His hand went to my throat, his fingers tightening. I could still breathe, but it took a lot of effort to pull the small amount of air he was allowing. “I’ll be glad when I’m finally done with you,” he whispered, his voice so rough and deep that all I could think was that this was how I imagined the devil would sound.
“Why didn’t… you… sign divorce… papers,” I managed to gasp out, his grasp not loosening an inch. Shadows covered one side of his face.
It was like he was two people.
The man I married and the man greed had created.
Simon had never been perfect, but we’d had a good marriage. The moment he had a taste of the darkness, the money, the drugs, the power, there was no pulling him back. The other Simon was still in there somewhere, but he’d been smothered.
“If the Syndicate had’ve found out, we’d have both been killed.”
So he’d saved his own ass.
“I hate… you.”
The sick smile that pulled up on his face told me he didn’t give a shit.
I was beginning to feel dizzy when he finally released my throat leaving me coughing and gagging as I tried to draw air into my deprived lungs.
He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small box. Lifting the lid, he revealed a daisy—
or what was left of one—only one petal remained, and just like all the other packages, this one had a note.
He raised the gun in his hand and held it against my chest, right over my heart.
I heard the words as he spoke them, his voice a low whisper that chilled my body to the bone.
I knew it was over.
“She loves me not.”