The Moon Sets over a Sea of Hate

Summary

The eighth time I caught Oscar Stanton in a hotel suite, he silently picked up the fruit knife from the nightstand and slashed his wrist eleven times.

“Satisfied now?”

Blood ran between his fingers and dripped onto the carpet. He looked at me as though I were a madwoman who had driven him to kill himself.

I stood frozen, the toy gun still clenched in my hand.

For a moment, everything felt strangely unreal.

After all, the last time things had gotten this bad, I had kicked his mistress into a crocodile enclosure and demanded that he never see her again.