Page 37 of Venomous Games

“No,” I reply sharply.

“They’re white. No good for killing in,” he continues.

“It’s fine; I can wait. For your blood, that is.”

“Fucking crazy,” Victor mutters, and I smile at him.

“Thank you.” I stand tall, and Boston hands me a dress. “This one?” I ask. It’s white. Very simple with lacy sleeves and a tight midsection. It’s short, looking like it will stop just above my knees.

“Get dressed, Dynamite,” he orders.

“Okay. Don’t you go anywhere.” I point a finger at Victor. He watches me with those eyes that seem like they see more than they should. The only indication he gives that he’s listening is a tiny twitch of his lips, and if I weren’t looking, I would have missed it.

“Get moving,” Boston grumbles.

Sighing, I walk to the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting ready.” I wave a hand at him, leaving the door open, since it’s too late for modesty now. Sliding the dress up over my hips, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I never wear white. It’s too clean, too pristine for me.

“A little help, please,” I call over my shoulder.

Boston’s phone rings at that moment, but he ignores it, choosing instead to step behind me. I suck in a sharp breath as the heat from his body presses close. His fingers graze my spine as he finds the zipper, brushing over my skin so lightly, I feel goose bumps erupt along my back.

His eyes, reflected in the mirror, meet mine as he slowly glides the zipper up. We’re looking at each other through the same glass, but it’s like he’s seeing me in a way I can’t quite read. Each breath he exhales stirs the tiny baby hairs at the nape of my neck, his scent and warmth radiate off him, seeping into me, and it confuses me.

“You could just let it go … pretend you didn’t see what you did,” I murmur, trying to reclaim control, though my voice sounds small in comparison to the heat coiling around me.

“No.” His voice is low, deliberate, and unwavering.

I shake my head, letting a smirk play on my lips. “I’ll be a shitty wife. Honestly, I’d be the worst, plus I don’t even know your first name.”

“It’s Zion.” He pauses as I take in his name; it doesn’t really fit him. Boston, on the other hand, does. Matches him well. “I didn’t ask for perfect,” he says as he finishes zipping me up, his hands lingering for a heartbeat before falling away. “Plus, who else is going to cover for your murdering ass?”

“You still haven’t told me why you need me to marry you.”

He steps back, and the sudden cold that takes his place makes me shiver. “And I won’t be. Accept it or say goodbye to your sister.”

“That’s a real asshole move,” I mutter, tension twisting through me.

“So is killing people I know,” he replies.

I feel that wicked current between us flare, sparking through my chest and into a heat I can’t deny.

The Elvis impersonator announces, “You may now kiss the bride,” and I immediately hold up a hand between us, because there is no way he’s kissing me. Plus, my lip has only just started healing.

It’s crazy that I just recently learned his first name, and yet here I am marrying him. My pulse races the entire ceremony. Thankfully, the whole ordeal is blessedly short.

Boston smirks and pulls my hand away before he leans in and presses his lips to mine, softly at first, almost tenderly. Then, I feel the pressure of his hand at my waist as he grips it hard, like he’s holding himself back. I bite his lip, and I feel him smile before he pulls back. There’s a small trickle of blood on his lip from where I bit it. He doesn’t wipe it away, just licks it clean before he nods to Victor.

“You can go back to your bodies,” Boston says to him, then adds, “I’ll see you before I leave.” Victor looks at me without a word, then leaves.

“I think I’m going to be his best friend,” I tell Boston.

“Victor doesn’t like anyone.”

“Oh, he likes me. I know it.”

He takes my hand and pulls me out the door to a waiting car. “Where are we going?” I ask.