Page 83 of Venomous Games

“I’m well aware.”

“Hang up the phone,” someone booms from outside the car.

“I have to go,” I whisper to Carrie.

Putting the phone down, I look up to see Boston standing there with his mask on. I know it’s him, not just because of what he’s wearing, but because of his voice.

I go to move, but his words stop me. “Stay there. Take off your jeans.” He reaches down, and my pulse quickens as he slips my red heels from my feet. He carefully puts them on the ground, making my breath catch. He’s well aware that they’re my favorite pair, and he’s treating them as such.

I shimmy my jeans down to my hips, but he gets impatient and yanks them all the way off, then leans into the car and spreads my legs as far as they’ll go. He shoves the mirrored mask to the top of his head, then his mouth is on my clit before I can utter a word, and I gasp at the contact.

He flicks his tongue, and I can’t help the moan that slips from my lips. He’s so fucking gifted with his mouth. He slips a finger inside me, followed by a second, pumping them in and out of me as his mouth continues working my clit.

“Come, baby. Now.” He curls his fingers, and that, paired with the magic he’s weaving with his mouth, has me doing as he commands. My body shakes as he backs away and stands. And when I look up at him, he puts his fingers in his mouth and licks them clean before he slips his mask back over his face.

“Of course I fucking love you too. I’m pretty sure I have from your first milkshake,” he says, then walks off, leaving me there.

I pull my jeans on as I watch him walk back into the forest.

He loves me.

I’m glad my husband loves me. I would hate to have to kill him because he broke my heart.

FORTY-SIX

BOSTON

Damn, this guy can run, and I’m sure as fuck not going to run since my stomach is still healing. I’m going to stay as close to Maven as possible. There’s no way I’m leaving her by herself in that car. That’s my fucking wife.

Just as I step back into the forest, someone comes running at me, hitting me hard in the side, and I fall to the ground. Pain shatters through me, not just from the impact, but because of my fucking wound.

“Fuck you,” the person yells, and I know it’s the guy who’s running for his life. The one she was meant to kill. He tries to scramble away, but I reach out with the same hand that was just inside my wife only moments ago and capture his ankle. He falls, not expecting me to grab him, but he manages to catch himself with his hands. He tries to kick me, but I roll to the side, then quickly get up and chase after him.

Making me run after him was his second mistake.

His first was fucking knocking me to the ground.

I’m fast. I chase a lot of fucking people in my job. Not as many as when I first started, but still. I tackle him to the forest floor, ignoring the pain that shoots through my midsection, and reach for my gun. I strike him in the head with it, hitting the same spot he was bleeding from when he arrived. I get up and shoot him in the foot. His scream echoes through the night, and I catch my breath as he finally goes still.

“Fuck, that has to hurt,” I say, and he glares up at me. “Yeah, you deserved that.” I point to his foot, then shoot the other one, just in case he decides he wants to try running again. Another scream rips out of him, and seconds later, I hear footsteps approaching. Whoever it is will either come and watch the kill or go back to the cars and wait for one of us to come out victorious. This time, the victor will be me.

“You piece of shit. You’ll burn in hell for this,” he grumbles.

I scoff, “Like you believe in hell. There was a hit ordered on you, asshole. So who did you piss off?”

His eyes go wide, and he shakes his head angrily. “That fucking whore!” he yells.

I reach down, grab a stick, and step closer to him. Bending down so we’re at eye level, I stab the stick directly into the bullet wound on his right foot.

“Now that has to hurt worse.” I smile at him.

“You crazy motherfucker! Pull it out,” he cries.

Grinning maniacally, I twist the stick, and blood oozes out around it. His screams are like music to the forest’s ears. This place has heard many screams, and now it’s adding him to the list.

“But it’s more fun putting it in,” I say as I scan the immediate area. Lucky for me, there’s another stick close by. I grab that one and then slam it into his other foot. He’s so caught up in the one I just fucked up that it takes him longer to realize there’s more pain in the other foot. Though the impact did feel like it may have missed the hole and might have just made it bigger.

Oh well.