Page 188 of Vile Boys

“Last warning,” Ares growls. “Tell the woman to leave.”

The man slowly bends over to press a button on his table and talk into a tiny speaker. “Leave.”

The woman stops dancing and glances at the window in a frustrated way before exiting the room.

Ares glances at me. “Sit on the table.”

I swallow but still do what he says, sitting on the table with my legs crossed, as far away from the man as possible.

“Have you ever seen her?” he asks.

The man vigorously shakes his head. “Never.”

Ares sits down on the couch behind me, opposite the man, and I’m acutely aware of his presence as he places the gun on the table, his hands slowly finding their way to my waist as he grips me tight.

“Are you sure about that?”

The man gulps and glances at the gun.

“Who … who is he?” I mutter, glancing at Ares over my shoulder.

“Wayne Ferry. A man who works for the people who own this establishment,” Ares says, keeping his gaze fixated on the man. “Theman who was directly responsible for your father’s death.”

All the oxygen instantly evaporates from my lungs.

Because I never told him about my father …

Or that he was murdered.

ARES

Her whole body begins to shake against the tips of my fingers, and I revel in the emotions building inside her, growing harder and harder as her fear begins to build.

Yes, little rose.

Fear. Me.

“Your father owned a flower shop, didn’t he?” I say, leaning forward so I can take a whiff of the fear she exudes. “Ferry is the man who denied the order because it wasn’t to his liking, who refused to pay him, who made him walk … only to be killed right in front of the very fucking doorstep of The Tomb.”

She gasps, and I watch the single tear running down her cheeks with peak interest like it’s a droplet of Ambrosía itself.

Fuck.

I never imagined the truth would be so intoxicating.

Or that I would get so hard at the thought of her finding out. Guess I really am as sadistic as she thinks.

“You’ve been searching, haven’t you?” I murmur as I drag her closer to me across the table until she’s seated right in front of me, legs on both sides of my hips. “For the one to blame.” I lean in towhisper into her ear. “To kill.”

Her eyes find the gun on the table as sweat drops run down her neck, and then they find mine.

“Just like you’ve been wondering if you should kill me.”

Is she going to do it?

Will she attempt to murder me in cold blood?

In an instant, she reaches into her dress at the top and pulls out a knife, swinging it at my neck, but I grasp her wrist and pin her down against the table, knocking the knife out of her hand. It clatters onto the floor.

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