Chapter 6

Neriah's POV

The name slipped out before I could stop it. My voice barely sounded like mine.

He turned his head just slightly — not too fast, not too slow — and gave me that same infuriatingly cocky smile I hadn’t seen in six years.

“Long time, sweetheart,” his lips tilted up and he winked at me. His eyes were perfectly calm, with a dangerous confidence gleaming in his orbs.

His arm stayed raised, steady, aimed directly at the assassin’s skull. I didn’t know what was more terrifying — the gun or the man holding it.

The assassin’s jaw twitched. “Please, don't… don't shoot,” he stuttered. Then slowly, he lowered his weapon and raised both hands in surrender.

Denver stepped forward and, with one swift kick, he sent the assassin’s gun skidding under the bed, without ever breaking eye contact with me.

With a lazy smile perching on his lips, he turned to the assassin and asked. “So, what’s it gonna be, huh? Three million dollars or your funeral?”

He said it like he was asking someone to pick between coffee or tea.

The assassin grinned widely, exposing a chipped tooth. “I’ll settle for the money—”

Bang!

The sound shattered through the room like a plane crash. My ears rang and my heart dropped. I screamed and shoved the bed cover over my head.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” Denver's voice drawled.

My hands shook vigorously as I pulled the cover down. My eyelids fluttered open and I was greeted by the sight of the assassin’s body dropped to the floor like a ragdoll. A pool of blood spread fast across the tiles, staining everything in red.

He was dead. Shot right between the eyes.

“What... what the hell did you just do?” I gasped, every word trembling out of my mouth.

Denver didn’t flinch.

“I killed him.”

No remorse. No hesitation. Like it was nothing more than taking out the trash.

“You… you murdered someone!”

He shrugged. “Eh. Assassin, technically. Let’s not act like he was a school teacher.”

He pulled a white handkerchief from his breast pocket, wiped the blood spatter off his cheek, then casually walked over to the desk chair, sat down, and crossed his legs like we were about to have tea.

I couldn’t breathe. My hands were shaking. My stomach twisted and he just sat there like a demigod!

“Now that the inconvenience is out of the way,” he said calmly, “let’s talk.”

“Talk?” I blinked at him. “Denver. You just shot a man in the head in a hospital room.”

He grinned. “Come on, Neriah. Don’t act so new. You married a Chadwick, remember? Dead bodies are practically a family tradition.”

He wasn't lying but still I couldn't get myself to just act like this was normal. I stared at him, disgust and confusion battling for first place. “Denver, the last time I checked, you’re supposed to be dead.”

He chuckled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Same as you, Neriah. Your loving husband just pronounced you dead on national television, remember?”

I froze. Anger glazing every oxygen in my lungs.

He'd watched the news.

Hearing it from him, though — from someone whom I hated with every fiber of my being— burned more than anything.

“But here we are,” he continued, flashing a toothed smile. A couple of ghosts... reconnecting.”

I sucked in a shaky breath, and folded my arms tight across my chest. “Why are you here?”

“To offer you a second chance.”

I stared at him like he’d just spoken in tongues. “What? Second chance at what, exactly?”

“Life. Revenge. Freedom.” He smiled like he had a secret tucked behind his teeth. “Pick your poison.”

My heart was beating so fast I felt it in my throat. “And what do you want in return?”

He leaned back, and dragged his fingers through his thick dark hair, then he gave me that smile. The one I’d almost fallen for six years ago.

“Let’s get married,” he said, biting his lower lip.