FALLON
As much as I love Pepper, she’s no chef. I admire her perseverance, though, and she’s been watching Masterchef religiously for the past few weeks, using us as her guinea pigs.
This morning, she attempted blueberry pancakes and burned every single one. We’re all putting on our best faces, hyping her up and telling her they’re still good, but I think she senses that cooking may not be her particular niche.
“I’m sorry, guys. I’ll get the hang of this. I swear,” she whines, clearing her plate and Lex’s.
“You’re welcome to become my sidekick, Pep. Olly hasn’t been on his game lately.” I shoot, and his eyes instantly flick to mine, but I give him a quick wink while her back is turned.
“Thanks, Fal. I’ll think about it.”
Usually by now, everyone’s cleared the table, off on their own adventure until we have work, but something’s up.
Oliver is pretending to scroll on his phone, stealing glances at Ozzy every minute or so, thinking that I haven’t noticed.
Lex brought his laptop to the table, which isn’t unusual, but he normally runs back to his cave the second we’re done eating.
Then, there’s my Greek God , who isn’t as clever as he is handsome because I’ve clocked him since the second I woke up. He’s been attached to my hip all morning, constantly checking on my well-being, and flooding our conversations with positive affirmations.
He’s being cavity-inducing sweet, and I’m over it. Whatever’s going on, they can’t fool me. “Alright, spill. What’s up?”
“Nothing’s up, per se,” Oliver says, but I can smell the bullshit.
“Spit it out, I’m not in the mood for this song and dance.” I glance at all three of them, waiting to see who will fold first.
“We got an email last night,” Lex chokes out, and we have a winner.
I’ve learned so much about these people, and by now, they should know not to hide shit from me. I can read them all like a morning paper. Even Pepper knew something, considering she high-tailed it out of the kitchen the second I opened my mouth.
“And?”
“And Mr. A wants bi-weekly meetings with you,” Ozzy finishes, and I take a moment to mull it over.
More meetings means more chances to get in his mind, carve out his thinking process and find that one weakness that’ll help us take him down for good. This is a win and a no-brainer.
“That’s so fucking perfect. When?” I ask, but everyone avoids my eyes, except Ozzy.
“There won’t be any meetings, Fallon.”
“Yeah, okay,” I laugh, but nobody seems to find his naivety funny. “You can’t be fucking serious. He’s offering himself to me on a silver platter and you want me to say no ?”
Everyone is silent, staring at us as we’re locked into another classic Fallon and Ozzy standoff , but he’s ridiculous if he thinks I’m passing up a golden opportunity like this.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to regularly have conversations with this man. He’s trying to break you,” he speaks first, and I can barely keep from rolling my eyes.
“I’m going to go ... anywhere else,” Oliver says carefully, disappearing from the kitchen in the blink of an eye.
Lex is right behind him, racing away from the discourse faster than he dropped the bomb that started it.
“Bambi, come on. After your last meeting with him, you didn’t get out of bed for two days,” he bargains, but I hold my hand up in defense.
“I was thinking . Remembering every syllable of our conversation and every detail of his body language. I was studying him, Ozzy. If you think a few comments about our personal lives are enough to rattle my cage, you don’t know me like you think you do,” I say sternly, my frustration beginning to boil to the surface.
“I don’t want him to mess with your mind, Bambi.”
I know his instincts are to protect me and keep me safe, but I’m not someone who needs to be handled with kid gloves. I’m a grown-up who has business to attend to, and if these meetings get me closer to that goal, the risk is worth it.
“Do you trust me, Oswaldo?”
“With my life,” he says immediately, and I hold my hand out for him to take.
“Come on. We have something we need to do.” I stand from the table, his fingers entwined with mine as I lead him to our room.
The first time we had a disagreement – technically our first fight – we solidified our relationship with something unique, special, and all ours that led to the greatest bond two people can share.
