Sweet Touch of Venom (Lethal Love #1)

23. Venom

Chapter 23

Venom

Location:

GenCre Academy

Operation: Forget everything that happened tonight

I step out of the shower, my body scrubbed thoroughly and free from any blood that may have splashed on me. That’s the one thing I hate most about this gig.

Meanwhile, Ronan seems to have no problem with it. He’s a maniac. And he doesn’t give a damn, either.

But tonight was long and exhausting. Ronan was on that wall. A stab lurks into my heart, of that reminder. If he’s on the wall of victims, then they are after him for something. That worries me—whether I like it or not. And those kids are soon to be victims, and that’s sickening. It was easy to hear about it and move on. To know somewhere in this world this is happening, but I’ve always stuck to my own goal, sticking to my own shadow.

Yet now that I’ve seen it. I can’t unsee it.

I walk out of the bathroom, grabbing my black checker box pajama shorts, black tank top with a skull face and its tongue sticking out. I get dressed, my thoughts still on the pictures on that wall.

Damn it, those poor kids… They don’t even know their lives are being targeted. And what do they want with Ronan?

I guess that's a easy answer, he’s the man who’s been shutting down their sick operations.

Thinking too much on it has fatigue taking over my body, but I still want to at least grab a cup of tea to take the edge off. Compliments to Scarlette, who secretly filled my luggage with soothing herbs. I pick through the chamomile, ashwagandha herbs, and loose tea bags on the dresser before heading to the door.

I wonder if I let Ronan really think it was weed, would he have kicked me out or smoked it with me?

I chuckle to myself, strolling out of the room, but stop immediately. My heart flutters in my throat. Ronan stands at the large bay window in the living room, looking out. He’s holding a bottle of water, and his head turns subtly, only peering at the corner of his eyes. He faces back forward, before drinking the water. I continue to the kitchen. Neither of us speak, and the room begins to fill…strange. Like static buzzing on the TV and you’re waiting for something to appear. Normally, I would keep to myself because I prefer it that way. No engagements, or weird conversations. However…

“Can’t sleep?” I ask, filling my skeleton cauldron mug with water and placing it in the microwave.

“Tonight’s one of those night when the noise… is too loud in my head,” he responds, releasing a heavy sigh. Without thinking, I stroll to the cabinet, grabbing another mug, filling it with water.

“They say meditation helps,” I say randomly. And they say is correct because I have no fucking idea, I’ve never done it myself. I’ve only seen Kyra engage in it. But it’s something to say to fill the awkward silence.

“Meditation,” Ronan repeats lower, tossing the bottle on the sofa with a stretch to his neck and shoulders. He strolls over to the sofa, stretching his arms and long legs out comfortably.

He looks off into the distance in front of him, his sight on nothing but the trees. I’m privy to it. You’re not exactly looking at anything, only the thoughts from your earlier chaos, taking hold and choke slamming you to the ground. Thinking of everything that you could’ve done right, and everything that went wrong.

It’s why I drink tea. It helps.

The microwave beeps. I take my mug and place the one for him in it. I said I wasn’t going to use this kitchen to cook him anything. Making tea is different. I would do it for anyone.

Lies, no I wouldn’t.

After I fill the bags, I grab the honey and squirt it into the cups, stirring until everything’s dissolved. When I’m done, I take both mugs and dip the bags into the steamy water.

I reside out a low and subtle breath, my heart pinching and beating from the unknown. What if he denies the cup, or worse, tastes it and nearly gags? Or even worse, has an allergic reaction.

Oh, fuck me. It’s tea, not an atomic bomb.

I swallow the strange nerves and tread over to him; he tilts his head, glancing up at me.

“Tea for your thoughts?” I ask over the loud beat of my heart. I extend the extra mug. He has a tired look to his eyes, the sunken dents under his lids and light squint.

I don’t know why I feel bad. I don't understand why I feel a lot of things. Only that I do, and I can’t help but sympathize.

My bottom finds the sofa momentarily, as if I’m not sure whether to sit down or just leave. But everything in my body is pushing for me to stay.

He raises a brow, peeking at me as his hand moves up to grab the cup.

“I’m not a tea drinker.” His fingers wrap around the mug, grazing fully over mine as he takes it from my grasp.

“Nobody is initially—until they try it.” I smirk, holding my mug with both hands. The warmth from it heats my palms.

He looks inside the mug as if it’s something supposed to come out and grab his face.

