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 becauseI didn’t have the courage to risk trying to be anything more. I sigh with longing as I place the gun back, then hesitate.
