Sweet Touch of Venom (Lethal Love #1)

15. Ronan

Chapter 15

Ronan

Attract the scales

I didn’t know what to expect from Anita now that she knows she’ll be staying in my spot. Not too well, I’d imagine. I have a place here and my own home off in the woods. I wasn’t going to give her the option of staying in my other home, but since I’m here ninety-five percent of the time, it only seemed fitting. That way, I can truly keep my eye on her.

“I had to come and check to make sure you two weren’t attempting to murder each other.”

“No, but I am this close to murdering you,” Anita spits out, stalking toward me, and Mal steps beside me with her blade steady in her hand. I can handle my own, and she knows this. But it only shows how loyal she is to me, and I appreciate that more than she knows. But I’m going to need her to calm the fuck down.

Anita glares at Mal with a sinister glare, then slowly raises her glare to meet my eye. “I am not staying here.”

The decision to have her stay here with me was a no-brainer. I don’t trust her, and she won’t be roaming this place without supervision. And I know it’s fucked up because she’s Carter’s little sister, but she’s shown how ruthless she can be. I need to make sure she’s not having any other motive, and the way to do that is to keep my eyes on her. I need to know she is to be trusted because I’ll be putting my own people and students in danger by not taking those precautions.

“You will and you are.” Ignoring the death stare she’s searing into me, I turn to Mal, who glares back at Anita, then looks at me. I nod to the door. She understands the assignment and walks out. The doors closing with a click.

Before I can turn to face her, Anita charges at me, her forearm is jamming into my neck and pushing all the weight she can muster into my body to slam me against the door.

I let her because I enjoy the smell that swarms into my nose, rose and vanilla.

“Easy, amor.” I groan, holding my hands up beside me with a sick grin. I notice the way her eyes flare and body tense.

I’ll let her think she has the runner-up on me, although she has no weapon to really back herself on. I bet she wishes she had her dagger right now. It’s sitting nice and pretty on top of my dresser.

Her arm jams further into my neck, and I continue to let her because I’ll admit I like it. I shouldn’t like that I’m enjoying this and worse, it’s from her.

Her lip curls. “If you think for one second that I’m staying in here with you, then you’re very much mistaken. So, screw you and screw your stupid X-Men Academy you have going on here.”

My heart scratches against my chest at the comparison. The fucking audacity.

She lifts her arm, ready to storm off, but I grip her shoulders, and quickly spin her around, slamming her against the wall, but not too hard. Learning my lesson from last time, I kick the inside of her boot with mine, spreading her legs and locking myself in. With my chest now pressing up against her, I fall into the warmth from her body; it engulfs me. The smell of her is almost intoxicating.

My face dips slightly. I’m now inches away from her, so close I’m able to see her pupils dilating and constricting. Her curly bangs flutter from the harshness of my breath against her skin.

“There’s no chance in my hell that I’ll let you roam this place without a watchful eye on you. Until you prove I can trust you further than I can throw you, then you will be in my vicinity at all times. Wherever you go, someone will be watching.”

Her lips squeeze, her chest raising and falling on mine. We’re so close together that her racing heartbeat pumps into me. “If I knew I was going to be trapped in my own personal prison, then I would’ve just given myself over to the feds.”

Her words affect me more than she knows. My intentions aren’t to hold her captive.

I shake my head, my grip still in place. “You’re free to go whenever you please. I would never want you to feel like you’re imprisoned here.”

She narrows her eyes. “What are you doing now, then?” Her eyes dip, and I follow her gaze, noticing I do have her completely trapped with my body. I was protecting my cock per se, but I tilt my head in touché.

I back away from her, letting her free. “Everything I have here goes against kidnapping or holding hostages of innocent people. Although you aren’t exactly innocent,” our eyes snap to each other, “but you also aren’t the target. I want to work together, and the only way to do that is to take the necessary precautions that allow you to be here before I can trust you. And for you to trust me too,” I add, tilting my head. It’s a two-way street. I’m not the only one who needs to see and know whom to trust. “The people here need to trust you because their lives are in my hands.”

I stuff my hands into my pocket, dropping the snarl and sincerely looking at her for the thousandth time since she has invaded my life again. She can think I’m trying to keep her hostage and potentially have malicious intent, but this is my way of taking care of her.

