Chapter 8 Nina
NINA
My phone pings first thing in the morning two days later, and I jump on it with all the eagerness of a dog hearing a plastic packet. Then my brain catches up, remembering that I blocked him, so it can’t be Blake. I fall back onto my pillow.
I have an insane amount of money and a solid lump where my heart should be.
This was the correct thing to do.
Feeling bad about taking money from a billionaire mafia boss is silly. Being sad about not talking to a dangerous, ruthless man is even more idiotic.
Missing him clogs my throat and scratches at my heart when I lie awake at night.
Two mornings missing Blake teasing and chatting with me, and I’m still devastated. I should be nothing, but I think the mafia boss is my best friend.
Was.
Probably he isn’t thinking of me like I am him.
The notification was probably junk email, but without looking I grasp for my phone on the bedside table and bring it to my bleary eyes.
The Paddington Station app says, “A new parcel for BunnytheKiller is awaiting collection”.
I jolt. I’m awake. Instantly.
The app shows a picture of the package, which is sleek black cardboard, giving nothing away about its contents. There are only the ticks showing that it has passed the various Paddington Station tests.
It’s from Blake.
I shouldn’t go to get it. The risk is too high. I stopped messaging him so he’d forget about me, and Aaron’s mistake will remain unnoticed.
I tell myself that all day at work, as I turn my eyes square and hot from looking at my computer screen.
But afterwards, I find myself going in the opposite direction to the commuters, heading into central London and then north of the river to Paddington Station. The pick-up is smooth this time, since I know what I’m doing.
I clutch the box—it’s big enough that I have to hold it with both hands—all the way home. I can’t explain how it feels expensive, but it does. It’s sleek and heavy.
Blake will be notified I’ve collected it.
I should have ignored it, and I’m taking a crazy gamble already. But the thought of opening this without messaging Blake about it is impossible. My longing isn’t for whatever is in this parcel, just as I didn’t talk to him on the phone because of the money.
It’s an excuse, because I crave talking to him. I need that sensation of being understood and appreciated as an equal, and my brother and my job and even my friends who think I’m odd don’t give me that feeling. The only person who makes my tummy flip and has truly valued me, is Blake.
One more conversation can’t do any harm, can it?
Opening my phone, I unblock Blake from TelUBox.
And I message him.
BunnytheKiller
Is it a head?
The dots bounce immediately, and my heart lifts. I’m smiling.
This could still go wrong, but he’s talking to me, at least.
Blake
So little faith in me, Bunny.
BunnytheKiller
Aren’t body parts the traditional intimidation technique for a mafia boss?
Blake
That would be a horse’s head in your bed. A head in a box is a serial killer.
I admit there are similarities between the two, but mafia bosses have more money and charm.
BunnytheKiller
And fewer horses.
Blake
I have a kitten though. A-kitten-has-no-name missed you.
That’s ridiculous. I type out “I miss her too” then delete it. Three times.
It’s talking to Blake I missed, and I can’t admit that.
BunnytheKiller
I feel like horse heads are the opposite of charming. More mentally unhinged.
Blake
I’m not denying the psychopath possibility. I’m saying if I put something large and horse-like in your bed, it wouldn’t be decapitated.
And you’d like it when you screamed.
My cheeks heat. Hung like a horse, immediately pops into my mind. He would be in my bed, and make me scream as he… Well. I don’t know precisely. I have all the experience of sex of a nun from 1487.
He’s definitely flirting with me, and I’m not sure what to do with that information. Except, try not to act like an idiot or get killed. A mafia boss is dangerous, however cute his kitten is.
And however much the stubbled line of his jaw and the tattoos on his strong hands make my tummy all squirmy.
There’s a folded piece of paper on top. I know what I’m going to find before I’ve flipped it open.
Looking forward to seeing you with this.
Blake.
Tentatively, I pick the soft tissue paper out. A glint of dark metal is revealed, and I gasp. It’s a gun.
I have no idea what sort. Maybe a handgun?
But it’s beautiful, if that’s an appropriate way to talk about a weapon meant for causing terrible harm?
The metal is delicately engraved with leaves and curling patterns, the black stark against the silver around a central image in an oval.
