Page 191 of Taming Seraphine

“I won’t.”

He dials a number. As it rings, I lean down and put the phone on speaker.

“Moirai?” asks a deep voice.

“This is client number 732,” Samson says, his breath labored. “I’m calling to cancel the contract on the lone gunman.”

The person on the other end of the line hesitates for a moment before asking, “Are you under duress?”

“No,” he grinds out.

“Cancellations at this stage in the process are non-refundable,” the man from Moirai says. “Are you sure you wish to proceed?

“Yes,” Samson growls.

“Very well. Consider it done.”

Snatching the phone off the floor sends a lash of agony through my insides that makes my breath catch. Ignoring it, I hang up and slip it into my pocket.

Samson slumps to the floor with a large exhale. “Now, call me a fucking ambulance.”

Sweat soaks my front as I drag him back toward where I left Seraphine sitting on the operating table. She hops down and moves to a tray holding the surgical equipment and a brand new collar.

“What are you doing?” Samson asks, his voice rising several octaves. “You swore?—”

“Not to kill you,” I say and haul him onto the operating table with a grin. The wound in my stomach screams with protest, but the pain is worth the effort. “I made no promises about Seraphine.”

“Let go of me,” Samson yells.

Seraphine returns to my side. “Turn him over,” she says, her voice cold. “We’re going to stick this collar around his neck and then implant a chip.”

Samson struggles, but I use the momentum of his movements to lay him on his front. Sharp pains punctuate each breath as I strap him in, and blood soaks the front of my black shirt and down my pants. At this rate, I won’t stay conscious long enough to enjoy the show.

“Don’t do this, Sera,” Samson says, his voice breaking. “We can work something out. Whatever you want.”

I back away, prop myself against the wall, and text Sal my location.

Seraphine turns around and gives me a dazzling smile, which fades to alarm. “Leroi?”

“I’m alright.” I shake my head. “It’s just a scratch.”

Her gaze falls to the blood pooling at my feet. She drops the collar and rushes to my side. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

She rips open my shirt, revealing the soaked bandage. “I did this,” she cries. “Oh, Leroi. I’m so sorry.”

Of all the violent acts I’ve seen Seraphine commit, she has never once shown a scrap of remorse. Remorse for damaging furniture, making messes, or getting blood on food, but never for the carnage she’s inflicted on another human being.

As the edges of my vision go black, I wonder if this is her way of showing love. If so, I’ll take it.

* * *

Much later, I’m lounging on imaginary clouds. Fingertips running up and down my chest pull me out of slumber. I inhale a deep breath and inhale the faint scent of strawberries.

“Seraphine?” I croak.

“Go back to sleep,” she murmurs. “Dr. Sal says you’re not allowed out of bed for a week.”