Sweet Touch of Venom (Lethal Love #1)

36. Venom

Chapter 36

Venom

Location:

Dreary Road warehouse

Operation: Scope out the creepy building.

W e each keep our guns raised. Wicked and Boone are right behind us, the flashlight attached to their gun circulating around the walls and bricks.

Darkness shields the area with busted out windows and debris all over. It looks like a bomb went off. Inside are folding chairs and a torn red couch that seems like a truck has run it over. Wires hang from the ceiling, dust floats in the air, giving me hesitancy due to not knowing what exactly is floating around. It’s obvious the building is recently abandoned because of the cups and torn boxes don’t appear drenched from water vapors or dirt.

Boone and Ronan take downstairs and Wicked and I go upstairs. Steps scream under my feet as I raise my gun, my heart thumping in my chest, imagining a zombie running out and biting my arm.

I get to the top of the steps, the entire upstairs empty. The same way it looks downstairs.

Shit.

I lower my gun, placing my hand on my hip; the thick coat prevents my arm from fully bending because the sleeve on it is so long, it bunches at the elbow. Wicked lowers her gun, examining me.

“If you two are fucking, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

My stomachs lurch as if someone throws a brick straight at it. “What!?” Heat blasts my cheeks and forehead.

“If you two are fu?—”

I place my hand up, stopping her sentence. “Yeah, I heard that. I mean. What are you talking about? That’s not what’s happening here.” I shake my head stiffly. The coat now becomes more like a ten-pound weight than a warming mechanism.

She lets out a yeah-right scoff. “Sure.”

I let out an exasperated breath, rolling my eyes. “Again, what are you talking about?”

She pauses. “I’ve never seen Ro with a woman—ever. So, to see him with you. Treating you how he does, I mean??…” Her voice trails off until I see her looking closer at something behind me.

Oh my gosh, please don’t tell me if it is a ghost. My chest tightens as I squeeze my fist.

“What is that?” She brushes past me, her eyes on the prize. I follow her direction, my eyes still dancing around the eerie place. I’ve killed, but I would never deal with a ghost. Ever.

I seek what she’s strolling toward. An opened chair in the middle of the deserted area. Alarm rings in my head, my eyes scouring from walls to ceiling, watching for anything that may fly at us.

“It’s something taped to the chair.” Her foot going in front of the other as her arms are raised like she’s ready to prowl any minute.

I widen my eyes, pushing my hand out. “Wicked wait, don’t touch it?—”

She lifts the post note off the back of the chair.

I squeeze my lips in between my teeth. “What if that was connected to a bomb or something?” I snap out.

“Explain how that would be possible.” She lifts the paper, looking at me with a delirious expression.

My eyes pinch as I pluck the paper from her fingers. Multiple footsteps and the voice from Ronan come from behind us.

“Anything is possible,” I say, bringing the paper to my view.

Then her head cocks, realizing something. “And did you call me Wicked?”

I flip over the letter. “Yeah. You call me Cinderella.” I shrug.

She nods, curling her lip down. “Well, shit, I actually like it.”

By then, Ronan and Boone are up to us. “What’s that?” Ronan comes near me, his tall frame hovering next to me. I’m already feeling the warmth in this big ass coat, and now the presence of Ronan so close only makes it hotter.

Ignoring the proximity of him, I finally get a good look at the paper. My brows only furrow deeper, causing an unsettling twist in my stomach.

You’re Invited

347 Walnut Lane, Croydon, London

Casino Twinkling Night Masquerade Ball

December 10 @ 7pm

-Your Best Guy Vic

“This has to be a joke.” I flip the paper to the side, turning to face Ronan fully. Wicked takes the paper from my hand, studying it closer. Boone tilts his head slightly, examining it.

“Best guy?” Mal asks, more with offense.

“Really? Is that all you got from it?” I squint my eyes, pinching my face in annoyance.

Ronan crosses his arm over his chest and the other raised to his chin as he rubs it. His eyes steady on the ground with deep thought.

“It’s a trap,” Boone speaks, his voice nearly startling me. It’s a gift to hear the man talk because he never does.

