Page 1 of Venomous Games

ONE

MAVEN

I love men.

Honestly, I do.

My current circumstances might suggest otherwise, but it’s the truth. Men have their uses, of that I’m certain.

Mostly in the bedroom.

Though, if I’m being honest, I can get myself off just as well.

“Please.” My attention snaps down to the man bleeding out on the ground at my feet. The night air is cool against my skin, and leaves rustle softly in the distance. This was supposed to be quick. Clean. Efficient. Instead, he ran.

Which meant I had to chase him.

Which also meant I had to get closer.

And now my hands are dirty, and I hate getting my hands dirty. I am a lady after all.

“You’re a—” He doesn’t finishes his sentence. My blade takes the words from him before he can. The knife slides cleanly across his throat, and his eyes widen in that familiar moment of realization.

They always look surprised when they finally understand. Not that they’re going to die, but that the person killing them is a woman. I step back carefully, keeping my distance so the spreading pool of blood doesn’t reach my high heels.

They’re my favorite killing shoes—elegant, sharp, and tall enough to make my short frame look a little threatening. And the color? Well, red has always suited me.

Plucking my phone from my purse, I pull up the contact I want, and press call. Carrie answers immediately.

“Is it done?” she asks.

“Done,” I confirm. “Picture coming through.” I snap a quick photo of the body before sending it to her.

A few seconds pass, then Carrie groans. “Gosh, Maven, why is there so much blood? And you’re wearing your good heels.”

“I know.” I sigh, glancing down at them with mild irritation. “The asshole decided to run. Do you know how sore my feet are going to be?”

My gaze shifts to the man again. Honestly, I should kick him for that, but I can’t risk getting blood on my shoes.

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” Carrie says. “You practically live in heels.”

I flick my long, curly blue hair over my shoulder. “I do, don’t I,” I say with a small smile.

Her tone changes then, turning sharper. “You need to move. The police have been notified of a disturbance. They’re heading your way.”

“That’s because the asshole was screaming,” I mutter.

I crouch and wipe my knife across his shirt, carefully cleaning the blade before sliding it back into my very expensive purse.

“Stop and grab some milk on your way back,” Carrie adds casually. “I’m out.”

I wrinkle my nose. “You need to stop drinking that stuff.”

“And your energy drinks are better?” she shoots back.

“At least they don’t give me diarrhea,” I reply.

Carrie sighs loudly. She loves milk. Unfortunately for her, milk does not love her back.