Page 24 of The Bitterness of Venom

I lean in closer, letting my lips hover over his. "Good thing I can allow whoever I want to touch me." My nose brushes his. "Even the soccer player. His hands felt nice on my body. Think he'll follow me upstairs?"

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, his grip tightening. "Watch it, Blaise. I don't take too kindly to threats."

"And you think I do?" I laugh, easing back. "Come on, Desmond. You know me better than that."

His jaw tics. "I used to know you, before you turned into," he gestures to me, "this."

"Survival does funny things to you."

He watches me, hand slipping away. "I guess it does."

I take that as my cue to get up. I make my way to the front, ordering an Uber.

This night is officially over.

Or that's what I think until my phone lights up.

I shovemy phone in my purse, taking a seat at a slot machine. It's illegal, this place, but it's Clint's favorite. His hidden casino. Probably because he owns it. It's underground, not literally but in the sense that it's unknown unless he wants you to know it’s here.

I stick a twenty in, hitting the button as I wait. The digital screen spins, almost making a jackpot and getting my hopes up. I know better. Know these things cheat. Especially Clint's rigged ones.

A cold hand touches my bare shoulder, squeezing a little too hard, and I freeze. I don't mean to, but I hate when he touches me. Smelling of tobacco and rich cologne. I tilt my head, eyes clashing with his dark ones, and the shiver running down my spine is the opposite of what Desmond causes my body to do.

"Follow me, little one."

I stand, grabbing my purse and walking behind him. The place smells of cigar smoke and the metal of old-fashioned slot coins. It's loud with drunks and bells going off. The carpet is purple with a gold pattern. The blackjack tables are full, and I can see the greed in some of the players' eyes. The misery in the others’. I look away quickly, focusing on Clint's suited back. He's not a big man, but that's the illusion he gives. He wants his opposition to be overconfident. He doesn't show his true colors until he strikes. And by then, it's too late.

We head into a hallway that leads to a big black door at the end. Clint scans his fingerprint and the door opens. He holds it open, gesturing me in. I hate having my back to him, but I have no choice. I take a seat in the one across from the dark, mahogany desk. Watching as he relaxes in his leatherchair. He folds his hands over his stomach, eyes burning into mine. Longing. Not even his offer to fuck him to fulfill my debt is tempting. I can't even stomach the thought.

Thankfully, he doesn't bring it up tonight. Instead, he pulls out a black journal. "Do you know what this is?"

I shake my head, watching as he lays it out on the desk, flipping it open. "This is my black book. The debts people owe me, my clients."

I swallow, schooling my face. If I can get ahold of that, I could bury him. "Why are you showing me this?"

He shrugs. "I'm not sure. I don't have any kids, as you know. No heir. And when I die, who does my empire go to?"

I shift in my seat, uncomfortable. "I have no clue."

He smiles. "It could be yours. You're basically my child. I've raised you from afar."

It feels like a trick question. I say no, he takes it as disrespect. I say yes, I'm enemy number one. I open my mouth, but he holds up a hand. "Just think about it. How it would feel to never struggle in your life again. How instead of working odd jobs and constantly trying to outrun your past," he waves a hand around his office, "you’ll be owning something worth millions."

I look away, every alarm bell in my body going off, because that picture he painted sounds divine. Like a dream, but I know better. "How much is my debt?"

He grins, flipping a couple of pages before his finger slides down a row of names. "Blaise, thirty thousand. And you know why it's ten thousand more than it was."

My cheek stings at the memory. I nod, pulling my dress farther down my thighs.

"Just think about it," he says, standing.

Clint walks to the door, opening it, and as I walk through, he puts his hand on my lower back. I fight the grimace I want to let free. Fight every muscle that is repulsed by this man. He leads me out of the hallway, stopping me before I can enterthe playing room. He traces the bruise that I covered in makeup, and I flinch. "Try to be good, Blaise. I don't enjoy hurting you."

And then he's gone. Walking back to his office as I hurry through the casino room and make my exit.

Thirty thousand seems like a lot, but it's better than the hundred thousand I started with when I was fifteen.

One step closer to freedom.

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