Sweet Touch of Venom (Lethal Love #1)

3. Ronan

Chapter 3

Ronan

Revenge is better served with a bloody limb

T onight differs from every other night. This is the night I strike, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. Not jumping up and down like a petulant child, but what I have been looking forward to for years. What I trained for. What made me into the man I am today, and why every name on my list will be dead and gone. Joe, Tractor, Henley, Fred and finally Victor.

I stand in the corner of the dark space in his apartment. I arrived here no longer than ten minutes ago. Without moving my body, my eyes dart around the tiny space. It’s small and sloppy here. Thrown beer cans lay out under the rustic coffee table, mix matched shoes scattered around the living room. Not even bothering to place it neatly by the door.

Despicable.

It wasn’t difficult to find his location. He was smart enough to not keep his residence in the same place he committed the crime, but he was stupid enough to keep everything in his real name, including his address. Making it too easy to find him. A toddler could have done the job.

I stand in the corner, facing the door, where I can witness every movement or anything out of order. Footsteps clack through the door, the floorboards so lightweight you can hear every movement someone makes.

And?…

Three

Two

One

The door to his shitty home flies open, slamming into a wall. The dry wall from where the knob hit breaks off into tiny pieces, falling to the floor.

There tumbles in Tractor, drunk or high off his ass, bald with a patchy beard. Why are they all always intoxicated? Is it to mask the shame within themselves from the terrible things they've done, the lives they've destroyed?

“Ugh.” He groans loud with extra grunts, and it’s taking everything in me to not chuck my gun directly at his throat.

His phone rings, and I stay quiet in the corner.

“Yeah?” Bringing the phone to his ear, he sits down. Before he can relax on the sofa, his back straightens, snapping forward, and his face pales just a bit.

A grin comes to me. I can’t help it. This is where the real fun begins.

“It’s all in your head, Henley. Joe dying was just a coincidence. Stop worrying your mind.”

It wasn’t a coincidence.

But it also wasn’t me who caused the tragic scene that I very much wish I inflicted. Two days ago, I saw Joe and had him right where I wanted him. I should’ve killed him. A bullet right to the head outside that bar while his girl for the night suffered his blood stained on her face and clothes. But what fun would that have been? No pain or agony? No torture for his sins? So I decided to go to his place last night, only to find him hanging from a tree behind his house, face distorted, mutilated with open wounds and slices all over his body. One thing that stood out the most was the letter ‘V’ carved deep across his entire abdomen. So deep, the meat from the ripped cartilages puffed out.

It was absolutely impressive, and I should’ve been satisfied, but I’m not.

I’m angry because that was my bidding to do. My pain to cause, and some other motherfucker got off on it. The idea of the man receiving joy from it made me livid, instead of walking off, I punched his already destroyed body until the carved letter on him tore even wider; the skin peeling off and slapping to the ground. And then, after, of course, I called my clean-up crew before flailing the massacre.

But yes, I guess we can call it a coincidence .

The voice on the other end speaks so loud, I bet he’s spitting into the damn phone. Tractor lets out a huff, running his hand down his face, hard enough to nearly snap his jaw. Moving the phone from his ear, he taps it, and now Henley’s shaky voice is on speaker.

“It probably was.” Henley pauses, and you can hear him gulp. Fuck, I almost laughed from his fear. It’s so goddamn amusing.

“Poison,” he finishes.

Tractor laughs loudly, attempting to hide the quiver in his thunderous boast. He’s not fooling me, I can tell in the way sweat lines on his forehead and his hand trembles while wiping it.

“He’s not worried about us.”

“The man extracts kidnappers and kills them in cold blood. I knew we shouldn’t have done that job—” My ears peek out, waiting for the name.

“Shut the fuck up, Henley. What’s done is done, and we got paid well, while Victor got what he wanted. Even if he didn’t get the blueprints. If Poison wants me, then why hasn’t he come for me? He’s a scared pussy.”

“Don’t say that, man. Maybe the rich kid Ronan hired a hit out on us.”

“Ronan is another pussy that won’t do anything. He’s sitting up high somewhere in the mountains, scared shitless after the beating we put on them—especially after Victor killed his friend.” He laughs out again, and this time it feels a little too confident.

