Page 117 of Lovely Venom

I catch him by the wrist, wrenching his arm back and twisting until it pops. Marco lets out a strangled cry, stumbling back as he cradles his arm. He starts spewing curses, working himself into a fit before he gets the bright idea to launch himself at me again.

This time, I grab him by the back of the neck, smash his face into my knee, and break his nose—again.

He starts crying for real this time, but all it manages to do is piss me off.

“What’s the issue, Marco?” I slam his head into the railing. “Can’t handle a fight with someone your own size?”

“You can have her,” he slurs. “I’ll take a block of ice over that frigid bitch any day.”

“That sounds like a problem unique to you.” I toss him onto the deck and kick him in the teeth. “And I wasn’t asking for your permission.”

Fragments of his new dental work spill from his mouth when he tries to speak, but all that comes out is a sob.

It’s fucking pathetic, and it confirms what I’ve always suspected. He wouldn’t hold up under two minutes of torture, and I’d derive no pleasure in watching a man cry himself to death.

The sound of approaching voices concludes the matter for me. It’s a minor annoyance, but I’ll have to settle for efficiency.

“Today’s your lucky day.” I grab Marco by the shirt and haul him toward the railing. “Sorry you won’t get an invite to the wedding.”

Reverting to the survival skills of a toddler, he windmills his one good arm and drags his feet.

It’s not nearly as satisfying as I would have preferred when I shove him over the railing and he drops into the water with a loud splash.

As I adjust my jacket, Chantel and Mariella round the corner, pausing as their gazes drift behind me.

“Did you just throw someone overboard?” Mariella asks.

I meet Chantel’s gaze, and there’s no question she heard it too. But if she’s concerned, she doesn’t show it.

“He can swim,” I deflect.

“Right.” Mariella peers out over the water.

Marco may be a roach, but even he can’t crawl his way back from this. We’re too far offshore, and given his level of intoxication, I doubt he’ll survive the hour.

Chantel hands me a glass of whiskey and sips from her martini as we all take in the city skyline.

“Did anyone give you trouble?” I ask.

“Other men won’t even look at me now, so I think you made your point.”

“Good.” I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her closer.

“So freaking weird.” Mariella glances between us.

“No Ares tonight?” Chantel changes the subject.

“Nope.” Mariella smirks. “He’s probably following one of the three body doubles I sent to different events around the city tonight.”

“You didn’t.” Chantel laughs.

“Oh, I did.” Mariella nods. “If I can’t shake him, I may as well keep him busy.”

“Want me to handle it?”

Chantel shoots me a look, probably wondering if I’m serious. Her concern for him only makes it more tempting to take him out.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” Mariella says. “He’ll get the message eventually.”