Page 40 of Venomous Games

“Perfectly,” I whisper, locking eyes with him.

“Good. Now, go fucking shower. You stink.” He turns back to the television without another word. I throw the empty box at his head, and it bounces off. He doesn’t even react.

Mumbling under my breath, I walk past him and straight into the bathroom. I find my toothbrush on the counter and bring it into the shower to brush my teeth. When I’m done, I step back out to find him in the same spot.

“You’re a real dick, Zion, you know that?” I say, purposely using his first name. I actually don’t like it, so I won’t be using it again, but I was hoping it would get a rise out of him. It doesn’t.

“Yes,” he answers.

“Where are all my boxes of shoes?”

“Shipped back to my place.”

“Your place?”

“Yes, where you’ll be living.”

I wave a hand in the air. “Oh, no. No, we never agreed to that. I like my space. Plus, as you said, I snore.”

“I couldn’t care less. You will be living with me in my house and sleeping in my bed. End of discussion.” He stands, and I hate that he’s so much taller than me.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare at him as I say, “No.”

“No?” He steps closer to me. “No?” he repeats. Then he reaches out and lifts my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “You will remove that word from your vocabulary.”

“No.” I grin up at him. “You think you can tell me what to do? Did you expect to marry a fucking robot?” I bite out.

He leans down until his mouth is almost touching mine. “Control yourself. I know you know how to do it. Play the good wife.”

“I won’t be a good wife,” I tell him.

“You will be, or…” He releases my chin and steps back.

“Or what?”

He goes to his bag, picks it up, and throws it on the bed. “Say goodbye to your sister,” he finishes.

“That’s a real asshole move, you know.”

“I never once said I wasn’t an asshole. So get your shit together. Last fucking warning.”

“Blah, blah.” I throw my hands up. “That’s all I hear when you talk. Do this, do that. Blah-fucking-blah.” Turning around, I drop the towel to the floor, not even caring that he’s seeing me naked. I grab a flower-patterned dress and slide it over my head, then throw the rest of the things scattered on the floor into my bag, not bothering to fold them.

I don’t know how to take him. It’s not like he’s constantly hot and cold. He’s cold more than anything, but then sometimes he’s warm.

“Movers will be at your apartment later today. I have a meeting when we land, and tonight you’ll come to an event with me so I can declare you my wife.”

“Declare?” I scoff. “What am I, some prize?”

“Let’s go,” he says, taking my bag from me. He strides out of the room, not bothering to hold the door for me.

Biting my lip, I nibble on the skin as I follow him.

What have I gotten myself into?

Why does he have to declare me his wife?

That sounds fucking weird, and I don’t get it at all.