The only thing that I want more than anything else is to fulfill my desire, the blood I seek from the men who ruined me and murdered Carter. Her misery is not part of that plan.

She stands off the wall, fixing her jean jacket. Her eyes divert down before looking up at me with a slow nod. “I understand.” She speaks softly, and oddly my chest caves with relief. I shouldn’t care whether she was going to agree or not.

“When will I get my own room?”

I haven’t thought that far, and I don’t know. I just needed to get her body in here and work out the rest gradually. “I’ll let you know.” I hope that gives her some comfort.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “That doesn’t give me much hope.” That shuts down what I hoped she would feel.

“Okay?…” The words trail off into the air as my eyes wander, searching for something to give her some solace.

“At least you have your own room.” I point at the door that’s behind her; she twists her head, looking over her shoulder, her curly hair bouncing along with her. She turns back around, crosses her arms, puts her weight on her right leg, and taps her left foot. Heat travels up my neck with the intensity of her deep brown eyes, watching me like the snake that she is. Her thumb goes to her teeth, biting down on it. I observe the move, my eyes drifting to her lips. I wonder if she does that when she’s nervous or thinking.

We don’t care. Remember?

“What are the rules and boundaries?”

I walk to the couch, leaning the side of my thigh against the sofa back, then crossing my arms. I shrug. “What kind do you want?”

“For starters, don’t go into my room. Don’t talk to me when we are in here. And definitely don’t expect a plate of food to be on that counter.” She turns around to walk to her door. Without hesitation, my eyes skate down her backside, landing directly on her ass. The black jeans she wears perfectly tug and tuck her plump, round ass. The under slit of her ass cheeks makes it perfect for grabbing and cupping when pulling her onto me. No, someone.

No, fuck no. Fucking shit, no.

I place my hands on my thighs and look up at the ceiling. My throat tightens from the way my brain just took hold and spiraling up my imagination on its own—even if it is wondrous.

That is not fucking happening. Though my best friend is dead, it still feels wrong. Although she is very much a woman, and the pigtail sixteen-year-old girl with innocent eyes is nowhere in sight. She’s still not on my agenda. I could never lose sight of that.

My eyes scrunch and I cock my head back. “Why the fuck would I be expecting that.” My tone is a bit rougher from making myself upset.

She snaps her head back, her eyes narrowing at me. “Why else would you have a kitchen in here if you don’t cook meals?” Her voice doesn’t match the way she daggers those dark eyes at me. She starts taking off her black denim jacket, then resting it over her arm.

I sometimes cook—that’s why. I am a fantastic cook when need be. I don’t need to tell her that. I roam my eyes over the black ink covering her shoulder and dipping into her tank top. It looks like scales, and I wonder where it leads, like a person in a maze fingering their way to the end.

“I won’t expect you to cook. Any other rules?” I cross my leg over the other for comfort.

Her chin lifts slightly, revealing her slender neck. Ideal for wrapping a hand around like I did during our brawl. The way her pulse quickened when I gripped it so?—.

Enough! I grit my teeth together to stop myself from what I’m thinking.

Noticing my on-edge demeanor, she squints slightly. “No, but my dagger.” She extends her hand.

I could toy with her some more and say she could have it back after the mission, but then she’ll catch on that I’m holding it as a souvenir rather than a reason for her to come back. Or both reasons on why I kept it. I gather the will and head to my room, taking the dagger from the trusted spot I had for it.

I stroll back out, her brow raised, eyeing my hand. I had it covered at the sharp end because without it, I would be dead. I found out it’s coated in high amounts of atropine and scopolamine. Of course, I had it tested for fingerprints and anything else unusual. It makes me think back on when she willingly gave it up and didn’t fight to get it back. Sneaky, sneaky snake.

I place it in her palm. She grabs it, and I swear I heard a sigh of relief.

“Anything else?” I slide my hands into my jean pockets.

She lets out a breath. “Right now, I am tired. The tour of this big ass place wore me out. Inform me when it’s time for our mission.” She stops herself and looks at me, catching what I caught.

Our .

“ The mission,” she corrects with a snide tone.

“It’s okay if you’re excited to be by my side.” I tilt my head, holding an involuntary smile that’s waiting to come out.

