Page 78 of Venomous Kiss
Not while I’m still here…
In this hell.
“You’ll be fine. I need to get my axe,” Reon says, and I’m unsure if he’s trying to reassure me or himself. I sit in the car, the knife still clutched in my hand, as I watch him walk to his axe. At the exact moment he bends to pick it up, four men, still wearing their masks, walk out of the forest and head in his direction. Reon grips the axe with one hand, ready to fight if necessary. He glances back at me, and I watch with tired, frightened eyes as the men stop in front of him. They exchange words, and one nods before Reon turns and comes back to the car. He climbs in, puts it in reverse, and pulls out, the rear end spinning out.
“What did they want?” I ask.
His hands grip the steering wheel, his axe on his lap. “They want me dead,” he says through clenched teeth. “The only way out is death, and they would be fools to think I would let them kill me, though they know they can’t just lift their guns and do it. There are protocols for things.” He shakes his head, then lifts one of his hands from the wheel and runs it through his dark hair in frustration.
“I don’t have a car anymore,” I say quietly. It’s then that I notice a little bit of blood on the knife.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Reon tells me.
The lights from another car shine at us when we hit the highway. We ride in silence for a few miles before I say, “I have my own money.”
“I have more. Don’t argue. This is my fault.”
“It’s not, though. It’s theirs,” I insist with more venom than I thought I could muster. “You’re sick and twisted, fucked-up friends. It’s their fault.”
“How did you even end up out there?” Reon asks, exiting the highway.
“Soren came over when you left the other night, dropped off an invite, and asked me not to tell you about it. That bastard owes me fifty thousand dollars.”
“Don’t trust anything that man says ever again. Do you hear me?” His knuckles turn white from the tight grip on his steering wheel. “I’d kill him myself if I thought for a second they all wouldn’t ruin me, and he will pay you. Don’t you fucking worry about that.”
“I can kill him,” I say, imagining plunging my knife into his gut. “I can kill him,” I repeat.
“Don’t, Caterpillar. Don’t.” He shakes his head.
“You want him to live?” I ask incredulously.
“I want you to live. They will know it’s you. And when they find you, they will do worse than put you in the Hunt.”
“What could possibly be worse than that?”
We stop at a stop sign, and he turns to look at me. His gaze takes me in, and I wonder what he sees.
A broken woman?
Surely, he must.
So, why does he look at me with such tenderness in his eyes?
Breaking our stare, I look down at the knife.
“Living in a world where you aren’t breathing in it would be worse,” he says, and my heart skips a beat.
“I’m really tired, Reon. So damn tired.” His hand moves from the steering wheel to reach for mine. I move over as far as I can in my seat until I can lay my head on his shoulder, and he taps my leg before squeezing it.
“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”
“Am I safe?” I ask. “Is it better with the devil I know?”
“It’s always better with the devil you know,” he replies.
I close my eyes. The only sounds left are his heavy breathing and the engine purring as we drive, and I whisper, “Why did you call me your wife?”
“Shh, sleep. We’ll talk more at home.”
