Page 45 of Sweet Venom

“You’ll survive,” he said, his voice bored, as though he didn’t just send a jolt of heat straight through my vagina.

Nope. Nope. Body do not— and I repeat— do not fall for this tyrannical psycho. Absolutely not.

Knowing full well that I’m not as strong as him and that I’ll lose this battle—I gave in. He effortlessly carried me to the passenger side of his car, dumping me unceremoniously into the seat like I was an embarrassing sack of potatoes. I watched, fuming, as he stalked around the car, slid into the driver’s seat,and peeled away from the curb. The engine growled to life like a beast, and—damn it—more heat rushed through me.

“Oh, how original of you,” I sassed back, rolling my eyes.

He fell silent after that, and I glared out the window as we sped toward my apartment complex, my mind still spinning over the blood on his hands. Whatever he’d done tonight, I had a feeling it wasn’t just some spontaneous act of violence. Azariel had always looked so comfortable with blood on his skin, and for some reason, that never unsettled me.

He wasn’t raised in privilege like the rest of us. Not for the first nine years of his life, at least. He was raised in hell, mothered by darkness and chaos. That kind of upbringing had molded him into someone who craves chaos. We all know this about him, even though on the surface, he appears to be the calmest of us all.

Over the years, I've come to understand his calmness. It’s just a mask.

My boss is as ruthless as his parents, and I was willing to bet he was even worse.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, trying to assess if there are any visible wounds that I missed before, but he looked perfectly fine. It looked like he ran his bloody hands through his hair. I wondered if that’s what happened? But whose blood? Something my mom said once flashes through my mind, and for a second, I almost let myself linger on it.That boy is a survivor, Poe. And sometimes survival isn’t so pretty.

I learned early on that sometimes violence was the only option to survive. My family had drilled it into me. They always said,“You don’t want your blood on their hands, you make sure they don’t see you as prey.”My Uncle Enzo, in particular, had always reminded us how hard the world could be, especially if you didn’t have the stomach for it. I look at Azariel again, my gut telling me that the blood on him belongs to the poor soulwho ended up at the other end of his wrath. Azariel doesn’t say a word. Instead, he reaches for the radio, his fingers brushing the dial effortlessly, and then the soft, familiar notes of Nat King Cole’sL-O-V-Efill the car. My heart rate slows almost immediately as the smooth melody wraps around us, and for a moment, it feels like the world outside has stopped—like it’s just me and him in this bubble.

I glanced at him, really looked at him for the first time since he picked me up. His usual sharp business attire is gone, replaced by a black tee that stretches across his chest, revealing his fully inked arms, hands, and fingers. Tattoos spiral around his thick neck, and a silver chain rests on the dark skin there, glinting under the dim light. He doesn’t look like the cold, business-minded Azariel I know. At this moment, he’s something else entirely. He looks like the kind of gorgeous, tattooed street thug you see in those Pinterest boards where readers—hell, even I—used to imagine our book MCs. A sexy, dangerous guy, wrapped in ink and mystery.

For a second, I forget to breathe.

I felt my heart trip over itself, threatening to fall for him in ways I’d rather not think too much about. My gaze lingered on him for a beat too long before I snapped it away, trying to regain some control. To distract myself, I start singing along toL-O-V-E, the familiar lyrics flowing easily. Mom used to play it for us a lot when we were kids. It’s one of my favorite songs, and it has helped me write many love scenes when I need inspiration. I don’t have the best voice—hell, I know I’m a horrible singer—but I sang with everything I’ve got, letting the melody take over. It made me happy until I heard a slight noise from Azariel, and when I glanced at him, his face was frozen in an odd expression, his eyes focused on the road ahead, jaw clenched. It’s the kind of look that made me wonder if I’ll end up like the person he dealt with tonight for annoying him with my disastrous voice.

I chuckled when his scowl deepened. “Fine, I’ll stop. I won’t bless you with my talent,” I joked, crossing my arms and turning to look out the window. But then, his voice cut through the air, low and unexpected.

“Don’t stop singing.”

I blinked, my breath hitched. He sounded so sincere, so… soft. It was a side of him I hadn’t heard in years. That quiet, unguarded tone. The one that, when I was younger, would’ve made my heart trip over itself many times.

It still did…

I swallowed hard, trying to shake the memory of us in Aunt Kadra’s garden—reading and just…existing together, but it clung to me like his cologne on this damn hoodie. I nodded, fighting the sudden lump in my throat, and let the song carry me again, my voice barely above a whisper this time, careful not to break whatever fragile shift has just happened between us.

“Love is all that I can give to you. Love is more than just a game for two. Take my heart and, please, don’t break it. Love was made for me and youuuuuu.”I sang for a moment longer, but the air felt lighter now.It felt warmer and softer. And I can feel it, the pull of something old and familiar between us. Something sort of sweet.

Ten minutes later, we pulled up to my building. Azariel got out without a word, his movements smooth, his presence still commanding. He walked around to open my door, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. I shrugged off his hoodie, offering it back, but he ignored it. His gaze is fixed on me, unreadable, and the heat from the moment dissipates as quickly as it arrives.

I shifted uncomfortably. “Here. Thanks,” I said, trying to sound normal, trying to push back the emotions that are suddenly swarming me. But he didn’t take the hoodie. His eyes stayed locked on mine, and I realized it’s not the hoodie he’s focused on. It’s me. That’s when it hit me…how different helooked right now. Not the hard, distant man I’ve learned to deal with over the years. But the boy I knew? The one who used to make me feel things I couldn’t explain, even when he never seemed to care? His face is less cold now. Less distant. It reminds me of why I fell for him all those years ago. Back when, I thought he was more than just this messed-up, untouchable man.

I turned away, desperate to break the tension. But just as I took a step, his voice stopped me. “Never wander the streets at night alone,” he said darkly, and I felt the moment slip back into its old pattern—his icy walls coming up again. “You never know when you’ll get swallowed by the dark.” I turned back to face him, meeting his intense stare head-on. My chin lifted in defiance.

“I’ve never been afraid of the dark.”

The moment stretched between us, thick with something dangerous. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. His expression hardens. “Go inside.”

I hesitated before turning toward the entrance, but just as I reached the door, I glanced back. “How did you know where to find me?” I asked again what I’ve been wanting to know since he threw me over his shoulder and shoved me in his car, but he avoided answering. His lips quirk slightly, but the smile is faint—so faint I almost think I imagined it.

“Goodnight,little fox,” he said, the words sliding out as if he was done with whatever was happening between us.

And then, without another word, he climbed back into his car, the door shutting with finality. But he didn’t drive away. Not yet. He waited until I’m safely inside the building before pulling away. As I walked up the stairs, the question still lingered in the air, unanswered. But I didn’t ask again. I didn’t need to. Somehow, him ending up here is no coincidence. I felt it down in my bones. And while I reached my apartment door and enteredsafely inside, the scent of his cologne clung to his hoodie, faint but maddening. And for the first time in a long while, I felt my heart start to flutter— like it did when we were two kids hidden in darkness reading our favorite book.

When I still believed in love and the boy with a thousand icebergs around his heart.

Chapter

Fourteen

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