Page 57 of Venomous Games

“I assume you’ve heard about Edgar,” Soren says.

“Yes. I just left the crime scene.”

“And?”

“Straight shot to the head,” I tell him.

“This will not go over well, Boston. You know it won’t.”

“I know,” I tell him as I drive to her apartment.

“We need to find the person doing this.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Sooner rather than later, Boston,” he warns, then hangs up.

I don’t think I would ever turn her in. Which is an issue.

What is she doing to me? And why am I going to such lengths to protect her?

I come from a background with hardly any family. My father was a detective, and I dreamed that one day I would follow in his footsteps. And then I joined the Forsaken Society, and I thought, finally, I have my place in this world. Everything is coming together. Little did I know that something was missing.

And little did I know it was a blue-haired assassin who would turn my life upside down.

THIRTY-ONE

MAVEN

As soon as I see Boston, I can tell by the look on his face that he’s unimpressed with something I’ve done. He shuts the door behind him and looks around to make sure no one else is in my apartment before he makes his way over to me.

“How was your Pepsi last night?” he asks, and the question lets me know why he’s here. And what he’s found out.

“It wasn’t cold enough,” I reply, shrugging. Moving to my refrigerator, I pull out stuff to make a sandwich.

“You should have asked for a milkshake.” He pauses. “Oh, wait, you did.” I look at him over my shoulder and smile.

“This side of you is kind of turning me on.” I waggle my brows at him. Grabbing a knife, I start cutting the tomatoes as he steps up behind me. He presses against me as his hand moves my hair from my shoulder.

“I told you to stop killing Forsaken members.”

“I did,” I answer.

Finishing with the tomato, I reach for the onion and immediately regret it because it’s going to make me cry.

“Wrong,” he says, his mouth at my ear. His breath ghosts across my skin, and I can’t tell if he wants to devour me or not.

“I listened,” I insist.

“Wrong again,” he says, and this time he takes my earlobe between his teeth and bites down. Shivering at his touch, I stop slicing the onion and put the knife down. I turn around, but before I can do anything more, he’s pressing his body against mine.

“What do you mean by wrong?” I ask.

“Edgar was a member of the society,” he informs me through clenched teeth.

“I didn’t know that!”

He brushes a piece of hair behind my ear. “You wouldn’t have. The Forsaken is exclusive, and membership is a closely guarded secret from outsiders.” He pulls at my hair. “Now, tell me who ordered the hit.”