Sweet Venom by Rina Kent - 13

13

I slam into Hunter with enough force that it topples both of us on the ice.

He groans like a bitch as I squash him beneath me, and whisper, “Target Armstrong’s legs again and I’ll make sure your hockey days are fucking over.”

Before I can do more damage, my team members pull me off him.

A chaos of wild, loud cheering from the superfans ensues as I get sent to the box. Again.

I absorb it all, feeling each call of my name, every scream. They rush through my veins with intoxicating adrenaline. Like a damn drug. And even though the arena isn’t as loud as during the season, many superfans attend any and all of our informal practices.

Kane shakes his head at me, clearly disapproving of my excessive violence. The other players, however, look at me with admiration, some patting me on the shoulder during my skate to the box as I remove my helmet.

Damp hair falls to my eyes, and I shake it back, making the crowd go wilder.

Preston skates by me, slamming his shoulder against mine, then grinning as he glides backward. “I owe you one, big man! ”

“Will you stop antagonizing him now?” I ask as I’m about to go in.

“Nah. I’m already in his head. It’d be a waste to stop now.”

Not surprised.

Preston is a shit stirrer of epic proportions. I know he must’ve said something extra outrageous for Hunter to target him so viciously, but I don’t give a fuck.

No one hurts Preston when I’m around.

Just like Kane, Pres doesn’t even like to fight or indulge in much violence on the ice, so one of us has to take care of that pesky problem.

Team A takes the lead during the two minutes I have to sit and watch, but I’m not worried about that. Once I’m back in there, I’ll settle things once and for all.

My head’s completely in the game tonight, and they have no chance against this version of me. Kane will nag about this penalty box visit, but it’s not the first time, nor will it be the last.

The crowd goes wild when I’m released from the box. This time, I check cleanly, scoring what I’m sure is my record high.

It doesn’t matter that I’m playing against my actual teammates—an opponent is an opponent.

It’s not that I can’t play without over-the-top violence, because I’m fully capable of that. It’s that I don’t want to.

For me, hockey is an outlet for pressing urges that constantly bubble at the surface. A way for me to get drunk on the power I can wield on the ice.

We end up beating Team A, the overwhelming cheers of the crowd echoing around us.

Vipers Arena is half full today—people from all over GU and the town must’ve seen our unofficial practice dates and come to cheer for their favorite violent and sometimes bloody sport.

It’s why Vencor has to have control over the team and the university through Kane, Preston, and me, as well as three more Members who play for the team.

The Vipers have too much influence to leave unsupervised. Therefore, throughout the three years we’ve been at GU, we’ve been tasked with keeping an eye on Members, many of whom are college or management team staff.

We’ll put some in their place if need be, slice their throat for betrayal. Anything that ensures Vencor has absolute power within this town and beyond it, even.

After a shower—and an earful from Kane about my reckless play—I’m cheered on like a king in the locker room.

The guys want to go for drinks and fuck. We usually hang out at this club downtown where all the puck bunnies flock to score with the hockey gods of the town.

But I’d rather be someplace else. In a fucking shithole that reeks of piss and rot, if you can believe it.

The guys are talking nonsense in the background as I pull a black shirt over my head and check my phone.

I might have texted Violet last night. You know, after I licked ginger ale from all over her body and then thought why not taste her cunt as well.

Not my brightest idea.

I meant it as an intimidation tactic, a way for me to exert power and make her tremble with fear. But somehow , that ended up with me wanting her to tremble with desire.

I could tell she was a bit apprehensive about the whole thing, probably as much as I was .

And she stuck to her act for a bit, refusing to move her hands and biting her lip so no sound would come out.

But then I called her a good girl, and she detonated in my mouth, shaking and screaming.

Violet was screaming .

And, fuck me, my cock twitches at the memory.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ve had screamers and theatrical moaners. I’ve had dirty talkers and silent girls, and they all felt so good. But none of them made me as rock fucking hard as when I was eating Violet’s pussy.

I was turned on at the knowledge that I could trigger those reactions from the most silent little lamb who still can’t look at me sometimes.

And I shouldn’t have been that turned on.

Because I despise Violet Winters just as much as I despise all the other people who couldn’t help Mom.

