Page 31 of Venomous Games

“You wouldn’t,” she seethes, her blue eyes sparking with anger.

“Oh, but I would, Dynamite,” I say. “Think about it. That way, your sister could be clean forever, because she would have no choice.”

“You’re a real asshole,” she growls.

“I know.”

“Fine,” she says with a huff of her breath.

“Good, you need to get cleaned up. We’re going to Vegas.”

“Vegas?” she questions, her eyes wide in shock.

“You don’t think I would let you go that easily, do you? And, yes, Vegas. I have a meeting I need to attend there, and you’re going with me.”

“You don’t even like me,” she says as I push off of her.

“I don’t have to like you to fuck you,” I retort. And damn have I been thinking about the way she would taste, the way she would move under me. Fuck, my cock is still hard.

“I am not fucking you,” she scoffs. After a moment she adds, “We need to burn the house down; there may be DNA evidence from my blood.” We look back into the bathroom where Marcus lies dead and the shower still runs.

“Done,” I agree. “Go home and clean yourself up. If you aren’t ready and waiting for me by the time I’m there, I’m going to arrest your sister for murder.”

Her eyes go wide at the threat, then she flips me off and stalks out.

SEVENTEEN

MAVEN

I got fucking caught!

How the fuck did I get caught?

It was stupid; I know that. This is what happens when you go into something without doing your damn research and without a solid plan. My breath catches at the thought running rampant in my head as I look down, packing a bag to go to Vegas to get married. My stomach churns. Why he wants to marry me, I don’t know. But I’m going to make it my mission to understand. And in what fucking realm do you kill someone and then the person who catches you—who happens to be a police detective—forces you to marry them? Maybe I didn’t give the bastard enough credit for how fucking crazy he is. He always seems to hold back around me, but when I watched him taste my blood, something clicked inside me, and I realized I’m not dealing with someone normal. And I hated the fact that it turned me on.

This detective, with whom I’ve been playing a game, has probably been playing a game with me all along too. I’m well aware he’s been watching me, but I was sure that no one followed me to that house, and yet he somehow showed up after I murdered his friend. He didn’t even seem to care that his friend was dead in the shower. If there weren’t red flags before, there definitely are now. So that leaves me here, packing a bag after I left my DNA at a crime scene, thinking I can trust him.

I’m pacing in agitation when my bedroom door opens and in he walks. He’s dressed exactly the same as he was when I saw him less than an hour ago—blue button-up shirt, rolled up at the sleeves and tucked into black slacks, his gun holstered at his hip. He looks good.

He smirks, and I realize he’s doing it to piss me off.

“Did you do it?” I ask.

He pulls out his phone and shows me video evidence of Marcus’s house burning. As I reach for the phone, he quickly snatches it back and places it in his pocket.

“Are you packed?” he questions.

“How did you get in?” My front door is always locked, and I have security cameras all around my apartment.

“I have a key.” He grins and then produces said key.

“How the hell did you get that?” I whisper.

“It’s quite easy to make a copy of a key that’s in the possession of someone who is in our possession.” He’s talking about Carrie and when she was arrested.

“I’m sure that’s illegal,” I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Oh, very.” He nods, agreeing.