“Excited about the mission, yes. Excited to do it with you?” She kneels, finally grabbing her duffel bag off the floor. Then, looking over her shoulder, her top lips curl up with a sneer and her dark eyes are ice-cold. “Definitely no. I’ll rather dip my flesh in acid, but here we are.”

Damn, that’s fucking extreme.

Then, without another word, she shifts. As she turns to the door, I catch a glimpse of the rest of her tattoo. I noticed parts of the snake’s body. It’s nearly covering her entire back. From what I imagine, the ink wraps around her stomach as well.

Before I can retort back, she opens the door, then slams it behind her.

Leaving my mouth agape and my mind in a goddamn spin.

This is either going to go bad or very fucking bad.

My hand swipes over the condensation sticking to the mirror, the droplets from the glass coating my palm and dripping to the sink. I clear away enough to only get a visual of my face and nothing more. Twelve years later and I still refuse to look at the scars on my chest.

A reminder of my weakest point in my life.

Of course, I have taken a glance here and there. It’s inevitable. But I don’t keep my eyes there for too long. It causes a disturbance in my chest to awaken; the guilt consuming me like a bad dream.

I have my fair share of those.

It’s always Carter’s body stabbed to death with a bullet in his head. The blood just drips and drips and drips. Seventeen times.

Seventeen drips.

The peaking nose grows louder and louder, even when I escape in the dream. It follows me.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

I run my hand down my face. Every so often I wonder if Carter and I weren’t friends, would he be alive. Of course, he would. It’s the guilt that drives me, but also destroys me. But they weren’t after me for my money. They were after our blueprints. And I plan to find out why.

I get dressed and head out to the pantry closet to grab water; the moment I take a sip, the door opens. A pound in my chest hits against my ribs as Anita comes out holding a pink and black skeleton mug, along with a small bag with something green and leafy in it.

Her eyes flicker to me as I gulp the water. We continue our stare-down as she treads slowly to the kitchen. It’s fucking awkward, no doubt, but I still don’t avoid skimming down her night wear. A black oversized shirt with flannel black shorts that gives me a preview of her smooth long legs. A tingle to my balls permeates, uppercutting me in surprise.

Don't focus on her legs.

I swallow down the water and it becomes thicker. She breaks the intense stare and saunters over next to me at the sink embedded into the island. She removes a tiny metal spoon and runs water into her cup, dropping the bag onto the counter and something else that looks like an empty tea.

Neither of us talk, since she did mention to never speak to her while we’re in closed spaces. Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit about someone’s demands .

Now look at me. Pathetic.

Honestly, for a minute, I almost forgot she was here. It’s been so long since I have had company in my own home, let alone live with someone. However, the silence is sickening, borderline lethal, and the tension’s thick enough to choke someone.

I take a glance at the stuff in her bag. “What is that?”

Without glancing at me, she shuts off the water. “Weed.”

My brows furrow, shooting my eyes at her in questioning. “What?”

“I’m kidding. It’s herbs for tea.” She faces me, wiggling the bag in my view with an amused expression on her pretty face.

I toss a dry look, trailing her every move like a robot as she walks to the microwave and places it in her cup. “What are they for?” I slice my sight downward, relishing in the sight of her ass jiggling when she shuts the microwave door.

I notice her body stiffen before she twists back around to the counter, and my gaze roams back up nonchalantly. She takes the spoon, not catching my precarious eyes, and begins scooping the ‘herbs.’ “They help me?…?sleep.”

Interesting. She has a hard time sleeping through the night. I wonder what she dreams of. Are her nightmares similar to mine? Paralyzing her mind with nothing but stained blood and dirty bodies? I see I’m not the only one that has restless nights.

I continue observing as she dips the bag into the cup, lifting it up and down.

“You already broke one rule,” she says blandly, shifting to me with her creepy ass cup up at her lips.

She doesn’t know that I really don’t give a shit about her ‘rules.’ I only agreed out of respect for her. “I can only do so much. But to avoid speaking to you in my own home is like asking me not to breathe. We’re human.” And I would rather not feel uncomfortable, either.

Her ghostly stare pierces into my face, watching me for a second too long. She takes another sip and says, “Then stop breathing.” With that, she strolls off, taking her things with her, including the subtle warmth she gave when she was here.

Take care of her, he says.