Sweet Touch of Venom (Lethal Love #1)

9. Venom

Chapter 9

Venom

Location:

I don’t fucking know.

Operation: I also don’t. FUCKING. KNOW!

I f it wasn’t for him, baby girl, none of this would’ve happened. I won’t lose another child before I’m dead. You’re going to learn to protect yourself, pumpkin.

A sharp pain pounds against the back of my head. Is my father here? He can’t be because that was the last time he called me pumpkin. I groan, opening my eyes slightly, but the pain thumps again. What the hell happened? I attempt to pull my arms apart to stretch, but I’m halted by what scratches like ropes burning against my wrist. I move them in a circle to see the depth of it.

Yep, it’s tightened pretty damn well.

I finally force my eyes open, wincing at the throb, but it’s black. I don’t panic, but my heart is racing. A black cloth is over my head. I think back on what transpired. Someone was watching me. I felt his stare. I gravitated toward it; the energy pulling like a metal to a magnet. Only to come face to face with the little stalker and realize the man is Ronan. RONAN FUCKING ALVAREZ.

My mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. It was him that night. I could’ve killed him! And the fucker of a thief has my dagger. Once I get it out of the mess, and it’s back in my hand, I’m going to jab it straight up his ass.

I jerk in my seat, twisting and turning. Oh, he’s so dead now. Dead, fucking dead—so dead.

I’m angry at myself for hesitating.

Snakes don’t hesitate. The General’s voice slithers in my mind.

I’m mad at myself. I could’ve shot him beforehand—or broke off a tree branch and stabbed him in the neck. But something else took over and my mind scattered. I became sloppy, and all I felt like doing to him was screaming and slapping at him like a scorned little girl. Where has he been all this time? He left and didn't care to go to his best friend's funeral? I seethe at myself for thinking that. For pretending that I care. That's not what matters!

This won’t happen next time. If there will be a next time. With the way this situation is going, I’ll need to escape first, of course.

“Looks like she’s awake,” a cool but raspy voice sings out. It sends a creepy shiver down my spine.

“Take off the cloth.” That deep Portuguese accent stinging my ears enough to fall off.

Ronan.

My first tightens into a ball, my nails digging into the skin to shape crescent moons.

The sound of heavy boots strolls toward me. I can only spot the faded movements of legs through the black cloth, and then the person reaches me. They snatch off the black rag—some strands of my hair go with it. I wince from the stinging of my hair follicles ripping from my scalp and the bright light blaring in my eyes.

I look up to see a tall man with faded red hair and muscles that overtakes his black shirt. Looks like he’s not to be fucked with.

I don’t care. I’ll kill his ass too.

“Asshole,” I seethe out. I’ve had enough hair pulling for the night with the way Ronan was yanking my hair and slamming me into that damn tree. I’m sure I have scabs on my scalp that could last a lifetime. His expression doesn’t falter; he only watches me, stepping back into the gap between Ronan and a woman whose voice I heard earlier.

I look over at Ronan standing there, arms crossed, glaring at me, tall and confident. He looks completely and utterly different. He was tall and lanky, with perfectly quaffed hair and an innocent aura to him—now he is someone?…?I don’t even know.

Ronan wears a black shirt, presenting the sleeve of ink and art, his muscular form indenting every curve on his shoulders and arm, along with black cargo pants and black combat boots. And his stupid golden-brown eyes, but it’s not how it used to be. There’s something haunted and sinister behind his gaze, and I can’t help the hairs that stand tall on my arms. I narrow in further to a slice on his upper lip and cheek that gives him a chilling look of death in the flesh.

“You’re such a pussy. I thought only girls pulled hair.” I rub the ropes together, hoping to get them loosened.

“Stop trying. They won’t come loose,” Ronan says, ignoring my jab and pointing his head to my hands.

I stop, letting out an exasperated breath. I need to play this carefully. Looking around the area, I spot dark gray walls, a few wooden chairs, and scratched flooring—like a demon used its nails to dig into the concrete. My eyes drift beyond my findings to find a large metal door. I guess we are in an abandoned facility.

“There’s no escaping this place.”

My eyes snap to the lady—she has dark hair and hazel eyes. This annoying woman grins with her freaking teeth, placing her gun in front of her.

“So, you’re Venom.”

My eyes drift back to Ronan, whose expression is no longer hard, but there’s something unexplainable in its place. My tongue sours at the sound of my play name coming from him.

“I am. Or Anita. You pick,” I say softly, but my delivery is nothing but that. I surprise myself; not referring to myself as anyone besides Venom has been my foundation for years. I look up at him through my lashes with a tilt to my mouth. His body shifts, wincing from the name I’m sure he hasn’t even thought about in twelve years.

“Let’s go by Venom. She’ll be the one they’ll,” I point my head toward the woman and man, “be looking at once I kill you. And maybe I’ll let your little henchman live, too.” I give a stiff smile at the girl. “Maybe.”

I shouldn’t be provoking them, but whoever said I was known for tolerating anyone’s shit? And from the way Ronan is looking at me, and how he did when he discovered who I am—the way his gaze softened, and his hold retracted—I’m almost positive he won’t kill me. Fortunately, I am still planning to kill him, so I’ll use that to my advantage.

The feline woman stiffens; jerking her body forward to launch at me, but Ronan’s hand snaps out without even looking at her.

“Headman, give me the word, and I’ll be glad to blow a hole into her skull,” she grits through her teeth, anger blowing through her nose. I can see the steam coming right out.

But Headman?

Okay, now I’m extremely intrigued. Who is he really?

Ronan grabs a spare chair and drags it toward me, the scraping sounds bringing an aching sting to my ear. He parks the chair in front of me; then sits in it, leans forward, and rests his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands. He’s at least twelve inches from my face, and now I get a full view of his dark features.

“Why were you after those men?” His eyes penetrate me, and I stare right back.

“Come closer, and I’ll whisper it into your ear.” I nudge my head for him to come.

His teeth clench, showcasing the chiseled outline of his jaw—it’s as sharp as a machete.

“I’ll ask again.” His tone is hard. “Why are you after those men?”

“I don’t owe you an answer, big brother.” I tease with a little giggle, the title I used to joke around with because he was always at our home as if he were family. At one point, it did seem like it. However, that was never the case and now a part of me wants to know how he knew my location, and I know for a fact he was the one who killed the other man. This would change things for me. That makes my stomach clench with unease. Because if he is someone capable of doing that, then…

I catch him wince from my joke, then his features harden again. “You do if you want to live.”

I shouldn’t feel a shudder swarm to my feet or my breath stilling. I’ve dealt with many scary men. But it’s something about the darkness in his eyes and the promise in his tone that has me second guessing if he really would kill me or not. A second ago, I was sure.

Now, I’m not so sure.

“I believe you’re after the same people I am. The ones that killed your brother.”

After the same people I am .

My insides are hot, clawing through the bones and blood. My mind is in shambles at his admission. We are after the same thing? The man I want to see dead, along with everyone else, also wants to kill the men who killed my brother.

Wait, what?