Page 13 of Venomous Games

My grip tightens on the helmet. “Why are you here?” I bite out.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he keeps staring at the helmet with a strange expression on his face.

“Motorcycles are deathtraps,” he finally says, and I can’t help but scoff under my breath. Like I haven’t heard that a thousand times before.

“Why,” I repeat, sharper this time, “are you here?”

His gaze snaps to mine then, calm as anything, as he says, “Just a checkup.”

Something about the way he says it makes my jaw clench.

Like he belongs here.

Like I’m the one interrupting.

He shifts, and the movement pulls his jacket just enough for something metal to catch the light.

A badge.

I blink once, my mind processing it slower than I’d like. I didn’t take him for a cop. Not that it surprises me that someone like him could be law enforcement, but it complicates everything, and my chest tightens, caution snapping my spine, my heart racing even as I try to keep it steady.

That crooked half smile is still aimed my way as he waits for my reaction.

Like this somehow just got interesting.

“What is a police officer doing in my sister’s apartment?” My voice is calm, but my muscles are wound tight. What does he know? What has he seen? What could he do? Having a cop here isn’t a comfort; it’s a threat.

He tilts his head, as if my question amuses him.

“Detective, actually,” he corrects smoothly. “And like I said … I’m doing a checkup.”

I move toward him until we’re almost toe-to-toe. He towers over me, but I refuse to shrink back. My chin lifts, my shoulders square, and my hands flex at my sides, as if readying for anything. I’m aware of the space he takes up, the way his jacket hangs on him, the faint scent of his smell, but I don’t retreat or flinch. I refuse to give him any leverage.

We’re too close, and for a moment, the world narrows to the space between us. My eyes lock on his, sharp and calculating, scanning him for tells, for a weakness. My chest rises and falls, my mind racing.

“A detective,” I murmur, letting the words spill from my tongue. “How cute.”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t move.

I give him a quick wink before stepping to the door and pulling it open, gesturing toward it.

“You’re not welcome here,” I say with a tight smile. “So leave.”

For a moment, I think he might argue. Instead, a confident smile spreads across his face.

“Very well, Miss James.” He winks back, and I hide the shock that he knows my surname. Then he walks past me, and his shoulder brushes mine, his hand grazes my fingers where they’re wrapped around the doorknob. The touch is light, barely there, but deliberate enough that I know it wasn’t an accident.

My jaw tightens as he steps out into the hallway. He glances back at me before sliding on his sunglasses, hiding his eyes behind the dark lenses.

“Have a good day,” he drawls.

The way he says it makes the words sound wrong.

I raise my hand and flip him off. That only earns me a crooked smirk before he heads down the stairs. I slam the door hard enough to rattle the frame, then I turn to go looking for Carrie.

I find her sitting at the dining table, sunlight spilling across the room. Her face already looks better than it did earlier. Some of the color is back, and the tension around her eyes is gone. I drop my helmet on the table with a dull thud and then pull out the chair beside her, sitting down.

“What did he want?” I ask.