Maybe I despise her more because she’s clearly able to save others—like she did with Mario.

Fucking girl slammed into him as if she were bulletproof.

Which brings me to my point that someone wants my prey killed. Probably Julian.

However, when I confronted him about it yesterday, he had the most impressive poker face. Besides, he doesn’t usually intervene in my games.

But he does love meddling, so I don’t know what the fuck he’s planning. I did tell him I’d mess with his plans within the Callahan company if he dares to put his nose where it doesn’t belong, though.

I don’t give a fuck who has a vendetta against Violet. I’m the only one who’ll slice her delicate neck open—but that doesn’t mean I won’t toy with her in the meantime.

Last night, she was in a daze after she came all over my mouth, messing up my lips with her sweet fucking taste that I couldn’t stop licking. Her cheeks were flushed the deepest shade of red, making the freckles stand out against her porcelain skin.

The ding of the oven was the only thing that snapped her out of her reverie, because she jumped from the counter, gathering the pieces of her shirt around her and grabbing another apron to hide her nakedness.

“Can you go?” There wasn’t her usual please in the question as she pulled a plate of lasagna from the oven. “Dahlia will be here any minute.”

I was in the mood to make her choke on my rock-hard cock that she was avoiding looking at—or maybe she was avoiding looking at me—but I got a text from Mario’s replacement, Larson, informing me that her sister was indeed approaching the apartment. Before I left, however, I made Violet give me a slice of lasagna in exchange for my leaving.

She looked at me as if I was weird, but she did give me a slice in a plastic container, then practically shoved me out of the apartment.

It was the best lasagna I’ve ever had.

Which is why I texted her a few hours later.

Me

You’re not a bad cook.

Violet

Who’s this?

Who else has the capacity to have your phone number?

Right. Thanks for the backhanded compliment. I guess.

It wasn’t backhanded. Your lasagna is the second-best thing I’ve ever tasted. The first is your cunt.

You’re honestly crazy.

Only just realizing that now? I thought the stalking and murder would’ve given me away.

Why are you texting me this late in the evening, Jude?

As per my first text, to compliment your cooking.

Is the compliment in the room with us?

What’s with these spurts of sarcasm? Or are you more daring when typing? Like those keyboard warriors?

I would just appreciate it if you leave me alone.

You should already know that won’t be happening. Especially now that I know the feel of your cunt. Mmm. Might jump through your window for another taste and have you wrap those lips around my cock this time.

Is this your new method of tormenting me?

Maybe.

You should go to sleep. It’s not good to stay up late.

My, is that concern?

Let’s call it that if it makes you leave me alone.

Careful, sweetheart. You’re piquing my interest.

Oh no. I thought it was already piqued, considering all the stalking, breaking and entering, and everything in between.

Hmm. You are more audacious in texts.

And you’re the same in every version. Oh, how is Mario, by the way?

Well.

Wow, okay. I guess he doesn’t matter to you either if his being shot warrants a one-word reply.

Or maybe you shouldn’t bring up another man when I’m talking to you. By the way, you should come watch me practice tomorrow.

Not sure if your stalking sessions have come up short, but I have no interest in hockey and even less so since I know you play it.

Why?

Because I kind of don’t like you and would rather stay away from anything related to you.

You seemed to like me just fine when you were riding my face earlier today, sweetheart.

I’m not sure if you heard, but there’s this thing called ‘sex has nothing to do with feelings.’ Or did you believe only men are capable of that?

Certainly not. But I’m also aware of your disappointing sex streak. Tell you what, sweetheart. I want you to watch the Vipers game replays from the previous seasons.

No, thank you.

I’m sorry if it seemed like you have a choice. If you don’t watch a replay every day and text me the highlights right after, I’ll slice Mario’s throat because he failed to do his job.

You’re a monster.

Your monster, sweetheart.

So that’s what I’m looking at right now, my lips twitching at the corner. A text from Violet that landed in my messages not too long ago.

Highlights: you won your opening game of the last season, and you hit more people than should be allowed. At least you were penalized for it, which made me feel better. Davenport is the only levelheaded player amongst you all, and I still dislike this game and you.

I narrow my eyes, rereading her words.

Davenport.

Fucking Kane ?