“Chamomile and ashwagandha. It’s safe to drink, and it’s not poisoned, scout’s honor.” I blow into the cup with a devious grin, the steam running off the rim.

He flicks his eyes toward me. “How can I trust it’s not?”

I shrug, sitting back an inch further for comfort. “I guess you’ll have to just trust me.”

Ronan hums with a slight nod. We both watch each other, slowly bringing the tea up to our lips. He takes a slurp, and I do the same, squinting over the edge as I sip. The warm liquid streams down my throat, hints of honey coating the walls, soothing the muscles instantly.

We lower the cups at the same time. I glance down at his throat, catching the bob in his Adam’s apple. I look back to see his reaction and as I do, his tongue swipes delicately over his lips.

I shift again, squeezing my thighs. “What do you think?”

“Not bad.” He sips again.

I contain the smile reaching to come out. “Good.” I drink again, watching as he repeats his movement.

I shift once more, ignoring the tingles shooting to my pussy. “See and look, you’re not dead.” I tease, grazing my fingers over the skull’s eye socket on my mug.

Ronan lowers his arm down to the armrest. “I live to see another day,” he murmurs, tipping his head back as he shuts his eyes.

A tightness forms in my throat, and my brows draw together with a slack to my shoulders. Seeing him this way, it’s off. I’ve become used to him being a certain way. Broad and strong, not racked with defeat. I can’t explain, but I want to do something weird like give him a hug and tell him it’ll all be okay.

After seeing that wall of creepy kidnapper routes, it flipped a switch in my head. I have never been this deep on the other side of this world. I wasn’t clueless, but it was always left in the hands of GenCre?…?well, Ronan. So, to see the full picture of what happens and what they see. It’s really sickening.

When he walked off, deep in thought, his entire demeanor changed. I couldn’t help myself. One moment I was angry at him, and then the next moment, I wanted to console him.

However, at this moment, I could leave. And not make it awkward for neither of us, but instead I lick over my lips, thumbing the skull. “Why did you create GenCre?”

He keeps his eyes closed. “Are we asking twenty-one questions?”

“Only one.”

“If you’re asking a question, then I should get one in return.” Ronan opens his eyes, tilts his head, and looks right at me.

I cross my legs, leaning back. “I guess we can work with that.”

“Alright.” He reaches over to place the cup down on the mini table beside the couch. Then he lets out a deeper breath. “I built this academy to give the survivors a safe haven. As a survivor, it’s difficult going back into the world after what happened to you. You don’t feel safe anymore. And everything that you did, all that you were accustomed to, every routine you’ve known, becomes nothing. You’re only floating, looking over your shoulder, waiting for the next attack.” He looks to the ceiling as he talks.

My head tilts, gazing at him while he speaks openly.

“In other words, this place is to give others another chance. Not the fuckers who kidnapped them. But to show them an outlook. Your trauma doesn’t define you. You can build and grow from it—and become a beast in the process.” He emphasizes the last part.

My eyes drop to the mug. “That’s wonderful,” I whisper, nearly inaudible. Because it is. He chose to help those who were victims to these heinous acts. Choosing to give them a chance to shift their trauma and turn it into a power. It’s admiring.

Ronan crosses his arms glancing back at me. “Now my turn.”

I roll my eyes up to meet his. I wonder what he has for me.

After a few seconds, he asks, “What’s your issue with me? Why do you want to kill me?”

My heart plummets to my stomach.

Did want to kill you?.?.?.

I guess we’re getting real personal. Do I tell him that my father, who also happens to be the man who trained me to become who I am today, had a notion that I was never safe. And we needed to get revenge for Carter and to kill him too?

There’s no real way to explain that. It was only a matter of time before he wanted answers. Same as I do.

I sip again. “My father believed you were the reason Carter was murdered.” I look off to him, searching for hesitation, a fumble, a sweat?… anything that would prove my father right.

But he doesn’t. His brows deepen as he stares directly into my eyes, a tint of sadness shells them. “Why would your father think that?”

It’s a great question, and sadly… I don’t know anymore.

“You were best friends, and you come from a rich family. My father found out the men that kidnapped you two go after rich people.”

Ronan slowly sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees as they spread wide, his hands running over his knuckles with a pinched jaw.

What is he thinking?

“Your father. Isn’t wrong.”

My mug nearly falls out of my hand, a burning sensation fills my cheeks.

“What?”