Page 11 of Mob Princess

“Just. Finish,” he growled.

After tying off the last stitch, I surveyed my work. Not a bad job for only having done it four other times in my life. But I still wanted him to see a doctor in a few days if the stitches gave him trouble. I wiped across my work of art with an alcohol swab, and he hissed in pain. Just as he promised, though, he didn’t move.

So, I reached for the massive band-aid. “All right. I’m going to cover the stitches. I’ll need to go out and get—”

“I’ll get what we need so I can shower and stuff. Just finish what you’re doing so we can talk.”

I shrugged. “Okay.”

And after smoothing the band-aid over his skin, the two of us sat on the couch.

“Bonnie, I want you to survive this. That’s what I need you to know,” he said.

I nodded. “I know.”

“But someone just came into our home and cornered you in the kitchen. And you were unable to defend yourself.”

“If I had a gun or something—”

He snickered. “I’m not giving you anything like that.”

“Why? Because you’re scared I’ll kill you in the middle of the night?”

His eyes met mine. “For starters? Yes.”

“Some marriage we’ve got, huh?”

He grinned, but I didn’t follow suit. Mostly, because I didn’t think it was funny. I didn’t want our marriage to be like this. I didn’t want things to be this way. I wanted us to love one another and respect one another and fight on the same team. Not fight against each other. But, apparently, Israel thought this was cute.

And I wanted to punch him in the throat for it.

His grin fell away from his face. “Anyway, I want you to survive this. But I also want to make sure you’re not going to turn on me. I can assume you’re intelligent enough to understand why I would feel this way.”

I nodded curtly. “Yep.”

“I want you to check in with me every hour on the hour.”

I blinked, not sure I heard him right. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I need to know when you're okay and when you're not. Today we got lucky. Had I come in even moments later, I would’ve found your dead body. We need something at close intervals to trigger when I should come home, and when I’m okay to stay out. This is the only way we’re going to achieve this.”

Is he kidding right now? “A text can be easily faked.”

“Which is why you’re going to call.”

If he really thought I’d do this, he was as crazy as I assumed. “Let me get this straight. You want me blowing up your phone every hour on the hour when you’re not around, which is always, by the way. You’re gone before I get up and not back until after I go to sleep. Am I supposed to run on your hours now?”

“Bonnie, that isn’t—”

“Am I supposed to set my alarm clock for every hour in the middle of the night?”

“You’re taking this a bit too—”

I shrugged. “This was your idea. Are you going to come barging in at seven in the morning because I didn’t get up to call you?”

He stood to his feet quickly. “Enough!”

I jumped at the intensity of his voice and knew better than to say anything. So, I waited for him to continue.

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