Page 44 of Venomous Games

“Hope you weren’t fond of these clothes,” he says with a smirk, then he slices down the middle of the old shirt I’m wearing. I gasp as he tears it open, revealing my breasts. He pauses at the sight, but recovers quickly, before he drags the knife down my stomach and starts to cut my favorite comfy shorts. I don’t thrash my hips for the simple fact that he has me pinned down, and the knife would probably stab me anyway.

When he’s satisfied, he straightens and then takes the knife from the room.

A few seconds later, he comes back and goes to my closet. “What do you want to wear?” he asks casually, as if he didn’t just handcuff me to my bed and cut my clothing off.

Does he not know I’m a trained assassin?

“What the fuck, Boston?”

“You refused to get dressed, so I’m here to assist. Now, tell me what you want to wear before I pick something for you.”

I raise my chin in defiance, which does nothing to deter him. He doesn’t waste time before he plucks a silver dress from a hanger and brings it to where I’m seething on the bed.

“Uncuff me.”

“You’ll get dressed?” he asks.

“Yes, you insufferable fool. I’ll get dressed.”

I watch him as he uncuffs me. When I’m free, I sit up, and he hands me the dress. I stomp to the bathroom, and he follows as I slide it on.

I reach for my toothbrush and toothpaste, but he scrunches up his nose. “What now?” I groan.

“Peppermint,” he says, then takes the toothpaste from me and puts it in his pocket.

“Motherfucker! That was my toothpaste!” I scream. “Are you allergic?”

“No, just sensitive. Now, finish getting ready. We’re already late.”

When I enter the living room, I find him on his phone. I have my little purse and matching bright silver heels. He eyes me in appreciation, his gaze sliding over me, and I know he likes what he sees. He goes to take a step toward me, then seems to think better of it, and I see the fight in his eyes before he turns without saying a word and heads to the door.

He opens the car door for me, and that’s about as far as he goes at being a gentleman, because he doesn’t even talk to me on the car ride over. Though, I notice the way his hands tightly grip the steering wheel. And the way his gaze flicks to my hand, to the wedding rings, a few times.

“What should I expect?” I ask as the car slows down.

“Be respectful and nice.”

“I’m always nice,” I say with a smile.

“Yeah, okay.”

He opens the car door and gets out as soon as we’re parked. I sit and wait for him to get mine, because I’m surely not. When it opens, he offers me his hand, and I slide mine in his. We make our way to two very large doors and walk inside.

I see people mingling, surprised it’s such a small gathering. I assumed it was some big party or gala we were attending. He keeps hold of my hand, and a few people turn our way with curious gazes, but it’s the person in front of us that has me pausing.

Soren Nixon.

“Boston, you brought a date,” he says, looking at me.

“I did,” he replies. Then his hand releases mine and moves to my lower back. “My wife, actually. You remember Maven.” He pauses, looking at me, as if he’s drinking me in, and I almost forget to breathe before he says, “My wife.”

My heartbeat takes off in surprise at those words leaving his mouth, as if he likes the way they sound. I can’t deny that I do. I hate that they elicit any emotion in me. Glancing away so he can’t read my thoughts, I look to Soren, who is wide-eyed. He glances at me, then back at Boston.

“Your wife? Boston, wow! That’s amazing,” the woman next to Soren says.

“Yes, amazing,” Soren agrees, eyes narrowed at Boston. “Unexpected as well. I wasn’t aware you were even seeing anyone.”

I stay silent as the woman next to him smiles at me.