Page 47 of Venomous Games

He studies me for a beat before he turns to Boston and says, “Congratulations,” before walking off. We’re quiet as he goes, then I finally turn to look at Boston.

“What?” I ask, expecting him to say something about what I just told his friend. Instead, he slides his hand to my back and proceeds to guide me around the room. He introduces me to everyone as his wife. I shake hands and play nice, hardly talking but listening intently to everything said.

After a few hours roll by, and I have a glass of wine in my hand, he corners me, pushing me against the wall as he towers over me. He takes the glass from my hand and locks eyes with me. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re never this quiet for this long,” he says. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.” I stare up at him and wonder how I ended up here. How I got myself married to this man.

“Who are you?” I whisper.

He smiles and leans in. “Who do you want me to be?”

Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the way his body is so close to me, but I find myself pressing against him, touching him in ways that someone who hates their husband wouldn’t normally do. Yet, here I am doing it.

“I don’t—” He doesn’t let me finish before his lips slam onto mine. They’re soft, despite the force of the initial contact. Tender in each movement, as if he’s afraid I’ll push him back at any second, which I may very well do. But right now, I clutch the side of his jacket, and I hold on to him for dear life as he kisses me. I can hear others mingling behind us, probably even watching us.

Maybe he’s doing this for show.

Then I tell myself, surely not, because when he presses his body to mine, I can feel how much he wants me, not just by his demanding lips, but with what I feel between us.

He tastes minty, but not like peppermint. I hear the glass he took from me shatter on the floor at our feet before his arms wrap around me. I pull him closer, unable to help myself, as his tongue takes ownership of mine. He kisses like he wants to take my breath away, and I kiss him back like I’m willing to give it.

When my lips feel bruised and swollen, he pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. We both breathe heavily, trying to calm ourselves.

“Fuck,” he says before he stalks off and leaves me standing against the wall to watch him go.

What just happened?

And why did I like it?

The rest of the night goes by quickly, and I get to know some of the wives. I realized about an hour ago that no one actually has girlfriends here.

Is that a thing?

What type of party is this?

And what else do they do?

Boston seems tight-lipped about all aspects of it, hardly speaking now. I highly doubt he’d want to tell me about the inner workings of something I’m not meant to know anything about.

“Sit, sit,” Lilith insists. I glance around to see a few of the women I met earlier staring at me.

“I was just⁠—”

“Sit. We won’t bite,” she says again. She has hard eyes, like she can see through what others try to hide.

“She may bite,” the one with black hair says with a shrug. “Just a risk you’ll have to take.” If I remember correctly, her name is Cressida. She’s married to Soren, who seems to be in a position of power among the gathered men.

“We want all the gossip about your wedding. Tell us all the details,” a lady with honey-blonde hair says. “I’m Cora, by the way. I’m with Arlo.”

“Hi.” I rest my hands on the table and look at each of them.

Cressida smiles and asks me, “How does it feel to be a part of a secret society? This is the wives’ only party, in case you weren’t aware.” At first, I think she’s joking, but when none of the others laugh, I stare at her in confusion.

“They also have girlfriend parties. I don’t recommend going to one of those. They try to fuck everything with a pulse,” Lilith says. “But if my husband goes to one, I’ll stab anyone who touches him,” she adds with a wicked glint in her eyes.

“Is the Forsaken actually a real thing?” I ask.