said. “I don’t need to see how pregnant you are with my brother’s baby.”
“Just checking to see how you’re doing,” Hunter said. “I see you still look like shit.”
“You could at least put money on my commissary account,” Henry said resentfully. “I know you have a lot from selling the house.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Dr. Willoughby-Horton for some money,” I said. “If she still cares after you blamed her for all the fraud.”
“You know very well she’s in jail too,” Henry snarled.
“Oh, that’s just too bad then.”
He watched in simmering impotent fury as we played.
“I thought you were a good person,” he said to me. “You were supposed to be so fucking sweet. Boy, you really have everyone fooled. I never thought you’d be fucking my brother behind my back.”
“I fucked your brother in front of you,” I retorted. “You blackmailing Hunter into primal kink was the only good idea you’ve ever had.”
“Let’s do that after again we’re done here,” Hunter put in, as Henry groaned.
“Just don’t talk about his dick anymore. I can’t stand it.”
“You’re not any fun anymore,” Hunter said. “If you don’t want to play Go Fish, why not a game of patty cake? A thumb war? Rock, Paper, Scissors?”
Henry glared at him, gesturing down at his hands. “You sadistic fucker. With what fucking thumbs? The ones you broke?”
“That’s not nice,” Hunter chided mockingly. “You should be nicer. . .or I’ll take another limb you’re really attached to.”
Henry made a full-body shudder, and subsided into silence as Hunter and I finished our game of Go Fish.
“How long are you going to torture me?” he asked, and there was a pitiful, plaintive note in his voice.
“She wouldn’t let me kill you,” Hunter shrugged, stacking up the cards neatly. “So I guess I’ll still torture you until I’m not pissed anymore that you tried to murder my wife.”
That wicked smile spread across Hunter’s face, and suddenly he struck like a snake, jabbing his fingers into Henry’s throat until the other man was gagging and retching.
“Can we get a little help over here?” Hunter asked. “I think some water went down the wrong pipe.”
He clapped a powerful hand across his brother’s back.
“Until next time.”
Then he took my hand and we left.
The air smelled pure and fresh as we drove with the windows down back to our new house in the country.
“He’s beginning to bore me,” my husband said. “The conversation just isn’t very stimulating.”
“Tedious,” I agreed. “But I enjoyed the trip.”
As Hunter helped me out of the car, he ran a big palm down my back, then pulled me against him, murmuring lovingly into my ear. My skin prickled with pleasure, and I leaned back into his arms.
“I can think of something that never bores me—playing with you. How about I give you 60 seconds and you get as far away as you can? Let’s see if I can send you into labor.”
I smiled, my body already singing with excitement.
“With how pregnant I am? I’d need 60 minutes to get far away. How about give me 360 seconds and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“I love you,” he called out as I waddled as fast as I could, into the house where I’d hide behind the massive stack of packages for the baby, and I’d wait for my husband to find me and hold me tight and growl in my ear that he’d never let me go. . .