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‘Careful, honey, it’s loaded,’ he warned, exiting the bathroom.
His lover lounged amid rumpled sheets, examining the handgun. ‘Does your wife know?’
He scoffed. ‘That dumb cow? She thinks I’m away on business.’
She rolled over to face him. ‘You gonna do it yourself, then?’
‘Nah. Too risky for myself. I’m hiring a professional.’ He crawled up the bed, peppering her stomach with kisses. ‘Once she’s out the picture, I’ll collect the life insurance and we’re minted.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘What about me? Maybe I could do it.’
He chuckled above her. ‘That’s cute, darlin’. But women ain’t killers. Besides, who’d ever be crazy enough to hire a female hitman?’ He leaned in for a kiss.
Cold metal pressed against his jaw. He froze.
She smirked up at him, her finger on the trigger. ‘Your wife.’
© 2020 | Tom Burton
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