Sweet Touch of Venom (Lethal Love #1)

13. Venom

Chapter 13

Venom

Location:

GenCre

Operation: Keep an eye on Ronan

A rriving at GenCre, I don’t know what to expect. Maybe a stinky house with cobwebs floating around, or a cracked, small, dusty desk that’s nearly broken from how old it is. Or possibly terrible flooring and tiny rooms with just a crew of five.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for this. I walk into an old, dusty shop—only to be led deeper into the building, down to a long, dimly lit tunnel with lampshades posted along the walls, then I climb onto an escalator with two men. When I reach the top, I look around me—it brought me into an entirely different world.

The dullness of the sky momentarily stings my vision. There’s a row of black Land master UTV’s lined up to our right. One of the men extends his hand out for me to hop into the seat next to him.

I do.

He drives us down a narrow, well-kept, gravel pathway—tall trees and low bushes bordering the path. I gazed over my shoulder; the cabin no longer in my sight.

My brows scrunch as I bring my gaze forward—my heart skips a beat, the wind brushes my face, and then my eyes go wide. I take in the massive structure ahead; it’s nestled right smack in the woods. It is wide in expansion, and its open, serene green grass is so beautifully cut—it’s like someone bent down with scissors and cut each blade of grass individually.

We ride through large iron gates. They seem like they belong in Dracula’s lair, and a black statue of a symbol shaped like a ‘G’ sits in the middle of the yard surrounded by more grass, black flowers, and cobblestone. Mahogany benches reside around with people walking ?

Where the hell am I?

He stops the UTV and urges me to get off. He guides me along the cobblestone paths, and I’m genuinely stunned. There are kids here.

Teenagers, to be exact, walk around aimlessly with textbooks in their hands, chatting along with their friends. I catch a few holding a device in their hands, swiping in the air; above each device there is a holographic image. I am unsure what it is, but it appears to be important. I scope out their wardrobe. Each of them wear a dark green sweater atop a white-collared shirt, paired with a black skirt or slacks. Some are wearing a blazer or plaid knee-high socks along with combat boots. Is that Oxford wear?

I must be in the wrong place.

I swallow, glancing around wearily as the students catch on to the random lady strolling alongside two of their men, their guns drawn. But they don’t look the least bit phased. Some nod, and some don’t even care, which strikes me as odd.

‘Eerie Courtyard’ is on a sign near the statue. We close the distance between us and the building, leveling approximately five floors. Dark brown and muted black paint the entire area, and two black columns frame the entrance of the?…?school?

My eyes roam the rest of the architecture, kicking my boots along the stone path. Two rustic brown lion statues post at the entry of a towering wood door.

“Where are we?” I ask as the first man pulls down the gold handle and opens it up with a creaking screech. Neither answer—leaving me confused as the door widens further.

The walls are painted in gray and black, and rustic brown furniture is displayed around the room, along with dark mahogany wooden flooring. More columns line each side, holding up a long, large balcony. Two grand staircases that lead to?…?I’m not sure yet. It looks like something out of Professor Xavier’s house, just more dark and elegant.

A screech broadens like a microphone being dropped then a throat clears.

“Great rising rebels, rampages, and riots. I hope your sunrise was as beautiful as usual. President Bryan will be assisting all new rebels on their journey today. It is just four months until Stygian day, which means riots and rampages will be partaking in the assessment. Headman requires your complete understanding. You lose, you start over.” The woman clears her throat again. “Please note curfew hours and that you are aware of those conditions. Now, I will leave you with the morning chant. Good day and good will.”

My gaze strays over to see the kids passing down the hall holding up the ‘G’ letter in ASL as they stroll off regularly with books in hand and quietly walking to their destination. I know the hand gestures because I learned ASL in high school. I even sang in a sign language musical for it too. That’s not relevant.

“ It is our duty to thrive and to possess strength. It is a necessity. Bravery is what we yield. Loyalty is a gift, and it is mercy we leave.”

They chant along with her then it shuts off.

This is GenCre?

I blink, captivated by the place until an arm lands on my chest halting me. I raise a brow looking down at the arm, and I turn my face to the man attached to the arm touching me. I give a polite smile. “Would you like to see how it feels to have your arm detached from your shoulder?” I bat my lashes as I look up at him.

I can tell he wants to keep a stern face, but worry streaks over it, and he gulps so loud I could hear it. His arm quickly falls like I doused it in acid. Clasping it in front of him, he looks forward.

“I didn’t think so.”

Ronan rounds the corner and a twinge in my heart does a two-step.

Stay dead heart.

