Page 53 of Poison Vows

And if so, what is the best way to mess him up?

“Well, new friend, your makeup is done. A natural look for a beauty…” She moves out the way so I can see the results in the mirror. “Anything you pick to wear will be fine. Oh, and use that face cover so the makeup doesn’t stain your clothes when you wear them.”

“Are you some sort of stylist?” I ask.

“Maybe in a past life.” She shrugs and picks up a pair of beige suede boots, shakes her head, and moves to the next pair of redleather boots. “I never had Barbie dolls, nor could I play dress-up or have tea parties like all the other little girls.”

A wave of familiarity washes over me as I look at her.

“Thank you, Scar,” I say sincerely, thanking her for everything. “I owe you.”

“Don’t say that… I’ll really cash in on it!”

As she laughs, my phone vibrates with incoming texts.

When I unlock it, my blood runs cold.

“Hey, are you all right?” I hear Scarlet ask with concern, but I can’t respond for a while, staring at the spam-like texts from Melissa.

A knock sounds on the door and Ty comes in after a beat.

“My apologies, Young Miss,” he starts. “There’s been a slight change of plans. If you need to go somewhere, I can take you.”

“A change of plans?” Scar asks.

“Yes, Miss Scarlet.”

Maybe it’s my imagination but the two exchange an indecipherable look without saying a word.

“Well, see you soon, bestie! I have to go.”

Me too. I have some trash to dispose of.

CHAPTER 8

Game Master

Surveillance imagesof various residents that live in the illustrious estates of Westbrook Blues litter the large round table of the dark room.

Old photographs are intermixed with the latest ones taken just a few weeks ago, showing the updates for the residents.

The kids that used to be young, clueless, and naïve just a few years ago are now older, sharper, more problematic than ever, but that doesn’t bother the chess players in the room.

“Ivy Irving has now entered the lion’s den,” a low but cold voice speaks in the chilly room.

In the middle of the table is a chess set, the pieces looking evenly matched from a wide angle, but upon closer inspection, it’s obvious that one side is moving rapidly and taking over the pieces of the other side in quick succession.

The game is getting exciting.

An innocent-looking gambit has been thrown in like a curveball.

Who will it trap, is the question.

“Can she even turn the tide?” the older man says with apparent impatience and unconcealed anger. “Hasn’t that girl been an insignificant player this entire time?”

The younger man in the room calmly leans back in the large but uncomfortable chair and watches the older man across from him, regarding him with barely hidden resentment.

“That girl is the only one who has ever and will ever move that ice-capped mountain that has been frozen for a millennium,” he says, his voice deliberately slow.

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