The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing by Josie Brown Page A

ordered.” I try to slam the door shut, but he’s already got his foot in there. I could stomp on it, but what’s the use? I’ve got to play nice. Ryan’s orders.
    With his golf shirt over khaki slacks, he’ll certainly fit right in on Hilldale’s well-manicured and never-mean streets. The only giveaways that he’s not just another well-heeled suburban dad are those six-pack abs and his jacked biceps: a sight rarely seen in a town where desk-job paunch is more the norm.
    I wrap my thin silk robe around me all the tighter with one hand, and point to the coffee table by the chaise with the other. “I didn’t know you were doubling as a butler. Just drop it there. I’m sort of in a hurry. Jack and I are about to take a shower—”
    Carl frowns. But yes, he hears the water running. His face goes blank for just a moment. With a smirk, he sets down the tray and kicks off his shoes before sprawling out on the bed. “Great. Get him out here. I’ve got something important to say, and he needs to hear it, too.”
    The nerve of him! I don’t know what irks me more: that he’s not wearing socks and has his stinky feet on my bed, or that he’s about to catch me in a lie. “Jack is—he’s indisposed. Just speak your mind, Carl, and then get out of here.”
    He pats the bed. “What’s the rush? Sit down. Make yourself at home.”
    “Didn’t you hear me? I said Jack and I are—” 
    “Yeah. Something about jumping into the tub together. Sounds like fun. In fact, maybe I’ll join you.” 
    He springs up and heads for the bathroom. 
    I run toward the door, but I’m too late. He opens it and looks around. The glass shower door reveals I’m lying to him. 
    Carl snickers. “What did you do, flush him down the toilet?”
    “I… He….”
    “Skip it. I saw him, downstairs, a half hour ago. Three’s a crowd, anyway.” 
    To prove he means this, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close. I try to push him away, but his grip is like a vice, pinning me up against him. I’ve seen that look in his eyes before. His longing for me lights their deep, dark recesses of regret. 
    In the six years we were together, he learned to read me, too.
    I’m sad for him, for what he’s lost, and the loss still to come.
    But I’m angrier that he threw it away. 
    Our family.
    Us.
    Me.
    He doesn’t back off from the heat of my anger. Instead, it fuels his desire all the more. I know this because his lips tell me so.
    As do his hands, which gently shove my robe off my shoulders, the better to stroke my nipples. Every piece of me holds some memory of him. This is the only way I can explain why they harden under his deft touch, and why my mouth thirsts for his.
    He’s out of his shirt in no time. I freeze when he unbuckles his pants and they fall to the floor. When I see his thick, stiffened cock, I’m so mesmerized by the surge of emotions within me that I back away, into the shower. As the water pulses onto us, I’m blinded in a haze of steam and desire. Under the heat of his kisses, common sense melts away. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t some part of me that doesn’t ache to feel him inside me again. 
    He was my first true love…
    But now I love Jack.
    And Jack loves me. Whatever reticence he feels about my upcoming divorce can’t take that away.
    I’m now backed up against cold marble. With all my might, I try to push Carl away. But Carl doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he grinds into me. When I lift my knee as a cockblock, he takes hold of my leg and uses it as leverage to position himself so he can enter me. The look in his eye is one of lust. There is no love there, just retaliation.
    This is how he takes his revenge for what he sees as my desertion.
     I close my eyes in disgust—at him; more so, at myself—and brace myself for the inevitable—
    Then I hear it, loud and clear: the sound of a punch is followed by a groan, smashing glass, and a body slamming into a wall.
    Carl’s body.
    By the