Poisonous Kiss

CHAPTER 1

His hand is wrapped around my throat while he thrusts into me. One, two…and he’s done. Disappointment yet again.

“Did you finish?” he asks.

“Mmhmm,” I say quickly.

I wonder if men know that if they have to ask, the answer is always going to be no. Whatever, I’ll go home and grab my trusty vibrator, The Satisfyer Pro, to do the job for me like always.

I roll off the bed to gather my clothes and start pulling them on.

I really thought this man was going to do better. He was so hot in the club, eyeing me while I was on the dance floor. I let him bring me home, and then he put his hand around my throat and couldn’t last. I swear I haven’t been out of the club for more than thirty minutes at this point.

Yes, I was just using him, but so what? Can’t a girl get off while using the man she’s with?

“Where are you going?” he asks, pulling the condom off with a snap and throwing it on the side table. Fucking gross.

“Home?” I answer.

“You don’t want to rest?”

“Nope,” I reply with a pop. “Thanks for the fuck. I’m going to call an Uber.”

I walk out the door, step into the elevator, and immediately call Maxx. He picks up on the second ring.

“Did you get the fingerprints?”

“Duh. Who do you think I am? He choked me, so they should be there just like we talked about.”

“Okay, hurry down. We only have a few minutes to get them from your skin.”

The car is parked across the street, and I jog across to meet him.

Once inside, we pull down the street so there’s no possible way my “date” will know what we’re doing. We pull over and get to work. I throw my hair up in a high ponytail, careful not to touch my throat, and Maxx starts to open up his fingerprint kit. He pulls out the rounded squirrel hairbrush and the Swedish black fingerprint powder. He puts a little of the powder on a napkin that must have been in the glove compartment and dips the brush into it. Once the brush has been covered, he slowly starts dabbing around the right side of my throat. I hate having this stupid shit all over me since it’s such a bitch to get off. It smears all over the place in the cleanup process, but we need this thumbprint.

“Yes!” Maxx shouts. “We got it!”

I try not to get too excited as he uses lifting tape to slowly remove the fingerprint from my skin.

He holds the tape up to the light, and there it is. The key to my freedom. The only way I can get away from the third meanest man in town, who just happens to be my father.

My father wishes he was the meanest, but instead, he just works for him. He has controlled my every move for the last twenty years, but you know what they say about strict parents. Strict parents create sneaky children, and that is just what I have become.

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 how shades 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.

I say nothing as I swipe on Ruby Woo MAC lipstick and prepare myself.

I smack my plump red lips and give myself some mental affirmations.

I turn around, walk out of the room, and make my way down the stairs. I meet eyes with the man in the foyer, and it’s like déjà vu. I’ve seen this face, but this man has a little more gray in his brown-black hair. A few more wrinkles on his forehead. Tattoos peeking out from under his rolled sleeves and up the collar of his shirt. More tanned skin, like he spends more time outside or near a good window. Bulky rings on his fingers. Fourteen years older than someone else I’ve gotten to know very well…

“Oh fuck.”