Page 6 of Tempted By Poison

Like a magnet drawn to metal, her eyes rise, locking dead on mine. My heart knocks against my rib cage, the rhythm erratic. Almost as if she sensed the energy of my lingering gaze sketching her out. The magnetic attraction is so raw and pure, there’s no denying we’re meant to be more than cordial teammates.

I tip my glass to her before pressing the rim to my lips, drinking in every last bit of her like this champagne.

She only hoods her lashes up at me before sauntering toward the bar. Owning the area, she merges in between a man and women, leaning over the bar, her hip tipping to the side. My mouth parts as I lower my gaze down to her ass, then to her slender waist. Images of last night flips through my head like a presentation.

Fuck me.

A tug in my pants is what jolts me upward. Fuck.Focus. Focus.

I turn away from the tempting view, jamming down on my jaw to stop myself. Just then, a vibration signals in my pocket. My heart picks up. “He’s here,” I say as another waiter walks past. I place my half drunken glass atop his plate.

“Twelve o’clock,” Mal speaks through.

I immediately look forward, eyes falling on a man wearing a platinum mask designed to resemble a devil's face with long curved horns. Five bodyguards post behind him, and I already know.

That’s Victor.

He strolls through with a limp, which I remember vividly. Obnoxious rings line his fingers, and he is wearing a crimson-colored shirt paired with a gray tux.

My nostrils flare as I lean onto the balcony, my hands gripping the pole.Control yourself.I repeat to myself as many times as I can, but it's difficult to keep myself at bay when all I want to do is hop over this banister and jam several champagne flutes into his neck.

Seeing him again forms a tight twist in my chest. It’s been years since I have come near face to face with the man who bashed me in the head with the pipe before dragging us to their lair. The man who got off on mutilating my body.

He introduces himself to others, chatting about with a poise of superficial arrogance.

“Eyes on the prize,” Boone says at the same time as he walks by Victor. He stumbles right into him, champagne in his hand, spilling most of its contents on his jacket. I move, floating behind the props.

“Shit, man, I'm sorry I didn’t see you there,” Boone says, going in to brush off Victor's jacket, slipping a tiny GPS tracker into his jacket pocket undetected.

Victor scowls, raising his hands up. “Fuck off, drunk.”

His bodyguards puff out their chests, immediately going on a ten in his defense, shoving Boone back from their precious human. Not so precious after I get to him. “Someone get this piece of shit out of my party.”

My eyes skate around as other men in black walk toward the issue. Boone lifts his hands, walking backward, but the two guards grab Boone at the shoulders, and he allows it. That's not too good for them. “Aye, man,” he slurs as they drag Boone off, and I have no worries, because I know he’ll handle it.

Victor huffs like a petulant child, swiping away the rest of the contents.

I divert back to Victor, who heads to the bar. “Incoming at the bar,” I say, my heart thumping at the sight of him seeing her. Anita touches her ear before straightening up.

People shuffle out his way as he raises his hand to the bartender. They arrive with several napkins, and the asshole snatches them, then goes to work on his soiled jacket. A few seconds later, the bartender is back with Anita's drink. He catches sight and lifts his head slightly, landing directly on her ass. My stomach lurches with anger. Every part of my body stiffens as I watch Victor practically undress her with his eyes.

Would it ruin the mission if I were to slice his neck right here?

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