Sweet Venom by Rina Kent - 6

6

M y stalker has a vendetta against me.

In reality, he’s not a stalker, but more like a man out for revenge.

Jude Callahan.

That’s the name of the man who’s been inserting himself into my unremarkable life lately.

I googled him earlier, after I threw up upon seeing him on-screen.

Jude Callahan is not only a hockey god, but one of the heirs to the Callahan pharmaceutical empire.

Someone who could buy Stantonville and everyone in it without batting an eye.

And he’s related to Susie—her only son, actually.

After that night and being questioned by the police, I learned the name of the woman I failed, but I never thought I’d hear it again a few months later.

This time, coupled with her son’s name.

It all made sense. The stalking, the ‘reflect on your sins’ declaration, and his harsh glares from outside the bar’s window.

It’s all… my fault.

My nails sink into the straps of my backpack, and I stand frozen in place by the coldness in his dark eyes .

I can’t move.

I want to, but I’m unable to.

My body has a tendency to give up on me in these types of situations, as if it’s just had enough and would like to rest.

For a moment.

The stench reeking through the alley does nothing to propel me into action. But then again, what’s the point of running when he’ll keep coming back again?

And again.

Until I’m finally no more.

I gulp past the sandpaper taste at the back of my throat as he strides toward me at a frightening fast pace.

He is frightening.

From the way he’s built—broad and tall and muscular—to how he seems to wear a permanent scowl or how his eyes darken in increments. Like pools of deep brown that can only be found in the depths of hell.

It doesn’t help that he’s dressed all in black again. Though there are no gloves today. The veins on the backs of his hands tighten as he flexes them, and I make out a black ring with unintelligible symbols on his left hand’s index finger as he kills the distance between us.

I instinctively stiffen my body and mentally prepare myself for the hit. Not sure why I expect him to shove me to the ground like Mama used to, with a palm to my face, because I disgusted her.

But his palm doesn’t come.

And neither does his fist.

Both his hands are inert at his sides as he stops a few feet away from me.

Despite the lack of violence, I don’t release a breath of relief, my body remaining tense because he’s close .

I can breathe him in.

Leather and wood.

Danger and retribution.

All wrapped in a gorgeous exterior I can’t look away from.

“Why did you look back?” Jude asks with a tinge of veiled infuriation.

As if I annoy him.

Like I used to annoy my mom.

I remain silent, not knowing what I should say that won’t annoy him any further. Because that’s how it starts—mild annoyance that escalates to shoves and curses, and then I’m beaten up and locked in a closet.

I can never go back to that closet. I…can’t do closets.

Just the thought quickens my breathing and fills my turbulent headspace with smudges of red.

“Why the fuck aren’t you running, Violet?” Jude’s booming voice pulls me out of my sinister thoughts and I jump a bit.

I hate how I immediately slide to the edge whenever anyone yells.

I’m not an idiot. I know it has to do with the cocktail of traumas Mama gave me instead of affection, but I don’t know how to fix it.

Or if I ever could.

“What’s the point?” I whisper, looking down at my shoes, at the neatly tied laces and the scratched-up white fabric.

“What’s the point?” he repeats with an edge, stepping forward until his black boots are in my field of vision. Big and intimidating like the rest of him.

“Yeah.” I lift my shoulder. “It’s not like I can outrun you.”

“Look at me. ”

I lift my head because the firm tone suggests retribution if I don’t.

I immediately regret it.

Eye contact with Jude is no different than being dragged into the depths of a somber forest with no way out.

Prickling hate and volcano-level rage shimmer behind his brown irises, and the hopeless part of me that feels others’ pain before my own can actually see his.

It’s convoluted, like it’s become something darker and more vicious, but it’s there.

And some stupid part of me would love to ease it a little, make him…feel better.

Somehow.

Someway.

I can help him , screams my naïve side, knowing my death would do him the greatest favor.

“If you think you can’t outrun me, should that stop you from fucking trying, Violet?” He’s speaking in that tone again, somewhat angry but also frustrated.

And I don’t understand why he seems pissed off that I’m not running. Isn’t that what he wants?

“It would be a waste of both our time,” I say.

“With that mentality, it sure fucking would be.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say or do.” I release a breath. “If I run today, so what? You’ll be back tomorrow or the day after. It’s not like I can run or hide forever.”

“No, you can’t. Not when that’s your train of thought.” He steps forward, and my leg twitches to step back as I look down at the shortened distance between our shoes.

