Page 65 of A Trap So Flawless

Tax implications. Riveting stuff. It makes me smile, though, to know that Darragh doesn’t spend all his time elbows-deep in blood – other people’s or lately, his own. Some boring office work will be good for him for the next little while.

He continues watching me as I wander around the office. His bookshelves are stuffed full, something I approve of. I walk slowly along, tracing titles and spines with my nails.

“What about that capital gains increase? That still happening anytime soon?”

When I’m finished checking out the shelves, I move on to his desk. There’s a computer, of course, and various papers piled up here and there, some of them in rather haphazard-looking stacks. Darragh may have his quirks and obsessions, but he certainly isn’t anal about organizing his documents. Without really thinking about it, I start idly straightening things up. Not because I care about how clean his desk is. But because I want to help him.

It's something that a wife would do.

Sighing quietly, I abandon the papers and examine the other items on the desk. I can feel Darragh’s eyes drilling into me as I pick up a pair of dice. One is black, one is red. On the side of each die that should have a single dot, they each have a skull instead.

They’re the dice from Darragh’s tattoo.

“They were Callum’s.”

I look up, realizing Darragh is speaking to me now. His phone is no longer in his hand.

“His favourite ones,” Darragh goes on. “He taught me cards. Chess. Dice. He gave me those before I came to Canada.” He tilts his head. “Do you want to play?”

“I don’t know any dice games,” I admit. I roll the dice together in my right hand, enjoying the tactile sensation of the plastic cubes knocking together. “Besides, the last time I played a game with you in Toronto, I was left bleeding and alone at the end of it.”

“Doesn’t have to be any real dice game,” he says. “I’ll even let you make up the rules.”

“Hmm. Tempting.” I transfer the dice from one hand to the other, thinking. “Alright. How about this? Nothing complicated. We each roll. Whoever rolls a higher number gets to ask the other a question. And the one who rolled lower has to answer it honestly.”

“Sounds like Truth or Dare,” he says.

“Sort of.” I shrug. “We can call it Truth and Dice.”

He holds out his hand. I drop the red die into it.

“You’re red, I’m black. To go with our hair,” I tell him. I toss my die onto a clear area of his desk, then grin triumphantly when it lands with the six side facing up.

“A natural,” Darragh mutters. He tosses down his die. I let out a cackling cheer when he gets the skull.

“Go ahead, then,” he says with an indulgent sigh and a smirk. “Ask away.”

Possibilities run through my head. I didn’t think he’d actually agree to play, let alone that I would win the first round. I settle on something that’s been bugging me for a few days now.

“What did you say to me the other night? In Irish? In the bath?”

His smirk vanishes. Like I’ve pinched my finger and thumb to the candle of it.

“You expect me to remember the shit I say when I’m about to come?” he asks with a bitter sort of bravado. Like he remembers perfectly fine. Like he’s lying.

“Are you afraid?” I challenge. I point at the dice on the desk. “I won this round. Fair and square. You have to answer.”

“Fair and square,” he says sardonically under his breath. “Nothing about the hold you have on me is fair.” A slight pause, then, “I said, ‘Tá mo chroí istigh ionat.’”

I shiver as the lyrical sounds brush my skin.

“What does it mean?” I ask.

“Oh, no,” he says with a vicious shake of his head. “You only get one question. You’ll have to roll again and win if you want to ask more.”

“You said I was allowed to make up the rules to this game,” I remind him, narrowing my eyes and crossing my arms.

“I’m instituting one of my own,” he growls in return, snatching up his die.

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