Page 80 of Toxic B!tch
She’s always been good at this—knows exactly where to make the cut, how deep, how precise. Me? Not so much. But I’ve been doing this long enough to know it’s not the time for mistakes.
“Not like that,” she says, her voice sharp. I can feel the irritation in her tone, even if she’s not saying much more than that. “You have to stab more to the right or you’ll hit the femoral artery, and this will be over too soon.”
I meet her gaze, giving her a half-smile. “Pretty girl, if you wanna come over and do it yourself…”
I see her jaw tighten. Her eyes narrow as she glares at me, and I know I’ve pushed her too far. She’s already on edge, and with her, when that happens, it’s like walking on glass.
“I would if I could,” she snaps, her words clipped. “But I can’t get too excited right now.”
She rubs her stomach. Her hoodie stretches over the roundness of her belly, and I can see the way her fingers linger there. It’s been nine months now—almost time. I feel a wave of nerves every time I think about it. Our daughter, the little girl growing inside her.
It changes everything. I don’t know how to reconcile this life—the bloodshed, the deals made in darkness, the dangerous people we handle—with the reality of being a father. It doesn’t seem like we can have both, but damn it, I’m going to try.
I force my attention back to the job, but my thoughts keep drifting to her. To the baby.
"Then deal with how I do it. This isn't exactly my forte," I mutter, trying to focus.
She shrugs, but the tension’s still in her shoulders. I can see her trying to hold it all together. Her voice softens as she cradles her belly again. "I know, baby. I’m just cranky and uncomfortable. This little chunk needs to come out already.”
A small grin tugs at my lips. "Soon enough, Mama. Soon enough."
The guy in the chair, our target, has been quiet for a while now, but suddenly he screams, his voice shrill. “This is so fucked! You two are fucked up!”
I give him a cold, dead stare. “Kinda figured that out for myself a little over a year ago,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “Thanks for the reminder.”
With a swift motion, I slice his throat, blood spraying across the floor as he gasps in a dying breath. I watch him crumble, but I don’t linger. Not my style.
“Too fast!” Indigo complains, her voice high-pitched as she frowns.
I chuckle, wiping the blood off my hands. “I don’t savor it like you, Mama. He got what he deserved. And we get paid. That’s all that matters, right?”
She pouts. Her lips curl downward, and her eyes give me that look again. The one that says she’s not entirely happy with me, but she’s not going to make a scene. Yet.
“Right,” she agrees, though the pout remains.
I take a few steps back and toss the knife into the bag, turning toward her. She’s still fidgeting with her hoodie, and I can tell she’s uncomfortable. Pregnancy does that to her. Hell, it does that to anyone. But this is different. This is her. My Indigo.
“You’ll be back in the driver’s seat soon enough,” I say, my voice low. “Then we have to figure out what we’re gonna do with our daughter when we come on these jobs.”
She looks up at me, her expression soft, almost distant. “We’ll hire a nanny to come with us. I’m sure Brandon knows someone.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m not leaving her with someone else, even if I trust them. She’s ours, Mama. We figure this out together.”
Her lips curl into a reluctant smile, but she doesn’t say anything else.
Instead, I pull out a small box from my pocket, already knowing what’s inside. I’ve been carrying it around for weeks, my nerves on edge every time I think about what it means. I open the box, and when I see it again—the red rock nestled in the hollowed-out squirrel skull—my breath hitches in my throat.
My heart skips a beat, and for a second, I wonder if I’m out of my damn mind for doing this. But I can’t wait any longer. Not after everything we’ve been through. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
Dropping to one knee, I hold the box out to her. My heart pounds in my chest, and I watch her face as her eyes lock on the ring. Her gaze flickers from the skull to me, and I swear I see her hands shake.
“Indigo...” I say her name like it’s the most sacred word I know. I’ve rehearsed this a hundred times, but now that I’m here, I’m not sure what I’m expecting. I just know I have to ask.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “You’re crazy, you know that? Like, completely out of your mind. But that’s why I love you. You’re weird, unpredictable, and you challenge the hell out of me in ways no one else ever has. You make me want things I didn’t even know I needed. And no matter how fucked up everything is around us, I know you’re the one I want by my side—forever.”
She doesn’t answer immediately, just stares at the ring, then back at me. Her jaw slackens, and for a moment, I think she might just say no. But then, she squeals—loud, excited, full of emotion. “You’re proposing with a red rock, in an animal skull, in front of a corpse as a witness?”
I laugh, the tension in my body unwinding a bit. “I am. And I’m getting kinda nervous. Are you gonna answer?”
