Page 53 of Vengeful Lies

My fiancée is hellbent on not replying to most of my messages, but I seem to get a bite on the few that really antagonize her. And when I send her gifts, she often sends photos of them in the trash. Unless it’s a specific piece of jewelry or lingerie set that she likes the look of. Then I don’t get a reply at all. Her silence is as good as a thank you.

“I don’t like it. You’ve done some dumb shit in the past, but this is too much. Her pussy can’t be that golden.”

I turn on him then, sizing him up. “How about you keep my fiancée’s pussy out of your mind, or we’re going to have a problem.”

His eyes narrow. He shakes his head with a condescending smile. “You know what, motherfucker? For someone who’s talking about this woman being disposable, you seem awfully attached, calling her your fiancée. So don’t let me interfere with you potentially fucking up your life and getting yourself killed. I hope she’s worth it.”

A tic jumps in my jaw as adrenaline resurfaces, and that roiling anger that’s always close to the surface wants to rear its ugly head.

“If my parents find out this is a fake marriage, I’ll know it’s because of you.”

He looks over his shoulder with an arrogant expression. “Oh, don’t you worry, it won’t be me fucking this up for you. You can manage that shit all on your own. Just don’t come to me for help when it blows up in your pretty-ass face.”

He takes his shit and leaves. My knuckles turn white as I clench my fists. Motherfucker.

I know exactly what I’m doing, and I don’t need his permission to do shit—especially considering his sly deals and management of his own business are less than moral.

I look back at my phone, approving of the quick work of my men. Ford and Hawke are on their way with the goods, and that means I can focus on treating my fake fiancée to a little date tonight. One she won’t be able to refuse.

I have every intention of showing her off like a trophy wife because whoever can afford a hit on me is most definitely someone in or close to our inner circle. Unfortunately, it’s hard to tell who because I’ve pissed so many people off.

Once they know she’s mine, they’ll falter, perhaps reveal their hand or change their tactics.

In the meantime, I get to spoil my soon-to-be wife.

CHAPTER 27

Jewel

Bang!

I let my breath flow out with ease, satisfied with the dead-center shot. I reload the gun. I’ve been here every afternoon since the shootout with Eli at Dee’s. My nerves have been on edge ever since I was fucked to within an inch of my life by the mafia heir. I haven’t been able to shake it out of my memories or shake him out of my head. My skin grows tight over my muscles, a warmth flooding my core at the mere thought.

“Motherfucker,” I hiss under my breath as I try to focus my mind. I aim again, breathing in and out slowly. Everything becomes still, and I’m completely and utterly in control again.

Bang!Bang!Bang!Bang!Four shots go off for the four targets. Three are perfect bullseyes. The last one is slightly off-center. “Fuck,” I curse, removing my ear protection. This is frustrating beyond measure.

“Inappropriate thoughts hindering your aim, Kitten?”

I spin around at the voice, and a wave of fury washes over me. “What are you doing here?” I demand. How long has he been standing there?

Eli kicks off the wall, looking immaculate in his fucking suit. I try to ignore his imposing presence, but it’s fucking hard when the man comes at six foot four and is built like a fucking house.

“I’m not chasing after you for some mafia fun bang shit,” I say, assessing my gun as if that was the problem with my aim.

“Mafia fun bang shit?” he repeats lazily as he leans against the screen between me and the empty stall beside me.

“How did you even get back here?” I ask. I make a point to hire the entire range every time I’m here. Simply put, I don’t play nicely with others, and I’ve experienced enough mansplaining on how to use a gun that I now make sure I have the place to myself—I have more than enough money to cover it.

When his smile kicks up, it’s answer enough. Because Eli Monti pays, persuades, or threatens to get what he wants. “I want to take you somewhere special.”

“Hard pass.” I put my ear protection on again and roll my shoulders, breathing with ease as I focus on the six new targets. I breathe in and out, my hand steady. Six rounds go off, all perfect shots. My lip twitches arrogantly, the slight tingle of adrenaline dancing beneath my skin, but it’s nothing like the high of the other night.

When I remove my ear protection and look to my right, I notice Eli frowning down the line of his range. I sigh but can’t help but be curious, so I lean into his space. Motherfucker is a decent shot. Out of the six rounds, four are dead center. It gives me smug satisfaction to know I’m a slightly better shot. As I should be, considering it’s my fucking job.

He’s looking at his gun as if it’s rigged. I sigh. The enjoyment of being alone here is gone because Eli won’t leave of his own accord.

“What do you want, Eli?”

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