People know I’m the most popular on the team, while Kane is just a stickler for techniques and rules. Never fights, never gets out of line, and could be labeled boring in hockey terms.

Anyone who knows hockey would pick me as the actual hockey god, not Kane.

“Yo, Callahan!” Preston slams his shoulder against mine, then wraps an arm around me. “Who are you in the mood to fuck later tonight?”

A certain thorn in my side who keeps pissing me the fuck off.

No.

My usual fuck shouldn’t be dedicated to Violet, especially after what she texted. If I go see her, I might actually snap her neck for the insolence.

Though there haven’t been any fucks lately. I like to think that I could take my pick, but the truth is, I haven’t been enticed by any of the pretty girls around me.

Not since Kane took me to the shithole that is Stantonville and I saw Violet from the top of the roof.

It should be disturbing that I haven’t looked at any girls since then. I like to think it’s because I don’t really fuck as much as the other guys on the team and I can go celibate for a long time.

It definitely has nothing to do with those mystic blue eyes that keep appearing in my dreams lately .

I push Pres away. “Regis wants to see me.”

“Boo! Your dad can wait.”

“Julian said it was an emergency.”

He releases me with a roll of his eyes, then slides to Kane’s side. “We have one man down, so let’s have the best fun and rub it in his face later!”

I dress in record time. Then, on my way out, I slam my shoulder into Kane’s.

Hard.

He steps back, clutching his shoulder, his eyes wide.

“What the fuck was that for?” he bellows.

But I’m already walking out.

A few hours later, I’m not with Regis.

Yes, he keeps ‘insisting’ that I should go see him and if I don’t, there will be ‘consequences,’ but I’ve already suffered the worst of said consequences.

There’s nothing he could do that has the potential to hurt me anymore.

And yes, Julian blew up my phone like a clingy ex, showcasing his massive control-freak tendencies, but I ignored him.

The last time I had dinner with Regis was when Mom was alive. She tried her best to keep up the feeble appearances of a happy family. She held on to it with bloody fingers, and I played my role, not even clashing with my father so she wouldn’t frown or, worse, cry.

So now that she’s gone, I hope Regis will rot.

All alone in his big mansion.

So, no, I’m not with Regis or Julian. I’m standing in Violet’s tiny living room, where I can touch the ceiling if I reach up my arm .

And she’s sleeping.

Today was her day off at the bar. I know because I followed her around earlier, from a safe distance. She went to the movies with Dahlia and a kid—her coworker’s daughter.

Now, even I was wondering why the fuck I was sitting at the back of the movie theater while people were laughing at a cringe-fest animated movie.

Oh, right. Because the surge of adrenaline hadn’t left my veins, and I had to see her.

Strangle her for the Kane comment.

But I got distracted because she was laughing in a carefree way I’d never witnessed before. During the entire movie, Violet would answer the kid’s whispered questions, feeding her popcorn, wiping her mouth, and doing a shit ton of other things that didn’t include watching the screen. Like checking her phone.

Twice.

Then the three of them went for dinner, and I was at the back again, ordering drinks and blending in with some tall motorcycle gang guys to avoid drawing attention to myself.

There are two things I noticed during that dinner. Dahlia is a chatterbox who doesn’t shut the fuck up, and Violet seems to smile from just listening to her talk. She even had this bright look on her face as if she was proud of her.

My highlight, however, was when Violet wiped some sauce from the kid’s chin and licked her fingers, her tongue peeking out the slightest bit.

I had a flashback of when she sucked on my finger. The sauce was blood, though.

I know I said there wouldn’t be a post-practice fuck, but my cock protested profusely after I merely saw her lips wrapped around her fingers .

Let’s just say I was so close to grabbing her by the throat and dragging her out of there so those lips could be around something a lot harder.

And bigger.

But the kid was asking for ice cream, so, of course, Violet got up and bought her some from a nearby ice cream truck. In front of which a creep kept close to her. So close, actually, that I’m pretty sure his limp erection brushed against her ass.

In pure Violet fashion, she tactfully backed away without any commotion, handing the ice cream to the grinning kid and walking back to Dahlia.

Did I pull the creep into an alley and bash his head against the wall? Maybe.

