Page 2 of Poisonous Kiss
I need money to get away from my dad, and I knew that early on. That’s how I met and became friends with Maxx. He worked for my father, and we grew to develop a good friendship. He knew how mean my father could be, and he didn’t want me in this lifestyle, so he agreed to help me however he could. Which is how I ended up here.
This wasn’t just some random fingerprint from a random date. This is a fingerprint from Ethan Hayes, one of the sons of the richest and meanest man in town, who also happens to be Daddy Dearest’s boss. His dad, Robert, is head of the Mafia in New York City and oozes wealth and power. Ethan is fourteen years younger than Robert’s other son, Ezra.
I have intel that fingerprints are the access point to all of the family’s wealth. They hide everything behind fingerprints since they are supposed to be “more secure” than a password or some special code.
Now that I have this fingerprint, I can get into their building and steal all the cash I can carry. Whatever that is has to be enough for me to hire someone to change my name and to get me the hell away from New York City.
“What now?” Maxx asks.
“Now we go home, I get some sleep, and I plan how to get the fuck away from my father.”
*The Next Day*
“Briar!”
It’s seven thirty a.m., and I am being screamed at from downstairs. I didn’t get home until two thirty, and I know the cameras have been set to loop, so I’m not seen entering or exiting. What the hell could he want?
I decide it’s better to lie here and stay inside my warm bed rather than jump up and run downstairs. If my father wants to talk to me, he can come up here and do it.
Not three minutes later, the devil himself slams open my bedroom door and scowls at me.
“Is there no privacy, Father?” I ask.
“Not for you. I need you up. Tiffany, the cosmetologist will be here in fifteen minutes. She is going to get you ready for Cynthia, who will be here at nine with a new dress for you to wear today.”
Why the fuck is this man talking crazy this early in the morning? I have not had orange juice yet, and all I can do is stare at him like he has grown three heads.
“Earth to Briar. Did you hear me? Get up now if you wish to have your orange juice before Tiffany arrives. I will not hear you complain about being sluggish today.”
“Wait wait wait,” I say. “What the fuck am I doing?”
“Oh.” He chuckles. “You’re meeting your future husband.”
I sit straight up in bed, my jaw drops, and my eyes practically bug out of my head.
“I’m doing what?!”
“See you soon!” he says as he exits my room.
Well, good morning to him too.
Tiffany comes running in just moments later, so much for my fifteen-minute warning, and starts going on and on about howshades of earthy tone eyeshadow will complement my blue eyes and how we can’t choose a lip shade until I pick a dress. I try to zone out everything I can, but it’s hard to do when she keeps rambling about things I clearly couldn’t care less about. I’m still in shock since I was told only minutes ago that I was going to meet my future husband. I couldn’t really give a fuck about the color of my eyelids.
I almost had my way out, and now I have to meet the man I’m supposed to marry? I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I know right now that I will not go down without a fight. I need to come up with a plan as soon as possible.
Once Tiffany is done with my hair, Cynthia drags me back into my bedroom, where there is a rack with ten garment bags hanging off it. I sit down on my bed while Cynthia starts taking the dresses out one by one. They’re all mundane colors, different shades of cream, red, and blue, until she gets to the last one. She pulls out a black dress that has short sleeves. The bodice is almost completely sheer chiffon except right over the breasts, where it is blacked out. The bodice is fitted, and the skirt flares where my hips would be.
“That one,” I say, pointing to the black dress.
“You’re meeting your future—”
“I know who I’m meeting,” I say, raising my hand and cutting her off. I want the black one.”
I’m going to be basically attending my own funeral anyway, might as well dress to fit the occasion.
With my black dress on, brown shimmery eyeshadow applied, and long brown hair in waves down my back, I stare at the girl in the mirror. This is not who I should be, but I am determined to get out of this situation before I marry.
“Briar, your husband is here!” my father shouts from downstairs.
