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Sweet Touch of Venom (Lethal Love #1) 14. Venom 36%
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14. Venom

Chapter 14

Venom

R onan strolls ahead of me, and I finally inhale a deep breath, shaking my head, the lightheadedness coming full force. Similar to blowing your breath into a balloon and now your brain is suffering the consequences.

He leads me down a brown rustic hallway, a burgundy carpet stretches down the full hall. Women in business attire, some with laboratory equipment, stroll by; the men are in combat uniforms, and the students dressed in their Oxford wear walk past, eyeing me with surprise. Doors line both sides of the hall. He stops at the first threshold.

“This here is the Tenebra wing. We hold most classes here to teach skills and about survival. We?—”

I blink, raising my hand to stop him, so I can make room to comprehend. “Okay, what is this place?” I thought I was coming to a compound. Not a damn school.

“This is an academy.”

“Well, yes, that much I can see. I mean, what is this place for?”

“It’s a place for learning to fight, kill, survive.” He moves to the side, letting some people into the room. “It’s not an ordinary curriculum. They learn the triggers in the body, ways to kill and self-defend. The science behind it all.” Ronan shifts to the side, placing his hand on the lower part of my back.

I straighten my spine at his touch. Normally, I would elbow him off, but I’d rather not make a scene in front of his students. He doesn’t notice—I think. And leads me in the opposite direction. I look over my shoulder, wondering why he didn’t show me the other rooms. I open my mouth to speak.

“I won’t bore you with the simple stuff. This seems more like your speed.” On the other side, under the arch, is less rustic and academic; the walls turn wolf gray and the decor is pure black. My heart picks up a beat and my eyes gleam. I keep my face void of emotions, hiding my intrigue.

Muffled noises, and grunts, fill the expanse of the room. He leads me to an open area with a boxing ring in the middle. The instant scent of sweat and musky balls hits my nose, and the thick mugginess lies on me. A weight rack lines the wall, and boxing gloves rest on wall mounts. Shelves with hand wraps, focus mitts, kick pads, and other training equipment hang throughout the room. Two men are sparing each other—and it’s not friendly, either. Or maybe they are friends.

I’ve constantly seen this, men bludgeoning themselves to death. I look further into the room.

Wait, that’s the red-haired guy. He throws a jab at his sparring partner—who is not any smaller than him—then he uppercuts him. Sweat and pink spit spray up in the air. His opponent falls, but the ginger-haired man is punching his fists together, bouncing on the balls of his feet. My eyes narrow in on the man attempting to grasp for his life, and he stands up. He struggles but rises to his feet. I nod to myself with a small grin coming onto my face.

The nerves on the back of my neck quiver, and I turn my head to see Ronan watching me. I roll my eyes, letting out an annoyed sigh. “What?”

“Do you like boxing?” He nods to the men in the ring.

I shrug lightly. “Not exactly.” He continues staring at me, waiting for me to finish, I suppose. “I enjoy seeing someone fight despite being broken and brittle, when they can’t even fathom the thought of lifting a finger. So, when you manage to stand back up on your own two feet and still conquer. It’s a sight to see.” That’s the one thing I was taught. Never back down and never give up. And I don't understand why I even shared that with Ronan, of all people.

I clear my throat a troubled twist lurking at my stomach. I shift on my heel, sauntering around him. “Can we finish?”

I follow him to the next area, which is holding a gun wielding session. The man in charge stands with his arms crossed at the front of the room while the students, wearing burnt green tank tops and dark brown combat pants, are aiming their guns down range while kneeling. Then they turn, roll on their backs into a standing position—all while holding and aiming their guns.

A ping in my heart causes me to shutter. This reminds me of myself in training, but my training wasn’t like this. It was brutal. It’s hard when your own father is training you.

As Ronan continues the tour, footsteps stampede down the hall from behind us. I turn my head to see a tall man with bleach blonde hair marching toward us, the brightest smile on his face.

I step my foot back one upping him, his joy is making me unsettled.

Ronan comes up beside me with his hand gestured in front of me, as if to tame me? “Bedford, what is it?”

The man bends over, heaving like he’s just finished sprinting a marathon. Which could be the case considering how large the place is. I notice he doesn’t put up the ‘G’ hand sign like the other men did.

“I—” He swallows loudly, still catching his breath. “I just wanted to see the one and only Venom.” He finally lets out the last of his air from his chest before standing upright.

Ronan lowers his arm, but I sense the hesitation by how he steps in close to me. I resist the eye roll, pursing my lips. I stick my hand out.

“Now we can formally meet,” I say with respect, eyeing Ronan from the corner of my eye to show he doesn’t need to treat me as some wild animal.

