Another weekend, another wedding. Mine, again. This time the target was my betrothed, Rhys. One of the most menacing and clever arms dealers ever. Also the most paranoid. No weapons allowed in the reception hall by anyone other than his thugs. So I had to do the job with merely a butter knife.
And there’s no one more handy with a knife than yours truly. Even a butter knife. Fait Accompli. Word to HQ: We’ll definitely need a new dress for the next one.