“What kind have you got?”
Grabbing her hand, I lead her into the house and up to my office. Opening the safe, I reveal six guns, a case of syringes and two shelves filled with various knives of all shapes and sizes. “Take your pick,” I say, watching Katie’s eyes light up at the array of weapons before her.
“I didn’t realise you were so well—”
“Endowed?” Folding my arms across my chest, I meet her glare with a wink.
“—Equipped.” She deadpans, scanning the weapons with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. Her beautiful eyes fall on the buck 120. I know exactly what she’s thinking as her head tilts to the side while she examines the blade with interest.
“They modified it for the movies, but yeah, same knife.”
“Fuck me, you really are like Ghostface.” Her delicate hand reaches for the blade, but she hesitates before touching it.
“Go ahead, bug,” I say with a smirk, watching as she finally picks up the knife, feeling the weight in her hand.
“That’s eight inches of pure lethal steel.”
“Bigger than you then,” I love the way her eyes light up when she’s trying to wind me up. I love how comfortable she is knowing what I am. I’m glad I told her in my office after Moore’s departure; it would have made things a hell of a lot more awkward to explain if I kept the lid on the whole “I’m a killer” thing.
“Just a smidge,” I say, my smirk widening. She takes a step closer, the knife glinting in the dim light. “For the record, I don’t run around in a Halloween costume or hunt innocent virgins.”
“It’s probably a good thing,” she mutters, twisting the blade in her hand. “With the number of Ghostface groupies on TikTok, I think you’d put yourself in danger of beingkidnapped and tied to a bed.”
“As long as that bed is ours, bug, I wouldn’t mind.” I grab her wrist and pull her closer. “Just promise me you won’t start a true crime podcast about us.”
She laughs, pressing the knife against my chest. “What would they call you, huh? What name would the world know you by? Ripper is so unoriginal.”
“I don’t have a preferred method of killing,” I admit. “But if you keep pointing that blade at me, I can think of a position you’ll find favourable.”
Katie turns, placing the knife back in the safe, then reaches for the Buck knives 110 folding hunter. “And this oversized pocketknife is useful for?”
I suck on my teeth. “That can be used for a number of things.”
She raises a challenging eyebrow. “Like?”
“Skinning, carving, gutting.” I shrug. “And the odd time, shanking.”
She jerks as if to take a step back, but thinks better of it. “You’ve shanked someone?”
“You make it sound so dirty,” I chuckle. “In most cases, it was me.” I step closer, grazing my nose against hers. “Or them.”
“And the other times?”
Plucking her lower lip with my thumb, I lean closer, my lips ghosting hers. “For fun.”
“And…” she breathes, her breasts grazing my chest. “If anyone hurts me?”
“Bug,” my lips fuse with hers, strawberries and cream explode on my tongue as I deepen the kiss. “I’ve killed for you before I loved you.”
She gulps. “And now?”
“They’ll still be alive while I dissect them.” My fingers tangle in her silken hair. I haven’t let Katie out of my sight since the incident in Foxrock. Walsh has been receiving packages all week with parts of his men inside.
This week alone, two of his men were taken out by a sniper, another killed in a “freak road accident,” and my personal favourite, the one who drowned in his own bathtub—not a trace of foul play—Walsh must be doing his nut in. That last one was worth the quarter-million-euro price tag attached. Pure brilliance. Meanwhile, I have made sure to be seen in public around the time of these incidences.
Katie wraps her arms around my neck. “No toys tonight; you promised to be on your best behaviour.”
Ah, yes. Her nephew’s twenty-first. “Is your mother going to be there?”
