Page 70 of The Stallion
The cleaners enlisted for the MUR were typically quick with their timing and diligent in their craft. After issuing the clean-up order, they responded within minutes and were usually on-site in under fifteen minutes. Depending on the mess left behind, from start to finish, they could have a room looking brand fucking new in under a few short hours.
With the amount of blood my wife had spilled and the spatter that coated the walls and drapes, this would be one of their longer processes.
Bria did a fucking number on the guy, I could barely recognize his face once she was through with him.The sorry son-of-a-bitch didn’t stand a chance.
Once we had reached the car, I opened the passenger door and gently lowered my sweet girl into her seat. At this point, I probably should have checked her for any life-threatening wounds, but my heart and mind were racing at a rate where I couldn’t spare a single second to process anything past just fucking leaving.
I knelt on the pavement beside her, gently removing the jacket I had draped across her chest. I then ran my trembling hands along every square inch of her body, actively checking her arms, stomach, chest, and neck.
Her fucking neck…
Every time I saw the bruise marks, I could feel a knot forming in my stomach.
“Dallas,” Bria rasped, raising a hand to cradle the side of my face and lifting my eyes to meet hers. Out of instinct, I leaned into her comforting touch, her palm warm—reinforcing that she was alive and I wasn’t just imagining her safety to protect my own fucking sanity.
“Why didn’t you ask me for help?… I’m allowed to help you, Bria. That’s the whole point of having married couples in the MUR—so we can work together and not handle these jobs alone anymore.”
A partner in more than just life itself.
“I had it under control—”
“Bullshit, look at yourself—”
“Don’t come at me like that after everything that just happened in that room.” Her stern gaze seared into mine as she snapped with a fire unlike any I had seen before. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it made me want her even fucking more. “I completed my test. I killed my assigned target, and I’m fine. I’m alive, I’m breathing, I’m—”
“You’re caked in another man’s blood—”
“Wasn’t that the whole point of my fucking test? To spill blood and prove my worth to your fucked up secret society? My loyalty to you?”
To spill, not paint the fucking room like murder was her muse.
“That’s not—You still should’ve—fuck…” Unable to prevent myself from stumbling over more words, I sucked on my teeth as I hung my head and reassessed our situation.
I didn’t want to fight with her—to argue. Everything she had said was valid—the truth—and I was too stubborn to accept it.
I was the one who put her in harm’s way with the marriage.
I was the one who let her go into her test alone.
Even though my hands never maliciously touched her, I was at fault for all of this.
And itfucking sucked to admit it.
“Dallas, I’m okay.” Bria leaned her body forward, pressing her forehead against my temple and nuzzling it softly as she murmured, “He didn’t hurt me.”
“Your neck—” My voice cracked at the word, still unable to meet her gaze, the guilt swallowing me whole.
I wasn’t a man known for showing weakness, not with the path that had been paved before me. My father raised me to understand the importance of being strong and unforgiving, but this woman had managed to bring it out of me single-handedly in such a short period of time.
“Will heal… Unlike Leroy’s multiple stab wounds to the back, chest, and face.” I could hear the slight lilt in her tone—an attempt to lighten the mood that had started weighing me down.
Bria had turned into my everything over the weeks leading up to tonight, and in the blink of an eye, I nearly lost my sweet girl, just as fast as I had found her.
“Don’t you ever fucking do something like that to me again… I thought—I thought I was going to lose you.”
“Oh you poor fucking man…” She subtly mocked, forcing my chin up to face her. “You’re stuck with me until one of us goes to hell—” Her eyes dropped to my mouth as she traced her thumb along my lower lip. “And if I go first, you can bet your sorry, well-toned ass, that I’ll be dragging you down right along with me.”
If she could move past what had just occurred, then so could I—her brazen confidence in what she had done, pulling me back.But, no matter how confident she may be after this, I refused to risk letting it happen again.