“Anita.” I use my first name because it feels right, like a relief off my shoulders revealing me , even if it’s just a name. But it’s the name I was given when I was born. It holds the memories of my brother yelling my name when I touched one of his projects. Or my mother calling for me to clean up. Or my father–.

He clasps his clammy, warm hands in mine. He’s so nervous, it’s funny. “It’s so nice to meet you, Anita. That’s such a pretty name. I’ve been tracking your work for years now, and it’s just outstanding to see you in front of me.” He opens his arms out with red cheeks and real-life twinkles in his grey eyes. “I just want to hug you to see if you’re real. May I?”

“Bedford,” Ronan warns.

My spine stiffens, and I shift on my feet. “I would rather not.”

His shoulder droops, bobbing his head. “I get it. Germs and all.” He chuckles sheepishly. “It was still very nice to meet you.” His smile is bright again, even though I shut him down. Then he jogs backward, still watching me, then turns, making his way back down the hall.

I quirk a brow up at Ronan. He shakes his head, letting out a frustrated sigh, and waving his hand. “Don’t.”

I squeeze my lips together to keep my laugh in, then I turn and walk the opposite direction. He trails alongside me.

I cross my arms, gazing at my boots as we stroll. “You don’t have to treat me as if I’m going to blow up like a grenade. I wasn’t going to hurt him.”

His arm brushes mine, sending a tiny wave of tingles down my side. I move over, adjusting my shoulder.

“That wasn’t for his protection. It was for yours,” he drawls, pointing ahead to round the corner. “Bedford can be a bit convulsive when it comes to you. I wouldn’t have wanted him to nearly jump your bones at first sight.”

My protection. It’s the second time he’s said this, and yes, I’m counting. Why does he think he needs to protect me now? I want to retort back, something fiery, but nothing comes. “How polite of you,” I say dryly. I pull on the hem of my jacket, needing a change of subject. “So, what is the purpose of this place?”

He sighs, stuffing his hands back in his pockets. “It’s a place to become someone more than what trauma defines you as.” Ronan looks ahead, his jaw tightening for a second. “Many who attend this academy have been victims of kidnappings and were held for ransom.” And that’s all he gives me, but I feel there’s more to it. Okay…

However, an imaginary rope tightens around my throat. I don’t want to say it, but everything in the cells of my being shouts for me to. “Like you and Carter,” I mutter through my constricted pipes.

“Like me and Carter,” he repeats, his jawbone clenching tighter. Our eyes hold each other at a standstill, like time has stopped for a moment and everything slows down.

I’m searching for the anger inside of me that would get upset at Ronan mentioning Carter’s name, the bile rising in my stomach, or the temptation to stab him right here. But it never comes. It’s quite the opposite.

I want to know more. I want to know what happened the day that led to that night and my brother being executed.

I need to know.

Feeling the shift at the moment, he looks back in the room, clearing his throat. “Let’s move on.”

He continues to show me around. There’s a sparring room, a gym, and other various common areas. Like the courtyard off to the side of the academy where most students are located for class break, either engaging with each other, reading under a tree, or pretending to spar. He shows me an underground bunker; it even has a makeshift living quarters called Death’s Door.

It’s stained, in, of course, more black and wolf gray colors. There is a bar, a huge lounge area, pool tables, quadrants for rooms, and a kitchen. More of his team is here, situated throughout the space. They are loud and conversing with one another.

“Some don’t stay here; they have homes of their own. But it’s always a place for everyone, so in case they want to crash, they’ll have their section,” he says, leaning over to my ear. No doubt, the area is beautiful in its own dark way.

He introduces me to the extraction team; it’s at least ten of them here right now and most, like Red, eyes me in skepticism, unsure if they should be friendly or neutral. I don’t care for either one, just like I don’t care for the introductions. But because I agreed to be here, I guess this comes with it.

Once introductions are done, I follow him back up to the elevator and toward the front where I came through initially. The woman from the other day stands leaning on the banister. One foot on the step, and the other on the floor, twirling a knife in her hand with a crooked smile on her face. She’s more gorgeous than I realized; olive skin, almond shaped hazel eyes that resemble a cat and two dark brown cornrows that stop at her nape.

“Look what the dirt dragged in,” she sneers out.

“Mal,” Ronan warns.

I scold with a curl to my lip. “Are there lessons here for proper manners?” I toss her a stiff smile. “You really missed the mark, haven’t you?”

Her knife stops swinging and we both eye each other. I’m ready when you are. I was wrong; I can be a bit wild.

“Enough!” Ronan barks out. “You’ll have to get along whether you like it or not.” He purses his lips, gazing directly at new name Mal . I grin slyly, not because he’s shutting her down, but because it seems like someone in here can tame the looney chihuahua.

