Page 96 of Hunted By Valentine

“Michael’s almost here. Are you ready?”

While I get myself some more wine, I confirm I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Just to be on the safe side, I add the last of the poison to the remainder in the bottle after pouring myself a large glass. Then I go to sit down in Michael’s favorite chair, crossing one leg over the other so the fabric parts, perfectly showing off my tattoo.

It’s showtime.

When I hear the front door open, my body tenses like a coiled spring. I take a deep breath and steel myself for the confrontation that’s about to unfold. Michael’s footsteps echo in the hallway, and I can feel his presence looming over me like a dark cloud.

He enters the room, and I can see the surprise in his eyes when he sees me. “Ruby,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “You look… different.”

My eyes drop to his hand that’s covered up by bandages. I raise an eyebrow, my lips curling into a cold, mocking smile. “So do you,” I say, my voice dripping with malice. “What happened to your hand?”

Hescoffs. “Like I would tell you.”

I shrug one shoulder, swinging my foot back and forth. “As long as it hurt, I don’t really care.”

At my words, he comes to a stop and quickly spins toward me. “Is that so?”

“It is,” I say, tapping one finger against my bare thigh. “Why don’t you get a drink? We have a lot to talk about.”

Something is wrong with him. He keeps looking around like he expects someone to jump out from a corner and… I don’t even know.

“A drink,” he says, looking perplexed. Then his usual haughty expression snaps into place. “Get one for me. I’m tired.”

Even though I’m eager to serve him his drink of death, I remain seated. “Are you saying you need a hand?” I smirk, pointing at his injured limb. “If that’s what you mean, I didn’t hear a please.”

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” he roars, stalking toward me. “You think you get to make the rules just because you’ve fucked your professor?”

And there it is, finally one of us said something real.

His eyes scrutinize me for a reaction, and when I don’t give him one, he adds, “Do you even know who you’ve let fuck you? Your professor is also the Hunter. I recognized his voice when…” Trailing off, he looks away, clearly not going to finish that sentence.

“You’ve never cared before about who has had their dick in me.” I don’t know why I feel the need to say that, only that I don’t want to roll over and maybe, just maybe, I want to call him out for pretending to care when we both know he doesn’t. “Just get your damn drink and sit down.”

When his good hand darts out, reaching for me, I force myself to sit completely still. As he grabs my hair and forces my neck backward, I let out a hiss of pain. “What did you say to me?” he growls.

His eyes narrow, and he purses his lips as though he’s deep in thought. Shit, did I overplay it?

“Why are you so insistent I get a drink, anyway?” he asks, suspicion coating every word.

My mouth opens, but no words come out. The wine sloshes with how much my hand trembles. Michael grunts and lets go of my hair, but beforeI can breathe a sigh of relief, he grabs my throat.

“You’re a useless fucking cunt. Your only worth was obeying me, and now you can’t even do that right anymore.” Despite knowing a bigger monster has a contract for my life, the years of living with Michael’s cruelty runs so deep I let out a pitiful whimper. “Not so brave now, are you? Fucking bitch.”

The second he lets go of my throat, I cough and splutter for air. “You bastard,” I croak between heaving in as much air as possible. “I’m done being your fucking whipping post. If you want something, go get it yourself.”

Straightening my spine, I run a hand through my hair, carefully patting the stitches to make sure they haven’t come loose.

I barely manage to keep the surprise I feel from showing when he huffs angrily and turns toward the bar. He studies the different bottles, even goes as far as sniffing a few after removing the lids. Feeling like I need to do something, I sigh audibly.

Ignoring me, he goes for the vodka in the fancy gold bottle. “Like I’d choose a whiskey when they’re all open,” he mutters softly. A triumphant smile spreads across my face as he adds ice to his drink.

“Whatever you say,” I quip when he sits down on the couch. I mockingly raise my glass. “To our marriage.” I take a large swig of the wine, but to my disappointment, Michael just puts his glass down on the table. He watches me like a freaking hawk, barely blinking.

“To being rid of you soon,” he spits. Then he picks the glass back up, emptying its contents in one go. “You don’t know how good you’ve had it with me, Ruby. But you’ll find out soon enough.”

“I imagine I will,” I reply, careful to keep my feigned indifference. “Tell me something. Why haven’t you killed me when you hate me so much?”

Michael throws his head back and laughs loudly. To an outsider, he looks completely at ease, but I notice the way he pulls his injured hand closer to his body. “Oh, I’ve wanted to many times,” he replies. “But I’m not stupid enough to bring the wrath of your family to my doorstep.”

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