Page 94 of Hunted By Valentine

Since I got texts from him and felt his presence earlier today, I know he’s awake, and could be anywhere. Yet, I don’t fear him. How can I when there isn’t a reason to believe he’ll actually hurt me?

The harder I think about all of it, the fiercer the pain lances through my insides. My breaths are shuddered puffs as I attempt to act as normal as possible so I don’t alert Marco. Shit… Marco. I can’t let him find out what’s going on. There’s no way he’ll keep it from Nick if he sees the contract.

While I’m pondering what the hell to do, Marco’s phone chimes. As he slowly turns around, I pull up a website and type the name of a fashion designer into the search bar.

“Really?” Marco asks, disdain coating his words. I look up in time to see him eyeing the monitor. “I thought we were looking for something serious. But I guess not.”

I bristle at his tone, but still manage to smile sweetly. “You know what they say about retail therapy.” I’m relieved my voice doesn’t crack.

“Whatever. Sergei’s here, so I’ll go take care of business. Don’t leave this room.” He doesn’t wait for my answer, which is perfect.

As soon as he’s gone, I jump into action. I print the contract out, and then, just for good measure, I also print a few other inconsequential things. A recipe, a few luxury handbags, and a picture of the apartment below Jack’s, which is apparently for sale.

I leave the printouts I don’t need on the desk, they’re only in case Marco hears the printer and asks about it. Then I fold the contract up and hide it in my armpit, which isn’t great, as I’m now moving awkwardly so it doesn’t escape my hold.

With Marco still not back, I head to the bedroom, immediately striding toward my massive closet and pulling out the dress I need. Then I disappear into my bathroom.

During the shower, I do my best to shut my mind off. I don’t have time to fall to pieces, or allow the heartbreak that’s sending spikes of anguish through me. Not tonight.

I guess the one good thing that’s come from my marriage is my ability to compartmentalize so great that unbidden thoughts don’t filter through if I don’t let them.

Yep, I’m the epitome of a well-trained… pet.

Oh, the irony.

As soon as I’m done, I dry off and redo my makeup, making it more dramatic with thicker eyeliner, darker shades of eyeshadow, and a lipstick that’s teetering between red and black. Once I’m satisfied, I remove the emerald green silk dress from the hanger and shrug it on.

The dress was sewn specifically for me, and the fabric clings to me like a second skin. The neckline is so plunging you can see my belly button, and it’s only held together by a small silver chain just beneath my tits. There’s a slit on the side that goes all the way up to my crotch, revealing my tattooed thigh.

I hate this dress almost as much as the man that gave it to me on our first wedding anniversary. At first, I thought it might have been some kind of peace offering, but, of course, that wasn’t its purpose.

It was for me to wear while Michael paraded me around in front of his sick brother, who didn’t waste any opportunity to grope me. My husband once told me I was like a walking wet dream in this piece of garment, which makes it perfect for tonight.

“Live fast, die young, and become a beautiful corpse,” I whisper to my reflection. Leaning forward, I press my lips to the mirror, leaving behind a lipstick stain.

Though I haven’t lived fast, I’m definitely dying young. Twenty-eight is nothing. In any other life, I might have just been at the beginning of my career. Or maybe I would already be settled into a life with a husband who’d love me, and kids to spoil.

That’s not me, though. My life ends tonight, and I’m glad I have a lot of things left to do. It keeps me busy, keeps me from falling to pieces. Instead of looking for loopholes where there are none, I’m making sure I do what I can for those whowillwake up tomorrow morning.

Bending down, I place the contract in one of the soles, then I squeeze my feet into the black pumps. As I leave the bathroom, I’m not even surprised when I find Marco waiting right outside the door.

“I told you to wait for me,” he grumbles. I just shrug, not slowing down.

“Did you get it?” I ask expectantly.

He doesn’t answer me until we’re back in the living room. I notice all the curtains are drawn, so there’s no way to look inside. “Yeah, I did.” I watch as he pulls a vial from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Sergei swears it won’t kill, only paralyze.”

Taking the bottle, I hold the bottle up against the light, fascinated that something that cruel can look so unassuming. “How fast does it work?”

“He guaranteed me it would work in around thirty minutes time from first ingestion,” Marco confirms solemnly.

I nod to myself as I move over to the bar, reaching for the whiskey. “How much do I need?” I ask as I mentally calculate how to best do this.

“He said even a few drops were enough to paralyze someone like Michael.”

Those words are like music to my ears. With a cold and cruel smile grazing my lips, I pour a little into the three whiskey bottles, Michael’s favored drink, and shake the bottles. While I get ice from the freezer, Marco’s phone rings.

“Yeah?” he snaps.

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