Beside him is another man the same height as Ronan, broad shoulders, wearing all black with a messy, sandy brown tapered cut, a sharp squared jawline, and squinty eyes. He smirks as he comes closer.

Both men are well-built and striking in the looks department, but Ronan’s steps are large and confident; I spot his gun tucked into its holster.

I suck in a short breath. It’s like he’s siphoning the dark aesthetic from the room and absorbing it all. I’m still unraveling in the 360° change.

I can finally admit an embarrassing truth, that I had a crush on him when I was younger. Of course, I kept it to myself for two reasons; he was my brother's best friend, and he was significantly older— sixteen-year-old me was too much of a wuss to think I could offer a twenty-one-year-old anything. But now?… Old, unwanted feelings resurface at the base of my chest like Nanites regenerating the body. I watch him making his way toward me with the walk of a king who’s ready to wage war. I can’t ignore the tightening in my throat. Disgusting.

He’s the enemy.

“Starting off with threatening my men, Anita?” He now stands in front of me with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

At a whopping five-foot seven, I’m not a short woman, but his height makes me feel so much smaller than usual. I look up at him with a shrug, and the tip of his brow rises.

“So, this is her?” The man eyes me closer with his arms behind his back. His eyes are so squinted you can barely see the dull blue behind his lids.

Ronan’s brows arch up slightly. “It is.”

“And you are?” I shift my gaze from Ronan to the tall man who’s investigating me a little too closely.

His eyes widen just enough to make out the entire color of his iris, but I notice they’re just naturally narrow and squinted in shape with dipped brows. He is the epitome of ‘serious resting face.’

He grins with an acute expression, offering his hand. “Red.”

I wonder why they call him that because nothing on him is red. I would ask, but I don’t care.

I clasp my hand in his large, warm one quickly, and then I let go. Simultaneously, the two men besides me shift, and I quickly look, my brows lower from their notion. They both raise their hand forming the letter ‘G’ with their fingers to their chest with their heads tilting down. Then lifting their heads back up and relaxing their hand at their side. I can’t help the intrigue roaming through me, and the disbelief.

What, am I joining forces with a cult?

I roll my eyes instead, even though I am truly impressed. Glancing back at Ronan, who nods his head at them both.

Yeah, I won’t be doing that. Ever.

Instead, I lean down with my foot crossing on the back, then tipping my head down, jokingly. “Your Majesty.”

Even though the word is very fitting, I smirk once I raise. He gives a blank stare, squinting slightly.

Red chuckles in amusement, showing straight white teeth. “Good luck.” He clasps Ronan’s shoulder with a light shake. Then he looks back at me. His eyes dim. “I’ll be seeing you around, Anita.” He offers one last smirk before strolling off out the door.

“You two can go. Thank you for leading her here.” Ronan notions them away then looks back at me with his golden eyes; I noticeably swallow.

A curve forms on the side of his mouth, curling up the scar on his lip. “So, you decided this was the only choice?”

I pull the duffel bag strap further onto my shoulder. Suddenly, it’s feeling heavier than I would like.

“It was an easy choice. I am confident that I could’ve done this on my own, but why not just kill two birds with one stone?” I give a small, tight grin.

Ronan chuckles, deep and silky. He steps forward. His chest coming so close to my face I could breathe in his scent, and the hairs on my neck stand. The combined fragrance of gunpowder and smoke flows off him strongly, invading my nose. I craned my neck to look up at him, not backing down.

“You won’t get away with killing me here. You’ll be dead in under two minutes.” His hand raises, wrapping around the strap on my shoulder, digging the denim I’m wearing into my skin. I wince and squeeze my lips as the fabric stings my shoulder like a rug burn.

I hood my eyes. “We’ll see about that,” I whisper. All night, I’ve thought long and hard about killing him once I arrived. But the answers I seek are my focus. Although, it’s nice to let him think I want to kill him.

His smile only deepens, presenting his finger-deep dimples. It should freak me out because it’s a smile that reeks of death rather than angelic dust, but I happen to love the face of la mort so much more.

Of course, not on him.

He pulls the strap down from my shoulder, and I don’t stop him. With his eyes still piercing mine, he raises the bag like it’s made of plastic and brings it to his side. “Take this to her room, please.”

Out of nowhere, a man appears, grabbing the bag from Ronan and making his way toward the grand steps.

“Time for your tour.” He moves to the side, still observing me, and I can admit I’m more uncomfortable than I let on.

“Lead the way.” I put my clammy palms into the pockets of my jean jacket to help keep the moisture to a minimum as he turns away and walks off.