Page 32 of The Viper's Wife

“What brought you to the field? Besides the glamour of a fresh stool sample.”

“Dad thought it would be useful to have family on the side of the law.” I pause. “Not that it matters to him now.”

Maybe I should tell him thank you for sparing Dad’s life, but I can’t seem to spit out the words when my dad’s been reduced to a walking cadaver.

“So quit,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “You don’t have to work anymore.”

“No.” Panic crashes over me. I swallow, my tongue thick. “I like working.”

Another golden glance in my direction. “But you don’t need to. Your dad doesn’t care anymore.”

“I care. I want to work. I like my job. I like my boss and my coworkers, and I like knowing I’m making a difference.”

“That’s cute.”

I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Why’s that?”

For one, you’re a murderer, I want to tell him. I should say it—I need to be a Nico repellent, to be so grating, annoying, orboring that he’ll jump at the chance to marry any other woman who isn’t me. But a lifetime of carefully guarding my secrets presses a soft finger to my lips. Better not to show my hand if I can help it. He doesn’t need to know I’ve been asking about him.

When he figures out I’m not going to answer, he changes tactics and prods at me with a cruel edge to his voice. “You ever come to this part of town?”

A barricade of gunmetal-grey skyscrapers flanks the road we’re driving down, the lake on the other side, though I can’t catch a glimpse of the waters with how low the Ferrari rides. We’re in the heart of Gold Coast, where mostly rich, old people live, and even a cup of coffee is out of my price range—which Nico knows. It’s no secret that although my family has money, they’re cheapskates.

He wants to remind me how much wealth and power he has, and how little I have. The ring, the Ferrari,hispart of town, could all be mine if I just shut my mouth and be the shameful match he wants to show off to daddy.

“No,” I answer truthfully. I might be broke, but I’m not so starry-eyed that a flash of his black card would blind me to what he’s proposing—a lifetime sentencing to the Family, no chance of parole.

Nico slides his arm over the back of my seat as he takes a left. The Ferrari constricts around us. He smells delicious—alcohol and tobacco and sex. He smells like bad decisions. His fingers weave into my hair, showering a wave of sparks down my spine.

“What do you like to do for fun?” he asks.

“Nothing. I’m boring.”

“Liar,” he teases, and I hate how that tone of voice makes my belly flutter. “Let’s try that again. What do you like to do for fun,besidesgetting fucked at parties by handsome strangers?”

“Mildly attractive strangers?”

“You came that hard for mildly attractive? I’m flattered.”

It feels like a live wire is sweeping along my scalp.

Nico pulls into a parking garage, the Ferrari slithering inside like a lizard into a cave. I focus on the far-away, dark corners to shove out the memories of his strong hands on my hips.

“I like to read. I watch movies. I make collages.” Or, I used to before I found Mom’s secret note among my magazines and razors.

“Collages?” Nico’s fingers press against my skull like he’s plugging into my brain. “Like in kindergarten?”

“More like middle school, but yeah.”

He parks the car and turns toward me, open interest in his face. “You have any pictures? Let me see.”

“No.” I ransack my thoughts. “You wouldn’t like them. I make feminist pieces. Lots of pads and period blood and pictures of castrated men.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t like that?” He winks.

Heat explodes up my neck.