Page 42 of Venomous Games

“Can he be trusted?” Reon asks.

“Yes,” Soren and I say at the same time Arlo barks, “No.”

“I’ve worked with clients like him. He is not to be trusted,” Arlo explains.

“He is, and you will all play nice,” Soren warns, then looks at me. “He’ll be here for the next hunt?”

“Yes.”

“So, Las Vegas went well, then?” he prods, but the way he’s looking at me, it’s as if he’s waiting for me to say something further.

“It did.”

“Will he be coming to the event tonight?” Arlo asks.

“No, Victor isn’t married,” I answer.

“It’s more likely he’d kill a lover than marry her. If he even has lovers, that is,” Soren says.

None of us say anything because it’s true. We’re well aware of what type of person Victor is. He isn’t like the rest of us, who all have high-profile careers. Victor never had to work a day in his life because he comes from money. His father was some major figure in the oil business. And when he died, everything he owned went to Victor. Victor, not having any interest in being an oilman, went into bodies, which I’m sure didn’t please the rest of his family.

I know all about him and his family from the research I’ve done on him. And I would like to say I know him a little better than the others at this table.

Soren stands, nodding to the bartender who just walked in, then turns for the exit. Soren used to be the last person to leave events, but now he’s always trying to get back to his wife, the reporter. She was working on a story about him, but he somehow ended up falling for her instead of killing her. I guess, in a way, he killed the story instead.

“See you three tonight,” he says over his shoulder. Reon stands next, leaving me sitting with Arlo, who is studying me. Always fucking trying to pick his way into people’s thoughts.

“What aren’t you telling us?” he asks.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re hiding something.” This is why he gets paid the big dollars, because he’s always fucking reading people.

I stand and throw some money on the table for the bartender.

“Fuck off, Arlo,” I say, and turn to leave.

He laughs, and if I didn’t respect him so much, I would smash his face into the table.

TWENTY-THREE

MAVEN

I told the movers to kindly fuck off. They hesitated at first, but I assured them they would still be paid.

I don’t know who Boston thinks he is, apart from my husband, but I don’t take orders from him, even if he threatens to lock my sister away. I’ve been waiting all day for a phone call with Carrie. I feel like so much has happened since I last spoke to her.

It’s getting late, and I know he’ll be showing up here soon because I’m not at his house like I was requested to be. For one, I don’t know where he lives. And for two, I have no idea if there’s enough room at his house for all my things. If not, what am I supposed to do with all of my shoes? I’m not packing those beauties up. They are meant to be displayed, not stored.

Finally, my phone rings, and I pick it up immediately.

“Carrie,” I whisper.

“Hey, Maven,” she says in a soft voice.

“How are you? What’s happening?” I sit down on my bed as I wait for her to speak.

“Good. I’m good. It’s been helpful.”