Now, we find ourselves at another crossroads, with much more on the line, and I intend to rewrite history, adjusting it to fit the narrative we’re in now.
I let this man carve into my thigh, just to prove himself to me, but this time it’ll serve a different purpose. Instead of a commitment, this will be a reminder of why we’re doing this and what we’re fighting for.
We need to re-solidify our bond, connect in ways that only we can, and give each other another piece that can never be stolen.
“Where’s your blade?” I ask, locking the door behind us.
“My blade? On the nightstand,” he says apprehensively, and I step beside him, trailing my finger along his chest until I feel the B on his skin.
Our blood oath.
“Take off your shirt. What’s yours is mine, right?”
“Yes, Bambi. All yours,” he breathes, goosebumps prickling his tanned skin as he lays on the bed.
I slip the knife from its case, admiring the shiny metal with an idea already front and center in my mind. I drag the tip around his pecs, choosing the untouched area of skin right above his heart.
My breathing intensifies as I get ready to pierce his flesh — not too soft, but not too hard either — just the right amount to get the job done. I trace my design out carefully, the crimson-red liquid pooling on the edge of the knife, but before I can have a taste, I add a small halo, completing the newest addition to our oath.
My cheeks feel hot, and every piece of clothing on my body suddenly feels heavy, like I’m overdressed in a heatwave. I shrug all those feelings off, my focus lasered onto the blood dripping toward the handle of the blade, but before it meets the leather, I dip my tongue onto the stainless steel, instantly remembering the euphoric feeling only this act could give me.
My senses are on fire, and my jaw tightens as my tastebuds recognize the metallic flavor, almost like they’re dancing with excitement.
My eyes flutter shut, and my head tips back slightly, a deep breath escaping my lips before I can control it. I want to savor this moment, but I hear Ozzy’s soft moans, and come back to reality, knowing that this act drives him fucking wild, too.
He’s waiting for his turn, and I graciously pass the blade to him, handing him my makeup mirror so he can examine the art on his body.
It’s a capital A, for Angel, with a makeshift halo over the point where both sides meet, honoring the fact that he’s not here. As his eyes study my work, tears well in his eyes, and I almost break down too, but I shake it off, staying strong for him.
“Well?”
“It’s absolutely perfect, Bambi. My turn?” He kisses me hard, and with one hand, presses my body onto the mattress.
Slowly, he works the cotton shorts down my legs, tossing them onto the floor as his eyes rake over my exposed thighs.
I can feel a heartbeat in the place he previously marked me, and when he spreads me open, I draw in a long breath.
The anticipation is killing me, whatever he’s about to do has my body buzzing, but nothing compares to the moment he stabs into my untouched thigh, and I’m lost in the pleasure this specific brand of pain brings.
My legs are shaking, my chest is heaving, and I only recognize this sensation when I’m on the edge of an orgasm. Could I be getting off from Ozzy’s blade carving into my skin?
He notices just as a soft moan escapes my lips, his eyes flicking to mine as he peers up at me, his lips dangerously close to my panties.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers, grinning like the fucking devil just as he dips his tongue into my open flesh.
“Oh my fucking God!” I scream, my back arching as he maneuvers over the design he carved into me.
While he trails kisses on my thighs, he slides my panties to the side, slipping three fingers inside me with no warning, causing me to shriek and slam my palms on the bed, looking for something to dig my nails into.
“Jesus Christ, Bambi, you look so perfect like this. The blood dripping down your leg, your beautiful body shaking on the mattress. I fucking love it when you cum for me.”
His words are rough, the husky tone of his voice sending me straight over the cusp of reality, landing me in a space where everything is ablaze, and I’m nothing but a quivering little disaster.
He drags his finger lazily around the wound, and my head tips back as another wave of pleasure soars through me with the sensation of knowing he’s literally playing with my blood.
Once he’s done, he marvels at the red-stain on his fingers and slowly licks each one clean, releasing them with a loud pop. I’m nearly buzzing at the sight, another high chased that I’m afraid won’t be matched.
