Page 77 of Good As Hell

This dumb-ass-dummy doesn’t know he gave himself away when he tried to humiliate her at our betrothal dinner. That night I marked him for death.

“You’re already dead.” I let a smile play across my face. Seeing his panic almost makes my dick hard.

“Ready?” Tossing the question over my shoulder to Nikko, I keep my eyes on the monster before me as I slip my gloves on. They say you watch closely, you can see the demon in their eyes.

“Yeah.”

I clamp the blander. There. His demon rises. I whisper a prayer — for my soul not his as I exact Allah’s justice as is my duty.

With precision, I castrate him. I stuff his insignificance into his mouth. “Hold this for me, will you?” Stepping back, I make room for Nikko, who presses the hot poker into the gaping cavity when his dick used to be. His screams fill the space, ricocheting throughout the cavernous space.

The acrid smell of burning flesh washes over me. Instead of my gorge rising, sick satisfaction wraps around me.

“Wake him.” Taking the blunt offered, I take a drag.

“Damn.” I look over to Oz, passing it back.

“That SA shit is fire. Strongest on the planet, just like my people. Aye, let me know if you want in on distribution,” he says, taking it from me, pulling a long drag before passing it on to Nikko.

“Hell yeah, I’ll have Sadiq to contact you.” I say, taking another drag after it’s passed back, waiting for this chump to wake up.

Taking the blooded blander over to the sink, I wash and rinse it clean.

I don’t hide my smile when I hear his whimpers. Joy rivaling that when I welcomed my daughter into the world spreads me as he starts screaming as I approach him with my fillet knife.

Feeling generous, I toss its mate to Nikko.

“Let’s flay this motherfucker.”

Epilogue

LIVING MY LIFE LIKE IT’S GOLDEN

LYRIC

Hassan seems unusually happy.

He’s singing, “My Love Habibti,” to Antonia. Who knew he had such an amazing baritone?

He was content to let me sing lullabies to Ayaan. Yet, when I woke up to him singing to Antonia after I gave birth.

“You have to sing to Ayaan and Zayn too.” I told him. His voice was heaven. For some reason, I didn’t ask him to sing for me. I don’t know why.

“I will.” He promised his eyes were shining so bright the vulnerability rare and precious. I didn’t push. My prince is not a man to be pushed. He’s a man you allow to work through his shit, trusting that his honor will win out.

Instinctively, I knew that then, just as I know it now.

“What’s got you so happy?” I ask as he puts her in her crib.

“You. Them.” he says, caging me in his strong arms, drawing me into his hard body.

“Come with me.” He tugs me behind him, closing the door with a soft snick behind us.

We’d already put Ayaan and Zayn to bed earlier as our routine now dictates. We have two very clever and rambunctious boys.

I’m so blessed. Everything I ever dreamed has come to true. Being loved and protected by Hassan is more than the stuff of fantasies — it’s a reality I deserve.

We worked through the hard parts and we are still a work in progress. Just like I know his ass is lying about why he’s happy. He did something. Still a villain through and through. I know him better than anyone, maybe even his equally diabolical twin. So, I know that self satisfied chest puffing is only caused by my pussy, our kids our killing some unfortunate.

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