Page 9 of Ivy's Venom

She leans forward and brushes her lips to my cheek, “we should talk.” She whispers for my ears only.

I give her a brusque nod but my eyes haven’t left her brother’s form. He’s standing off to the side, his arms crossed, and his attitude permeating the air.

“Sup man?” Cam calls out to him, our ever welcoming golden boy.

Neil gives him a nod and turns his head towards me. I can’t see if he’s looking at me but I can fucking feel it.

“Ivy, are you racing?” Amelia asks as she makes her way to Cam.

“Yeah.” I nod and clench my teeth when I hear Neil snort.

“You got something to say?” Carmelo’s voice is deep with restrained anger.

I reach out and place my hand on his vibrating arm, he’s barely holding himself together, and rub lightly.

“Carmelo, tranquilo.”Calm.

Neil flicks the beak of his cap and it pops up further onto his forehead, showing us his face. He is fucking heart stopping gorgeous. His eyes narrow and his top lip curls upward, “bro…”

“Stop, Neil!” Amelia yells. “These are my friends.”

We are?

Neil growls at being cut off and snaps the cap back down his face, then storms off through the crowd. I watch his retreating back and exhale the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Nice car.” I look up at the voice and stare into a face I’ve never seen before.

“Fuck off, Pat.” Carmelo growls again.

“Hold on,” this Pat holds up his hands, “I haven’t seen you or this car around here before, are you racing?” He asks me.

“I used to come here,” I answer softly, “haven’t been in a few years. I may race.” I shrug.

“That car is meant to be driven,” he continues.

“What exactly are you getting at, Pat?” I sit up on the hood and look him in the eye.

Both Carmelo and Cam begin to chuckle and Pat’s eyes flash with trouble, I wait patiently for him to toss out terms.

“Race me,” he pops his hands on either side of me on the hood and leans in.

“Back up, man.” Carmelo steps forward.

Pat is definitely older because I haven’t seen him at school and he looks more college aged. He has tattoos covering his arms and neck, and a few tear drops decorate his face under his right eye. This one is either a legit gang banger or a fake thug, I don’t fucking care either way.

“I don’t do friendly races,” I tell him. “What are the terms?”

“I can see you don’t need money,” he looks from my attire to the car I’m sitting on. “What does a princess like you want?”

I give him a slow raking once over and deem him worthy of the terms I want to lay out.

“The winner gets head.” I smirk.

The anger is still all consuming but now it holds something else. I hate to fucking admit it, but Ivy Greene is fucking hot, and I can’t seem to get those eyes and her voice out of my head. I can still fucking smell her, that lingering citrus fragrance, and something close to vanilla.

After she left the elevator earlier today, the scent wafted around me, and instead of getting the fuck out, I stayed in there until it slowly faded away. She always smelled like vanilla when we were kids and the second I smelled her in the elevator, I knew who it was.

My insides ripped apart when the first thing my heart remembered was the feelings I had attached to that scent, and then my brain kicked in to remind us that I fucking hated her. She killed Charlotte.

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