Page 32 of Venomous Games

“Tell me why you want to marry me.”

“I will, after we’re married.” He glances around my room, taking it all in, then pauses at an open drawer. My pink toy is visible, as are all my others.

“I’m not having sex with you.”

His gaze slides back to me, and all he does is give me a smirk.

A fucking smirk.

Asshole.

“Don’t you want to see how big I am?” His attention goes back to my toy. “I know you’re dying with curiosity.”

“It’s probably small,” I throw out.

His smirk doesn’t leave his lips, even at the insult.

“How much does a detective actually make?” I ask.

I’ve been quiet for most of the ride here, trying to analyze how I’m going to get out of this. He’s been just as quiet, occasionally shooting me glances from the corner of his eye. I don’t think the silence bothers him the way it bothers me. I knew I would be the first one to talk, and I’m pretty sure he knew it too. Regardless, we flew on a private plane to Las Vegas and are staying at a five-star hotel.

Surely, from what he makes, it would put a big dent in his wallet.

I noticed he requested a room with a single king-sized bed. He’s been carrying my bags since we got off the plane, and he throws them on the bed before turning around and unbuttoning his shirt. As he undoes each button, he keeps his eyes on me.

“You want to know my income?”

“Surely, you aren’t able to afford all this.”

“What if I told you I was good at saving and investing?”

“Still…”

His shirt gapes open, and I get a good look at his bare chest. I bite my bottom lip as I stare. His sculpted muscles are on display, with a few deep, raised scars on his abdomen that seem to wrap around his stomach.

“You have to have money.”

“And what about your money?” he asks, and kicks off his black boots before unbuttoning his pants. His gaze never leaves mine.

“What about it?” I cross my arms over my chest.

“You have a lot of it, and don’t give me your bullshit about being a freelancer.”

“You tell me first, and then I’ll tell you.” I shoot him a saccharine smile.

He pushes his pants down and drops them in a heap on the floor, leaving him only in boxers. I can’t help but stare. He turns, showing me his round ass, and bends down to get a fresh pair of clothes out of his bag. His pants look identical to the pair he just took off, but the shirt is black.

“I get bonuses for making certain people disappear,” he tells me. I stare at him in disbelief. Is that the truth, or is it just some trick to get me to confess more?

“You kill them?” I ask, my hands falling to my sides.

“Yes.” He shrugs. “Now, how do you get yours?” He pauses for beat, then says, “I must say, watching you kill is rather fascinating. You’re quite skilled, and the research I did on you⁠—”

“Research?” I ask, cutting him off.

“You didn’t think it was luck that I found you, do you?”

“Well…” I trail off because I don’t actually know.