I’m basking in his bravery. Not knowing, Poison and Ronan are the same man—and I’m here for blood.

God, it’s fucking cathartic.

A crooked grin dances on my cheek with a twitch, my heart races with the resistance to cracking my knuckles. Goddamn, just one crack would ease the anxiousness.

He cackles again. “Fuck him and whoever?—”

Having enough of his amusing memory session, I step out of the corner. “And whoever?” I keep my voice low.

I nearly laugh from the way his phone drops and his beady eyes bulge so wide they could fall out. I would’ve just put them right back in his sockets, only to yank them back out again.

He swallows, his body collapses back onto the seat as he shakes from unrelenting fear. “What the hell?”

“Tractor, who’s that! What’s going on?” the man on the other end yells and screams.

“Someone who’s coming for you, too,” I speak up, my tone serious and menacing. I can practically hear a gasp, and then the phone call ends. I look back at the large man on the couch.

I step closer, clenching my fist. All these years and here I am. In the flesh, renewed and no longer that weak boy strapped to a chair next to his best friend.

“You were going to say something after, ‘fuck him and whoever’.” I stroll to him threatening, a snarl curling on the left side of my top lip where the healed slash lays. The part where he punched me at with his ring, causing it to split completely. It never actually healed properly, it just left a noticeable slit there where it looks like someone took a knife and sliced it.

“I-I.” he stutters, sweat building more on top of his bald head.

I reach out for the little coffee table that seems like it can be easily broken with one kick. “You know, the funny thing is I thought I heard you say something like ‘Poison is a scared pussy.’”

Tractor swallows.

“Do you remember who I am?” I began walking around the table, which is approximately three steps before I’m towering over him like death with his scythe.

His head shakes, peering up at me, sinking further in the couch. I admit I look different. My hair is not short and faded but out and wavy, my body is larger and stronger, not weak and lean like before, and I have grown a scruff. Before, I only had chin hair. And who can forget the many slices on my chest and the one residing on my lip?

“I must say, I’m very offended, since you were just talking about me.” I let out another low chuckle, although nothing was funny.

“Look man, whatever happened, it was just business.”

I nod slowly as if I understand the reasoning. “Just business.”

His body shifts; he doesn’t think I notice his movements. Tractor makes a go for under his sofa seat, but I grab my gun from my side holster and shoot his hand. There was a gun hidden under it. I already searched his house before retreating into the dark spot in the corner, and it was quite amusing to see he only had two guns in here. One under the seat, and the other in the drawer of his nightstand.

He screeches loudly, gripping his hand, the crimson spilling out instantly.

I hold the gun up. “Is this yours?”

His eyes run wild, and he hollers more.

“Yeah. I’ve already taken the liberty of grabbing the little stash you have.”

“Then why’d you shoot me?” he barks, spit flying through his teeth and landing on my boots. My eyes dart down, disgust swirling in my stomach.

I shrug mindlessly. “Why not?” Then I aim for his kneecaps, shooting them too. He lets out a murderous howl and begins to scream for help.

I shake my head. “No one can hear you.” That’s because we had the few people who do live in this shitty complex leave because of a “water leakage”. I bend down on my knees, placing my forearms on my elbows, looking him in the eyes, sweat now falling down his glistening tan skin and onto his brow. Agony folding over him like paint.

“Now I ask you again,” I say smoothly. “Do you remember me?”

His eyes search my face, and then that’s when it occurs. The Adam’s apple in his throat bobs, and I can see his lips dry. The grin slowly forms on my mouth, and I narrow in.

“But how? You fled.”

My smile drops. “I did.” I tap the muzzle on his open wound, digging into it, the milky red liquid pouring out more. I watch in blind horror, the glory seeping through. Every drop means something, every spill. It’ll be counted nineteen times, the same amount of blood it took for Carters before he finally died.

I continue further until I touch the bone, then I knock on it for fun. He releases a tortured scream, his head crashing back. “I have a question for you. Make a wise choice and answer correctly.” I pull away so he can answer. “Why were you after the blueprints?”

