My Husband Wants Me Dead Novels & Stories

My husband is not, as I've believed for the past two years, a corporate consultant who travels frequently for boring meetings in boring cities. My husband is a killer. I should be terrified. I should be calling the police, packing a bag, running as far and as fast as I can from the man I've been sleeping next to every night without knowing what he really is. But I'm not terrified. I'm not running. I'm aroused.

I murmured under my breath, ignoring my company, who was staring at me with a slight lift of his eyebrows, no doubt thinking I was crazy. Instead, I dug my hands into my purse, fishing for my phone, and I called him. I waited, staring at him, desperate for any confirmation that our marriage still meant something to him. Even an acknowledgment of my calls would have done it. But nothing. He was too caught up, fucking cheating right in front of me, and rage scorched my throat, my breath coming out like the puff of a dragon. Courtesy be damned. I was going to walk up there and bitch-slap Jade and maybe my husband, and then I would dump his sorry ass for even thinking of it.

And I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Her excitement was making me equally excited. If my husband thought suggesting an open marriage was a good idea, he was about to learn just how wrong he was.

"He's going to come, Tara. And when he's here, I'm going to kill him. Slowly. In front of you. And then, I'll kill you. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll keep you. To watch." "You're sick." "No. I'm a realist. Your husband destroyed my family. He killed my uncle, my cousin, dozens of our men. He burned our warehouses, stole our clients, humiliated my father. He deserves to die. And you deserve to watch." He stands up. He walks to the door. "Enjoy your last night, Tara. Tomorrow, it will all be over." He leaves. I am alone in the dark. Fear washes over me. Not for me. For him. For Mike. For my idiot husband who is going to throw himself into the lion's den out of love for me.

"Probably off somewhere causing trouble. I never should have bonded with a human." I listened to him say these things, standing right over my body, and felt the last warmth inside me go cold. Damien, I didn't choose to stay away. I can't come back anymore. Your defiant human wife died the night you left me alone in the wilds. My body is right here in front of you, carrying the child you refused to believe in.

My death was orchestrated by Emma, but my husband's blindness made it possible. If only he knew the truth - that his precious Emma had arranged my murder, and he was examining his own wife's body. But even if he knew, would he care? Or would he just be angry that Emma could no longer get my kidney?

He must have used some tricks to do so. I took out my phone to call a funeral home. “Hello, my husband is dead. I want to send his body over for cremation right away.” Rebecca panicked when she heard that. She hurriedly snatched my phone away. “No. Isn’t it too early for that?” I glanced at her indifferently. “He’s already dead. I don’t think he should take up space here. Besides, it’s heartbreaking for us to see him like this. We’d better cremate him and let him rest in peace.”

he sneered. Stacy's body stiffened, her anger boiling beneath the surface. Slowly, she turned to face him, her eyes burning with a mix of fury and pain. "To hell with your money," she spat, her voice laced with defiance. With each step she took away from him, a surge of determination coursed through Stacy's veins. This was the final day of being called Mrs. Hawthorne, the last day of a shattered marriage, and the end of the future she had once envisioned, a future with her husband and their unborn children. It was a reality she never expected to face, but she was left with no choice but to confront it head-on.

Inside the elevator, we ran into one of Chloe's neighbors. "Chloe, all by yourself today?" the woman asked with a teasing smile. "Your husband isn't following you around like a puppy dog for once? The whole building is talking about how much he pampers you." The neighbor's face was full of envy. "We're all so jealous of your lovey-dovey relationship!" My fingertips tightened. "Her husband is usually that clingy?" "More than that," the neighbor said, amused. "He does whatever Chloe says. Makes her breakfast, does the laundry himself. Where can you find a man like that these days?"

Be with them both. My husband is dead. And so is my son. ***