“It’s an A with a heart, and I plan to add the initials of every baby we have,” Ozzy whispers, breaking our silence as he climbs on top of me, swiping the hair away from my sweat-soaked forehead.
I peek down at the design, and I realize he wasn’t just drawing a random pattern with the blood; he spelled out one word, four letters.
Mine .
“Deal. Sacred prayer?” I breathe, but it comes out as more of a moan as I wrap my arms around his neck.
“Like an oath.” He locks our ring fingers together, effectively ending the standoff we were trapped in.
Our solemn promises have become some kind of twisted ritual, but it works . Choosing each other is easy, promises and vows can be broken, but drawing blood will always be how I can truthfully express my utter devotion to him.
Sometimes, couples fight, but it’s how they come out on the other side that matters. Ozzy and I disagree occasionally, but no matter what, we find our way back to the light stronger each time.
* * *
There's nagging in the back of my head, but for once, it’s not my thoughts, or Ozzy’s constant worry over my well-being.
For the last few weeks, I’ve had ingrown hair on the baseline of my roots, which I blame myself for, since I used shit products while Ozzy was gone. I don’t think it’s a big deal, so I try not to mention it because my almost-husband is hellbent on bringing me to a doctor.
I have much more on my mind than a bump on my scalp, as my next meeting with Mr. A. is coming up in a few days.
The first bi-weekly meeting was purely business, his comments about my personal life were left out, and Oliver was able to sit beside me without having to speak a word. I handed over the ledgers from the crew’s job, and he was pleased with how well it was handled.
Overall, I’m building a rapport with him, and this week, I plan on going alone, unbeknownst to everyone else. I’ll drop that bomb the night before, because I know he won’t speak freely or give me any pieces of him with a bodyguard sitting to my left every time.
You’d think he’d want to speak with Ozzy or even Max, but he’s got his focus set on me, and I think I’m the one who can match the obsessive, chaotic energy he possesses. I didn’t know Masha personally, but the only assumption I can gather is that’s his reason for latching onto me so hard.
Since I took the first meeting, things have been tense, with the crew having their own opinions of his intentions and my relationship with this man, but as strange as they think it is, I’m certain this will get us to where we want to be.
This afternoon, Lex cut off all Mr. A. research, taking the time to back up files and upgrade his software, so while the guys are scouting for a new job, I’ve planned a little date night for my man.
I’ve made his favorite dinner, taken a luxurious bath, and now, I’m planning to curl my hair how he likes. It’s been way too long since we’ve had a date, but tonight I’m bringing the romance to us. I took the liberty of setting out candles, flowers and securing our favorite wine, all set up on the back patio so we can watch the sunset.
It’s nothing like the things he’s surprised me with in the past – the beach date coming to mind first and foremost – but I’m hoping my attempt at a grand gesture will blow him away.
It’s peaceful in the house, and I have the music on low as I wave the curling iron through my hair, enjoying the rare moment I’m having where I’m not scheming all the different ways to kill a man.
Admittedly, I thrive when I’ve got a plot forming in my mind, but today, it’s all about romance.
My thoughts are flooded with excitement about spending an evening in candlelight alongside Ozzy, shelving all talk of revenge, murder, and progress on the jobs we’re running.
I gently work the wand around this bump near my roots, but in a split second, I feel a pop on my scalp, and there’s blood pouring down my neck.
I drop the curling iron, feeling the burn as it scalds my leg before hitting the floor with a thud.
Normally, I’m all about the blood – and the acts that go with it – but something about this is making my head woozy, and my vision begins to fade to black.
I’m unable to catch myself; flashes of the room spinning plague me as I crash onto the hardwood, every inch of my body screaming in pain, and a pool of blood trickling beside me.
I can’t speak, call for help, or move, but the darkness is calling me, an offer I can’t afford to refuse.