He heaves, his hot breath blowing into my face. I wince away. Disgusting. I push up on my knees to stand. He continues hollowing. I guess the pain hasn’t subsided. I don’t care.

I check my watch. “Speak. Now.” Then I point my gun at the wound, ready to place another bullet in it. Ouch .

His shaky hands fly up, eyebrows raising so high his sweaty forehead wrinkles. “Okay, okay. I don’t know. Our job was to grab you and the other dude, take you both to the storage, get the papers about some shitty vehicle and then for us to get paid we get your money. I don’t know. That’s it!” Spit flings out of his mouth. “Victor wanted those blueprints. Not us!” He chokes.

My throat constricts at his name being thrown in the air so lightly. I twist my head, biting down on my jaw to ignore the itchy feel in my chest. I focus again.

He’s low level, he won’t have the answers. I’m sure he only does the kidnapping and doesn’t even know the real point of it. The only thing he worries about is the money. It’s a waste thinking he knew something.

Tears streamed down his face. “Don’t kill me man, I have a family.”

I shut my eyes. The irises rolling tight to the back of my head. Why do they think saying that will bring sympathy? I look at him. “You’re married?”

He hesitates. “Divorced.”

“How many kids?”

“T-two. A girl, a-and a boy.”

Nausea rises in my belly. I lean down to look him in his bloodshot eyes while his sweat drips off the lashes. “Your ex-wife had the right idea, divorcing you. She’s lucky, and your kids would thank me. I’ll make sure to send them everything single thing you've done so they’ll hate you and spit on your grave. I’m doing your family a favor.” He freezes, his neck tightening, showing the collar bone. “You should’ve killed me that night.” I slip my gun back into the holster and toss his to the side, then I grab his collar, carelessly dragging him off the couch, intentionally dropping him on his damaged knee.

A buzzing vibrates against my thigh, stopping me from my moment. I release a harsh breath as I'm rummaging in my pocket while keeping hold of the dead weight in the other, I press the phone to my ear. “What?”

“You’re needed at the compound. Bedford found some information. You’re gonna want to see this,” Chris speaks boldly on the other end.

“I’m in the middle of something,” I grit, dropping him on the floor; he groans slowly, turning to his side.

“Apologies. Bedford is eager.” Chris’ voice is wary, they know not to intervene, so if they are calling me, then… it must be important.

Reaching to my holster, I get my gun again, letting out an exasperated breath. “I’ll be there.”

I turn to the man on the ground, attempting to crawl to the door, his loose legs dragging behind him. “Looks like the fun is over.” I take a gaping step, kicking him over to fall on his back.

“Dammit, man!” he cries out, going for his wounded knees, his eyes wide like two golf balls.

I tilt my head, watching him shrivel in pain. “Consider yourself lucky. What I had in store for you was far worse than this.” I aim the gun at his head before pulling the trigger. The hot cartridge digging into the flesh between his eyebrows.

I lower my gun, dissatisfied because I wanted to torture him, so this shit better be top level important. Stuffing the gun back into its rightful place, I walk out of the apartment. I’ll be back to gather the body and with my men to clean up the mess I made.

Once I’m out of the apartment building, I’m hit with the gust of chilled air; I tighten my wool collar, skipping down the ruined steps; part of it cracked, and a large chunk is already missing. Cars ride by, honking in the night as if it’s still daylight. The city that never sleeps.

At the last step, I reach for my phone, the bluish hue from it nearly blinding me. I don’t notice the person heading up the steps; my arm bumps them, making us both stagger to the side.

“Apologies.” I look back to see a slender figure, facing the door, engulfed in a hoodie larger than it should be—it doesn’t cover their ass…? her ass. A perfect heart-shaped one. She fixes her hood, keeping me from seeing her face. I do notice the curly hair sticking out the sides of the material.

“Watch where you’re going,” she says in a low austere voice.

The hell.

She’s still making her way up the steps and only I, including the people in this building, know there is a leakage, and it’s not back open until tomorrow morning. So, what the hell is she doing here?

“I’m not sure if you got the notice, but the building is closed.” My foot on the bottom step and one resting on the top.

She places her hand on the handle, still facing forward. “Not for me.”