“Mal, show Anita to her room,” he states in an authoritative tone.

She cracks a smile that is more deceitful than what a smile should be especially after getting ripped into. “It’s my very pleasure.” Her smile is anything but genuine; it’s evil and unpleasant. I think I’ll call her wicked then.

She turns, strolling off, her high heel combat boots clacking on the floor. I move to follow along, only to have a large hand wrap tight around my underarm and pull me sideways. I am yanked into Ronan’s hard chest, his breath fanning against the shell of my ear.

“Play nice, cobra venenosa, ” he coos deep and thick, like molasses dripping into my eardrum. I can’t stop the tremble riding up my neck. He tilts his head toward the front of mine, ensuring I can see the underlying threat in his honey eyes.

“Don’t worry. I always like to play.” But it’s not always nice. I smile gingerly, watching his eyes narrow in on me like daggers.

I peel my arm from his hot grip and walk toward Wicked, who stands at the bottom of the steps; there is no doubt she watched our entire interaction. She has a death stare, but I ignore it.

She then turns with amusement, and I’m not sure what’s so funny. I count the steps as we make our way up the grand staircase—it appears wider than before. Maybe because I have this itching feeling that once I make it past this part, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be leaving this place again.

The thought gives a twist to my stomach, reminding myself I’ll only be here to see revenge through—not to play house.

This place is stupid anyway

Okay, I’m lying to myself, this place is impeccable, and I can’t help the admiration that filters in.

The hallway is expansive, wide enough to allow a vehicle to drive through and still walk comfortably. The floor is made of rustic wood and has a black runner down the center, rather than the burgundy and gold trim runners found elsewhere.

“This is the Umbra Hall,” Wicked quirks, rolling her finger back and forth. I catch sight of the dimmed lighting from the lampshades lining the wall, the layered structure of the panels on the ceiling, and vintage books stacked neatly on a few built-in shelves.

We walk past several room doors, and every two to three rooms we drift by, she turns her head over her shoulder to look back at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Such a sneaky little cat.

Her eyes do it no justice. It makes her look even more like the cats for the Egyptian kings.

I keep myself ready for anything unusual. My eyes are looking around for clarity. Then she arrives at?—

Another set of steps?

“Where are we going?” I ask, unsure, once she begins walking up the narrow stairs in the corner of the end hall. It’s not wide and long like the ballroom steps downstairs. It seems like she is carrying me to the steps of no return. Like she will lock me away forever.

She looks over that shoulder again, smiling. “Oh, you’ll see, Cinderella.”

I scowl at her ridiculous nickname for me. I’d rather be called anything else apart from that annoying bitch.

I follow along, and we reach a door after walking just a few feet beyond the steps. It’s a two-door frame that’s coated in all black and gold etching; the knobs are gold with perfectly carved lion faces, showing the long, thick, unruly mane of the beautiful beast. I guess I got the grand room.

Lucky me.

She opens the door, the cool air busting out and skating across my face. The smell of pine and wood sinks under my nostrils. My brow flies up as I take in the environment.

The room is large, almost like its own bachelor pad. The walls are a deep brown, with matte black furniture. A large gray rug decorated with lions sits in the middle of the living room, which I am sure is Persian because I’ve seen one made in person. Two white couches frame the living room, which is the only thing exuding some brightness against the black decor. There’s a kitchen, big enough to be in a house, nestled in the corner with black cabinets and gold knobs, and I’m not sure how a room upstairs managed to become this .

I take it all in, noticing my bag sitting by a separate bedroom door, and I turn my head in the opposite direction to see yet another door—this one with a lock. My brows lower slightly.

The wicked witch remains by the room’s entrance. I allow myself to walk over past the couches to a large bay window. It showcases the view of the green forest trees overlapping each other. My heart thrashes into my throat and I cross my arms. It’s a view that would suck you in, allowing you to give yourself over to nature. It’s beautiful.

But something is off. And I can’t put my finger on it. Why are there two rooms?

“Whose room is this? Please don’t tell me I am roommates with you.” I don’t hide the disgust that rolls off my tongue as I point my finger lazily at her. She leans off the door frame with a wider smile.

“Oh God, no. I’ll kill you before you can even step through my door,” she huffs out with peculiar confidence.

I pinch my face, rolling my eyes hard. I’d like to see you try.

“Then whose room is it?”

She smiles again, coyly. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.”

My senses go into overdrive, and the hairs on my arm shoot up. Did he room me with a lunatic?

I should be the one to talk.

I take a step further. “Whose. Place. Is. This?” Each word I’m gritting out.

“It’s mine,” the silky, accented voice rumbles out. Ronan appears in the doorway.

My heart tumbles to the floor. What. In. The fuck.

So much for a grand room.

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