Washed Clean

“Dimurah?”

“Yes?” She blinked those pretty blue eyes at him.

“If you’re going to ask me for something, there’s no need for flattery.”

“I’m not, actually.” She sighed. “I just miss you when you’re gone.”

“But you hate when I’m here.”

“I do hate when you’re here.” She admitted. “I never know who you’re going to kill or when. Or what it’s going to do to my business.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. She’s not wrong.

I never know who or when I’m going to kill.

“Should we go fly?”

“We?” She gave him a chastising look. “I think you mean me.”

“Do I?”

Savage dressed. Putting back on his sleeveless padded tunic and black breeches and tugging on his boots before helping her do the laces on her green dress.

Once she was clothed she caught his hand and began tugging him behind her. “This way.”

“I know the way, Murah.” He laughed.

But she was jogging. Pulling hi