I did. “I think—” Air hitched in my throat for a moment as I processed. “Yes,” I said. “It’ll help me feel comfortable knowing just how much you’ve done.”
“How much,” he snickered. “Or how many people I’ve killed?”
I clung to him tighter. “Yeah, the same thing, grammar police over there.”
“No, no, no, that... I was just clarifying whether you meant killing or—” He tried turning his head to see me, but I dodged his side glances. I think I felt comfortable asking him questions when he wasn’t looking directly at me. It was exciting when we were together, learning about each other, but it almost felt secret being on his back like a turtle shell. “You’ve got to understand a couple of things. I’ve never killed someone who didn’t deserve it. I’ve always taken the jobs I knew were about taking out shitty humans.”
“How do you know if someone is shitty?”
He continued to haul the logs underarm and me on his back, his steps heavier as he grunted. “Well, a shitty person is probably someone who’s killing people, someone who’s outthere thinking they can just do whatever they want and profit off it.”
I had more questions. I always had more questions. “So, how many of them have you killed?”
“A hundred,” he said.
“A guess?”
“Yes,” he laughed. “It’s not as easy as that. I was in the armed forced in my twenties. Left because... well, fuck being used as a puppet for the army.”
“The army,” I said.
“I’ve definitely told you about that,” he said. “I was in the army for four years, and another four in the reserves. You never get shit, they just tell you where you’re going, then that’s it. You’re a presence in an area more than anything. And yeah, we’re usually there for our own interests.”
I clung to him tighter. I didn’t know if he needed my backwards hug, but he was getting it. I didn’t know about his experience, but maybe the added component of being gay didn’t help—or he was totally oblivious to it. I wasn’t going to dig any further. He was what I might’ve called a meat head if that first date hadn’t gone so well, someone who was all big, muscular, probably didn’t know how to process their emotions... but he was different.
We reached the house and Jacques threw the logs into the wood hutch round the side. There was a large stump beside it used for splitting in wood in two. He pulled me around his body and sat me on the wood fencing at the side of the house in the small part acting as a porch.
“I try not to think about my time in the army,” he said.
“I get it,” I said, sliding a hand up the side of his face and stroking his facial hair. “I won’t ask about it.”
“Kitten, it’s okay to ask,” he said, pulling my hand close into his face and kissing my palm. “My life is completelydifferent now. I learned discipline in the army, I learned focus. It taught me so much, and I’m grateful for the opportunity it gave me. People respect that I served. And I’ve gone from being a pawn in the government to being in control of my life—even if I’ve been connected to multiple agencies, mercenaries, and gun-for-hire shit.” He shook his head, eyes closed, and continued to press his face deep into my palm.
“So, does that mean you’ll no longer follow orders?” I asked in a giggle.
“From you?” He winked at me. “Maybe, but I’m the one who gives the orders, kitten.”
My toes curled up with excitement. “Yeah,” I offered in breathless excitement. “What kind of orders?”
“Only fun ones,” he said. “But as long as they keep our cover.”
“Right, we’ve got fake names,” I said, nodding.
“And we’re married.”
The idea gave me butterflies. I mean, it wasn’t an absolutely crazy idea. Loads of celebs did it. The entire premise of Las Vegas must’ve been founded on the idea of quickie marriages, and sure, expensive divorces in the office buildings right next door. “So, we’ve got to do married people things.”
He kissed me. “Like that?”
I nodded, accepting another kiss and tickle from his scratchy beard.
“What about me getting a smoker and starting to barbeque?”
“Well, that’s definitely husband stuff,” I said.
“Making you the wife?”
I swatted a hand at his jacket, then moved my hand up his neck and playfully squeezed him. “And I don’t even have a diamond ring.” I snorted back laughter. “But no, we’re both husbands. Let’s not put all that het stuff on ourselves.”
