Page 93 of Hunted By Valentine

I shrug. “More for me.” I take a deep breath, inhaling the rich, velvety aroma of the red wine as it fills my glass to the brim. The crimson liquid shimmers in the dim light, almost looking like blood.

The first glass goes down quickly, so I refill the glass before walking back into the living room. Sitting down on the couch, I mentally go through what I want to happen and how I want things to unfold. Even though Marco’s here and could easily overpower Michael, I want it to be me—all me—that takes care of things.

“Sergei will be here with the poison in half an hour,” Marco says, looking down at his phone. “Are you sure you want the poison to actually kill Michael? If not, Sergei made some suggestions—”

I tilt my head to the side, intrigued. “Suggestions? Like what?”

Marco shrugs one shoulder. “He says he has everything from instant death to paralyzation. Pick your poison… literally.”

I snigger. “Okay. Hmm, I think I’ll go with paralyzation. But a slow working one. It needs to take me at least thirty minutes.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Any particular reason?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Would you like to elaborate?”

Taking my time, I take a large swig of the wine. “I would not,” I reply. “But since I assume you’re not going to agree to wait anywhere you can’t watch over me, you’ll be able to see for yourself.”

“Understood,” he smoothly agrees. “Is there anything we need to do before Michael gets here?”

“Like what?” I ask.

Marco chuckles. “I don’t know… like, do you need to organize anything? Get anything ready?”

That’s a good question. I was just going to doll myself up a bit, wear something Michael likes seeing me in. But maybe I should do more than that. “Yeah,” I say as I get to my feet. “I think I should have a look through his office.”

Marco follows me as we head to Michael’s study, a room I’ve only ever been in when my husband has summoned me. Though I spend a lot of time alone in our house, I’ve never dared go in there since he beat me up for cleaning the room when he hadn’t asked me to. Since nothing matters after tonight, I don’t hesitate.

The door is locked, but thanks to Marco’s skills, he pulls the door off its hinges. “Are we looking for anything specific?” he asks as I rifle through some papers before turning on the desktop.

“I don’t know,” I mumble.

When the computer starts without asking for a password, I can’t hold back a frustrated huff. That’s how much of a docile doormat I was; a password isn’t even needed to keep me out. I don’t know why that infuriates me more.

I open Michael’s email, also not password protected, and go through the most recent emails. There isn’t anything interesting until… wait, what’sthat? I double click on a correspondence that has my name in the subject line.

My eyes widen and my hands clench into fists as I read the attached contract. With each word I read, my heart feels like it’s being shattered… no, not shattered. Obliterated. Tears distort my vision, making me blink rapidly to make sure I miss nothing.

“What the hell?” I whisper. My throat burns with the emotions I’m trying to keep down, but it’s a no go. My hand shakes as I scroll down.

Michael didn’t just want me dead, he made sure I’d die at the hands of the most ruthless killer for hire; the Hunter. Valentine. But that means… he lied to me. Valentine fucking lied when he said it was a job in the past.

I quickly glance at Marco, and luckily, his back is to me, so he’s oblivious to my turmoil.

Unable to keep myself upright, I sag into the chair behind me as I process the enormity of this. As if on cue, my brain reminds me of the presence I felt following me around during the days between Christmas and New Year’s, and again earlier today.

Holy shit. I don’t need confirmation to know it was Valentine. This means he’s also the reason Michael wanted me enrolled at Holloway University.

Christ, I was literally placed in his way in every way imaginable. Offered up as a sacrificial lamb for slaughter. So… why am I still breathing? We’re days into February, and I’m still alive. Valentine could easily have killed me at the cabin, but he didn’t.

He could have even made sure I killed myself with his barbaric Russian Roulette. I didn’t die, obviously. I survived, and now, the more I think about it, I wonder if there was even a bullet in the damn chamber.

I can’t really explain it, and maybe it’s just wishful thinking, because if there’s one thing I know both about Valentine and the Hunter, it’s that if eitherreallywanted me dead, I’d be worm food by now. But again, I’m not. So that has to mean he doesn’t want me dead, right?

Closing my eyes, I lean further into the chair as I try to make sense of my thoughts, but how can I when I only have half the puzzle? The only two people who really know what’s going on aren’t here with me.

Oneis on his way, I hope—the other, well; I drugged him and left him alone.

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