Listen, I’m a violent man. Someone touches what belongs to me, and I respond in the best way I know how. By inflicting pain.

Blame my father.

That’s what he taught me and Julian—aside from never believing in those silly things called feelings.

That’s been doing my brother’s train wreck of a marriage wonders, by the way, so I’m also a firm nonbeliever. I don’t know of a single happy marriage in my entourage.

At any rate, I don’t think Violet saw me, and if she did, she’s getting way better at wearing her favorite poker face, because she never once paid me any attention.

Not that I wanted her to. I was only there to observe because Mario needs a few more days to get back, and I don’t fully trust his replacement.

Violet bought the kid an expensive thirty-dollar doll. And it is expensive in her financial clusterfuck, because she barely has any money in her account. Yes, I checked. She’s constantly writing in the stupid journal that they’re always short on money and she wishes Dahlia would stop buying her unnecessary shit.

Patches for back pain—that’s what’s unnecessary in Violet fucking Winters’s book.

I’m glad Dahlia called her out on the doll after they dropped the kid off at her mom’s and made it back to their place. I was outside on the balcony. Sue me.

“Karly doesn’t really have toys, Dahl,” Violet said, giving her sister a glass of milk—seriously, what? “And Laura is really struggling.”

“You’re struggling, too,” Dahlia said what I was thinking.

“Yeah, but I’m not dealing with fighting an abusive ex in a child custody case. Besides, I never had any toys growing up, so I wanted to bring some happiness to Karly. That’s all.”

“Aw, Vi. All right, but don’t strain yourself, okay?”

“Okay.”

Liar.

Violet is the biggest fucking liar I’ve ever met.

I was ready to see what she wrote in her journal that night and if her true words would contradict what she said.

In the beginning, I started to read her journals to see what she actually thought, because Violet is an inward person who bottles everything inside. Then I wanted to see what she wrote about me.

There was nothing.

She only mentioned me there once—the day she recognized me from TV. Since then, she’s never talked about me again.

She probably thinks that if she ignores me hard enough, I’ll stop existing.

But she can’t possibly ignore what happened last night.

I waited patiently until Dahlia fucked off to her room, falling asleep in five minutes flat, snoring a bit, actually .

And then Violet scribbled in her journal for a while, worked on a piece of embroidery she’s been doing on and off for a few weeks, and then also went to sleep.

I waited until her breathing evened out and she fell into deep slumber, then I unlocked the balcony door and came in.

It was so easy, since, well, they live in a little-to-no-security area.

Violet’s asleep on the sofa, the sheet barely covering her plain beige pajamas. She dresses in such an unflattering way, and yet I can’t help but notice the stretch of her T-shirt over her perky breasts or the delicate curve of her throat.

She had a scarf on today, to hide the hickey on her neck.

My mark.

Mine.

A wave of something unfamiliar grabs hold of me, but I rip my gaze from her and take the journal from her backpack.

Today, she wrote about how it felt good to be out and about with Dahlia and Karly.

I run my finger along the last line.

Dahlia said I shouldn’t have bought the toy for little Karly, and maybe she’s right, but I simply wanted to be for her what no one was for me.

I turn to the previous page, but there’s a dot where her evening musings should be.

A fucking dot? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Am I…a dot ?

I narrow my eyes on her. This fucking⁠—

My plans to shake the fuck out of her dissipate when I see her trembling.

She brings her hands to her chest and bends her knees. I realize she’s making herself as small as possible as she balls herself into a fetal position, mumbling something unintelligible.

I lower my head toward her, and I still can’t make out what she’s saying.

But it’s clear she’s in pain, her teeth chattering, and sweat beading along her upper lip. I touch her arm and it’s tight. No one should be tight while they’re sleeping.

It’s as if she’s half awake, waiting for something to ambush her.

What are you afraid of? I think to myself as she tightens further, almost clenching her teeth.

Something about the whole scene sits wrong with me.

Maybe it’s because I don’t like the idea of my doll being afraid of anyone but me.

It has to be that.

Because when I feel her relaxing beneath my palm, I stay there until she’s no longer scared.

And it disturbs me. This…strange feeling that keeps drawing me toward her.

It’s not normal.

Or logical.

And I need to amputate her before she turns into a bigger problem.