It’s a rabbit. A bunny. The handle is highly polished wood with a lustre that seems to glow.
The mafia boss has sent me a present for an actual assassin. That’s… Uh. Bad. I suppose a real killer would be delighted? And more importantly, he’ll think I’ll use it to come and try to kill him.
The multitude of ways this could go wrong flick across my vision like scrolling a video app after having consumed too much caffeine.
Should I show him I can use this gun? It’s far too pretty. I’m almost afraid to touch it. But this is not a weapon that’s meant to be used, right? It’s a piece of artwork.
Except, there are bullets. In a neat package.
And I’m weirdly touched by the gift. It treads the line between pretending that he believes my lies, and calling me on them.
Gingerly, I pick it up, careful to point it at the floor.
Hopefully it’s not loaded, but I’m not taking any chances.
Turning it over in my hands, I admire the details and the expense.
I can’t believe he even found a gun with a rabbit on it, one ear twitching around as though listening.
The engraving is as intricate as any painting.
And as I marvel, I notice something else. There’s an engraved phrase.
My Bunny.
My heart flips.
His? I’m warm and tingly all over. This is custom-produced, I realise. The placement of the words couldn’t have been added afterwards to a pre-made image. Blake Thorne had a gun made especially for BunnytheKiller.
Presumably unaware that it’s impossible I can ever be his.
And he wouldn’t even want me. He’s a powerful mafia boss, and I’m an unexciting girl who trained as an accountant because I didn’t have the courage to risk trying to be anything more. I sigh with longing as I place the gun back, then hesitate.
Beneath the gun is another layer of tissue paper, and I check the depth of the box. There’s more.
I’m cautious as I lift out the paper, and there’s a flash of dark-pink. Furry. Then a glint of a silver chain.
Handcuffs.
Deep-pink, fluffy, handcuffs. I lift them out and my fingers sink into the soft fur. These aren’t novelty plastic cuffs with a bit of decoration. They’re plush and luxurious and silky.
I wonder if Blake touched them, and what he imagined me doing with them. This is such a totally different vibe to the gun, except for the expense.
The last item is revealed, and my heart does an impression of a bus with dodgy brakes.
It’s a sex toy. Even I—sheltered as I am—know that the red silicone “rose” is used for uh… Well. Orgasms. The exact way they achieve that, I’m not sure. The description on the packaging says suction and vibration.
Orgasms given to me by Blake, the idea of which ripples sensation up and down my spine.
I’d like to say I won’t touch it, but the thought of Blake imagining me with it is scorching hot.
He’s intrigued by me because I’m inaccessible, and that’s for the best. However unrealistic the whole scenario is, as he doesn’t know anything about me, I’m going to enjoy my delusion that Blake could want me. While it lasts.
I should try to maintain a fig leaf of the cover that I’m a for-hire-killer though, so I search online about gun handling, and watch a few videos.
After that, I pull up my sleeve, find a plain wall, and video myself turning the gun and putting the safety on and off.
Around two thousand and seventy-three takes, and I make a video that’s vaguely convincing that this isn’t the first time I’ve touched a gun.
BunnytheKiller
Thanks for the present.
I upload the video, and hold my breath.
Blake
Good Bunny.
I sigh with relief. Those two words are a warm blanket of approval wrapped around my shoulders. I shouldn’t like it.
Blake
What about the other gifts?
Oh gawwwd. He means the fluffy handcuffs that are clearly coded for sexy times, not practicalities.
That, and the vibrator. Sucker. Whatever it is that rose-shaped thing does.
BunnytheKiller
The cuffs need another person, and that’s not happening.
Which sounds suitably dismissive, but is true. I have no boyfriend, and with a brother as protective as mine, that’s never likely to happen. But also, I’ve never met a man I liked enough to think about whether I’d like to do naked things with.
My treacherous brain links to Blake, as though determined to show I’m a liar.
Alright. I’ve messaged with and seen pictures of a man I’d be interested in.
Blake
And the other thing?
BunnytheKiller
What about it?
Blake
You sent me a video of you with the gun. Send me one of you using the toy.
The air whooshes out of my lungs. The sex toy.
Blake
I’m waiting.
I can’t do that.
Right?
That would be crazy.
But it would be living.