Ronan takes the letter, examining it again. “Unless it’s his way of luring me out. This means he doesn’t know who we are.” He points at the paper. “We can use this to our advantage.”

I shake my head, placing my hand in the pockets of the coat to keep my hands from turning into popsicles. I still love the winter, even if it makes me feel like ice. “How?”

He shakes the note. “He has no clue how we look; we can go to this party and invade them from the inside out.”

“You think he won’t notice the man he tortured?” I point out. The thought of walking right into the hands of a clown stirs me the wrong way.

“It is a masquerade ball,” Wicked adds, plucking the thin paper from Ronan and wiggling it.

“Yes, exactly,” Ronan dulls, snatching it back. “He won’t notice.”

“And if he does.” I glide it from Ronan’s fingers, holding it between my pointer and middle finger.

Ronan smoothly grazes his fingers over his beard, thinking it over. “Let’s get to the compound and think it over. This air is freezing my brain.”

By the time we head back to the compound, it’s past midnight. My eyes are drowsy from keeping them open the whole two-hour drive. I refuse to let Ronan, of all people, watch me sleep. He already stirs me in a direction I never thought I would be, but to let him see me asleep? I don’t even know how I look in that state. Maybe I sleep with my mouth spread open, or maybe I snore and don’t even know it.

We all sit at a round table that’s in the tech area. The air is warm and cozy now, making my body relaxed and even more tired.

For the first time, I want to…?sleep. I haven’t had the best rest since I left. All I could think about was the memory foam bed back at Ronan’s. It was so bad I was researching similar beds just to replace the one in Oliver’s camper.

Ronan leans over the table. “I thought it through. I also understand if you all don’t want to go and put yourself in a predicament.” He glances around the table. “I’m going to go to London. Meet this fucker head on. It’s now or never. There’s something off about the invitation, meaning he’s trying to figure out my identity. We will tie him to a chair with a gun to his head before he makes that discovery,” he says with a hard stare, his voice full of retribution.

A knot builds in my throat, witnessing him go from zero to one hundred in a blink of an eye. The passion behind his vengeance matches mine in a way no one could possibly understand. And it turns me on so fiercely my pussy might burst like an overfilled balloon.

Leaning back on the chair to relieve the buildup between my thighs and to get comfortable, I cross my legs. “My only concern is that we are walking right into the devil’s lair. We have to do this smartly.”

At that instant, his eyes slice toward me, trailing up my legs like a well-defined route with checkpoints. For someone who doesn’t want to kiss me again, why does he stare at me like I’m fresh meat on a stick?

Heat swirls up my body, burning every part of my skin. Why does he do this? He pushes me away after the most mind chattering kiss while I’m near orgasmic release, then switches route like a bad interception, offering my own room, practically forcing me to wear a coat. Is it his intention to mindfuck me? Play me like an idiot?

I shouldn’t care. I don’t care! The kiss was part of a deal that I lost like a missing tooth. So, it meant nothing.

I wouldn’t be surprised if you two are fucking.

He finally lands on my face. His stare is hard and eyes dilated, as if he wants me to hear his thoughts, or to melt my soul away and keep it for himself. Stop. My eyes skate to Wicked Mal and Boone, who don’t seem to notice.

Boone watches me intensely, his fingers intertwined in a fist pressed to his chin. Gosh, I thought Ronan was terrifying. His piercing green eyes are wildly unbearable. While Wicked Mal leans fully back in her chair, her legs pushed straight out with one foot over the other. As if they are waiting for me to give them an answer.

“What do you suggest then, Cinderella?” Wicked speaks, tilting her head.

I flick my gaze at Ronan, who continues staring at me. “I say we go two days before. This ball is in another week, ample time to prepare, of course, and enough time to expect the unexpected.”

“Get ahead beforehand,” Boone adds in, cracking his neck.

“Yes, exactly; at least we can see what we are working with—either way, we may get blindsided. But at least we can be prepared. We don’t know how strong this guy became. If he can pack up a full warehouse and leave no trace behind, then he has hefty connections.”