Okay? From the looks of it, she’s probably a drug addict. It’s fucked up to assume that; however, the area is born and bred of them. Horrible, but the cold truth. She’s going to have to get her fix elsewhere. I don’t have time for the people figuring out there is no leak and why there isn’t a crew out working on the place.

She opens the door, ready to stroll in.

I let out an irritated sigh before stepping up the stairs. “Look, lady, you’ll need to come back tomorrow.” I reach the top quickly before she’s able to step foot inside, I scoop my hand under her elbow to bring her back. Faster than I expected, she twists her arm from my grasp, swiftly turning and bringing her palm up, smashing it into my nose.

“What the—!” I howl out, my hands shielding the bone. I stumble back onto the broken steps, bracing myself, so I don’t twist an ankle on the shitty stairs.

Bitch .

That didn’t go as planned. I brush under my nose, the burning sensation destroying my senses. I seethe a heavy breath as I glance at it, the red smear shining bright between my fingers.

I breathe faster, my muscles tightening. No one draws blood from me. No one!

“Are you crazy?” I bark, ready to lurch forward and snap her damn neck off her shoulders then kick it down the street. I stop in my tracks to find she’s not there. She disappeared like a ghost, unseen, and out of sight. My anger only spikes at that balls of this random bitch. I yank the door open and rush into the building. Soon as I get inside, the elevator door is shutting (just my damn luck) and there she is leaning back against the wall, hands tucked in her black hoodie, green cargos and black boots with one foot over the other. And she’s relaxing, like there’s soothing music playing in it. The hood covers most of her face, only showing an array of long, thick black curls spilling out. The flickering lights do no justice, so I only depict light brown olive skin and a sinister smirk on her lips.

A bit of amazement mixed with a large amount of pure rage builds in my chest. Who in the fuck is this woman?

I’m disappointed I can’t see all of whom this mystery person is. In my stunned moment, her hand slowly goes up, rolling her dainty fingers eerily in my direction.

My back stiffens. Every ounce of sanity I could’ve had left leaves from her taunt. Oh, you’re dead. I launch forward, bum rushing the doors, eager to catch up so I can see who’s the culprit under the black hood. It’s definitely not a drug addict.

I don’t make it in time before the doors shut, and I can squeeze my fingers in the crack to force it open. They part only a bit then shuts back. My chest heaves as I look above the elevator at the numbers, the light blinking on two, then up to three. I could bolt up the stairs and catch up, but I don’t have the time. This has already stalled me enough, and now I’m left with a bloody nose and a massive shot to my ego. My fist smashes into the elevator twice, the abrasion so hard it shook the door.

“I’ll see you again.” Whoever you are. I shake my head as I step outside while also wiping my nose. It doesn’t feel broken. However, it hurts like hell. The sound of metal scraping against the concrete ground grabs my attention. I glance down, tilting my head to get a view of it.

A dagger.

Nice and shiny, sitting pretty at the end of the staircase. It must be hers, and now I have hope. I grin mischievously to myself. Swiping it off the ground, I stuff it in my wool jacket, closing it and strolling into the dark shadows.

I’ll find you.

I burst through the doors of the Academy compound. Everyone’s head turned toward me, perking up. I nod, ensuring there’s nothing to worry about. Some continue to look at me with slightly widened eyes, of course, wondering why my nose looks red and swollen.

“Get back to work,” I grunt out. Immediately, I spot Bedford at his desk filled with devices and computers. I approach the long desk, knocking my knuckle on the cold metal. “What was the urgency?” I lean on another table set behind him, crossing my arms. “Have we found any information on this V bitch?”

He looks up at me before his eyes spread and his mouth gapes open. “Whoa, what happened to your nose? Did someone punch you?” He leans forward, the wheels on his chair rolling closer to investigate under and around like a doctor.

“No. Now get to the point.” I nod to the screen. I’m ashamed enough. I had a woman punch me in the nose and get away with it. I can’t even think about it.

Catching my irritation, he cocks his head, spinning around, looking back down at the screens. “Okay, Mr. Grumpy Man.”