Everyone nods their head slowly in agreement. “I’m coming along.”

Our heads all snap to the voice. Bedford stands a few feet behind me, eating what looks like white soup. Clam Chowder. Disgusting.

Ronan shakes his head. “No, I need you here. We will take Chris.”

Bedford lowers his soup with one hand, a bugged expression plastered on his face.

“Why not? Chris isn’t as good as I am. Let me come.”

I look over to Ronan, his fingers pinching the roof of his nose from agitation and eyes shut. I contain a smile from spilling out. The relationship between the two reminds me of an older brother dealing with his younger, more carefree brother.

“Plus, I’ve never been to London before.”

“It’s not a party, Bedford; it’s not to have fun.” Wicked Mal spits out.

I shrug lightly. “Well. Technically, it is a party.”

There’s a tiny soft spot in my heart for Bedford. After speaking with him yesterday and seeing the pictures he showed me, it tugged at a place in my heart that I thought I stowed away forever.

Hope. Hope that you can have?… Happiness? I don’t fucking know; let me ignore that.

“Not helping,” Ronan groans, pointing his long fingers at me with a straight palm. The smile breaks free, and I wink at Bedford, who looks pleased I stepped in.

Threading his fingers through his wavy hair. He daggers his eyes at Bedford. “You’ll stay in the hotel. You will not step foot outside of it unless it’s from us coming and going.”

Bedford spreads a wide smile on his face, nearly jumping up. “Okay. Daddy Headman.”

Ronan narrows his eyes, his molars clenching. Bedford raising his hand up. “I mean, yes, sir.” He salutes Ronan before backing away and out of view.

Wicked leans forward, raising the side of her mouth in wary. “He’s right; he is better than Chris.”

Ronan hoods his eyes at her, tossing an annoyed head shake. “We will take the jet.” He diverts the conversation. “I’ll keep you all updated. In the meantime, have a goodnight.”

Ronan eyes me particularly before backing the chair out, the wooden legs scraping against the cemented floor along with everyone else. Boone and Ronan walk off, heading in the direction of the gear room.

I make my way out of the data center and toward the hall, desperate to get to the room, and shut my eyes.

I truly won’t get the best sleep until I see the light from that asshole’s gray in the skin and lifeless. Each one of their deaths will only bring me closer and closer to the end of the mayhem. And to the beginning of maybe…

I remove the thought.

Instead, I massage my shoulder, rubbing the stiff muscles as I wait for the elevator. I’m not jogging up the steps.

Thankfully, there’s no one roaming the halls; I guess that’s what happens when your headman has a strict schedule. Although sometimes when I’m scoping the halls late at night, I see a few teens running off, sneaking around.

Being teenagers .

I get into the elevator. A slow breath escapes as the stabbing pain swirls in my heart, the same throb that would randomly appear in my earlier days whenever I saw something or someone living a life .

Laughter, friends, prom, a normal graduation. Attempting at life and failing miserably. The experience of boyfriends that you fuck over or getting drunk off your ass because why not? Or getting your first job and feeling proud of it; even if it’s just a minimum wage job, it’s yours, and you worked hard for it. Possibly traveling the world without it pertaining to murdering someone. Being twenty-seven, you would think all of those wants and desires would vanish.

But the pain sharpens, filling my mind and body. Crashing me down into a normalcy I only have.

I stroll slower than usual to the door, wallowing in my own what if’s.

What if Carter didn’t die? Where would I be?

What if I never let my father send me off?

What if I decided to be something more than an assassin?

I approach the door, unlock it, and walk in; the cool breeze greeting me, and the smell of musk and citrus circulating my fumes. Closing my eyes, I let my shoulders slump because for the first night in a week I can relish in an odd comfort. I’ll get my things tomorrow, but for now, I want to relax.

It’s not my home, but it’s become a place that eases the ache from that solemn piece in my chest, and although it doesn’t take away the fester of possibilities that racks my brain. His apartment has become a tiny place of solidarity.

I make it to my room; I’m met with a clean bed and bright cream colors despite the dark shade milking the skies. Tingles spread over in a rush.

Home . For now.