I don’t bother arguing with him; he’s always been a pain in my ass since bringing him on the team. But he’s great at his job, and it never goes underappreciated.

Mal strolls into the room, her presence giving them the same reaction as they do mine. But only she doesn’t acknowledge them. Great. Now time to hear her mouth.

“You’re back early, didn’t expect you back until?…” Her voice trails off. “What happened to you?” Her face scrunched, confused.

“Nothing happened.”

“He got punched,” Bedford chirps facing ahead typing on his keyboard.

I grind my teeth snapping in Bedford direction. “No. I didn’t.”

Mal opens her mouth, but I hold my hand up. “Leave it.”

I cross my arm circling my chest, resting my fingers on my temple. I can tell she wants to press me more about the situation, but she leaves it alone.

“Okay. What do you have for us?” she says, pressing a palm to the open space on the desk leaning next to Bedford.

“I think I have a clue on who this V is Ro, but it doesn’t make any sense.” He lets out a shaky breath clicking his keyboard.

My brows furrow looking at the screen. Pictures quickly circulate on the screen.

His black polished nail lands on the square box with pictures. “It took some digging, but this person does not want to be found. I’ve heard of them, though. Him or her. I don’t freaking know, but they are big in the dark web world. Wanted by many people. They mark some of their victims with the letter V. Some think they are personal to them? That I haven’t figured out yet.” He taps, then the collage spreads out, pictures and off-guard snaps layered across the screen.

“This, my friend, is Venom.” He claps his hand together inspecting the photo in awe as if he just found a goldmine. Technically, he did. “Although we’ve never seen their face. This person is ruthless. But that’s all I have for you. For now.”

My head shakes, completely lost and confused. “Why haven’t I ever known of this person?”

Bedford’s head shakes with his arms crossing then shrugging. “They really don’t want to be found.”

I step closer to get a better view; although, they are street cam photos, it can be difficult to see the face, but dissecting little details won’t be. I tilt my head at one photo that stands out from the rest. It’s of someone who’s back is turned. It’s fuzzy, but I can see the outfit clear as day, along with the rest of the form. My throat clenches tight as I narrow in on the figure. My nose began to sting with the replay of a hand decking me. Someone like her . Green cargo pants with a black hoodie and those long ass curls. I could be speculating, or my theory could be accurate. Not everybody can wear those clothes exactly the way that woman did at the apartment. Same color, same coordination, same location where I killed…

“Damn,” I slip out as I stand straight.

“Headman?” Mal jerks her head to me in alert.

Not responding I dig in my jacket to fish out the dagger. Once I pull it out, cold to the touch, I investigate it further.

“What is that?” Bedford says, lurching out of his seat to come closer. My eyes run wild on the dagger, looking for clues. It’s a beautiful knife, embedded in gold and black snakes. You can tell it cost a fortune by the weight of it. And then there it was.

The letter V engraved right at the bottom of the blade. My heart thunders against my chest, a disbelief laugh slipping out. “What the fuck.”

Bedford gasps, his hand flying to his cheeks, smashing them in. “Is that?…? hers ?” He reaches out to touch it, but my hands snap close, cutting my gaze at him.

He squints one eye, his pointer now tapping his cheek. Once he’s put two and two together, his entire face opens wide. “Did she do that to you?” He points to my face, amusement plastered all over him. I give a dry look, not feeding into it.

“What’s happening?” Mal steps in, flipping her gaze to the knife tucked in my hand.

“My guess is Ronan here met his maker and got decked in the face.” He couldn’t even contain the snicker. Asshole.

Mal, on the other hand, does not find it anywhere near as amusing. She turns to look closely at the screen with a snarl, then slowly turns at me. “What do we want to do, Headman?”

I open up my hand, glaring down at the knife, heat streaming off me, enough to melt the gold.

So, this is the person who has tortured my enemy, and then sucker punched me. But why the hell do they care about the people I’m after? Maybe it’s competition?

My eyes narrow back on the screen. There’s a bright light surrounding my vision. “Who are you?” I mutter to myself. Now I need to know that more than anything.

I continue staring, thinking she’ll turn her head in the picture and look at me with some devious grin. “First, we need to find out who the fuck is Venom.”