“I said. Look at me.” His order makes my body tense up with both discomfort and something else I can’t quite pinpoint .

I halt, my nails digging harder into the backpack straps, the wound from when I picked up the shards of the glass I dropped when I saw him across the street earlier throbs in needle-like pain. All I want to do is touch my wrist, but I don’t want to draw his attention to it again.

“How the fuck did you survive this long with that mentality, hmm?” He tilts his head, watching me like I’m something broken he’s trying to dissect. “It’s like you’re asking to be killed.”

“If that’ll give you the revenge you so desperately seek, I don’t mind.”

Something shifts in the air.

His expression, always sharpened by rage, falters for a second. His eyes widen—not dramatically, but just enough to let me know he wasn’t expecting that. Then, just as quickly, they narrow to slits, calculating and cold once again. “Is this some kind of reverse psychology tactic?”

“I wish I were that sophisticated.” I let my lips curl in a small smile, but it dies quickly when he doesn’t return it. I clear my throat, my nerves tightening around my windpipe. “I…I know who you are. I saw you earlier on TV. It was a replay of a hockey game, and I recognized your face, so I googled you. I was hoping you weren’t related to Susie Callahan, but you are. And then everything started making sense.”

I glance down briefly, swallowing hard.

“I know you’re doing this to avenge your mother’s death. I understand that kind of grief. And I get it, really. I do. Death doesn’t scare me. There’s no pain in it. No thoughts. No constant fight to stay alive. It’s peace. So if that’s what you’re after, if killing me would bring you that peace, I’m okay with it. Just let me say goodbye to my sister first. Please. Don’t hurt her. She has nothing to do with what happened. ”

My breaths come in long, fractured exhales after I finish talking, curling and dissipating in the chilly air.

Jude’s been tilting his head the entire time, watching me as if I’m a freak show, and maybe I am.

“You’re suicidal?” he asks with a slight squint in his eyes.

“Not really.”

“You are. No one would accept death so easily if they haven’t been constantly thinking about it.”

I drop my hands from my backpack straps and trace my wrist tattoo back and forth, back and forth. “Why does that matter? I’m giving you a chance to exact your revenge, so why…don’t you take it?”

Another step, this time his boots touch my shoes, and I step back, but he wraps his hand around my elbow, trapping me, holding me hostage until my senses flood with him.

His scent.

His size.

His rage.

His piercing disapproval.

It’s all too…much.

“You want me to kill you because you didn’t have the guts to end your own life?”

My lips part, and I’m shaking now, my whole body going into shock.

“Tell me, Violet. Do you think you deserve the easy way out?”

“Isn’t your purpose to hurt me and make me pay?” My voice is on edge for the first time since I started speaking to this prick.

“Not if you welcome it. Where’s the fun in that?”

I purse my lips, my heart thundering against my rib cage until I’m nearly panting .

Maybe I’m having a panic attack.

Or a rare rage fit.

I don’t even know.

This man suffocates me. His words are like invisible hands around my throat that I can’t breathe through.

“People like you who wear the robe of a saint to camouflage rotten insides don’t deserve the finality of death.” He leans in farther, and this time, my chest that’s rising and falling in erratic breaths brushes against his solid muscles. “I have to figure out a better way to make you pay for your sins.”

He’s speaking so close to my mouth that his exhales rush along my lips, and I can taste mint and a hint of alcohol on his breath.

The overpowering smell saturates my senses, but I have no choice but to stare at those dead eyes and the blatant sadism shining through them.

This is a man who’d crush me beneath his boot without a second thought. He’d dismantle me just for his sick entertainment.

No, not entertainment.

Revenge.

I’d be able to feel more victimized and sorry for myself if he were just some run-of-the-mill stalker, but now that I know his motives, I can only hang my head in shame.

What am I even supposed to say?

That I’m a coward?

“You know.” His chest rises and falls in a quicker rhythm, and it’s contagious, making mine just as frantic. “I’ve killed six of the people who watched my mother being stabbed to death and did nothing. You’re number seven on the list.”

“I’m sorry⁠—”

“Shut the fuck up.” His face is closer now, peering into me, and I’m scared to breathe. “Your apology means jack shit to me.”

My lips tremble, sweat beading along my temples and down my back. “I really am. I…have been dreaming about her for months, and I know my actions are unforgivable, but I…”

I gulp, the words balling in my throat, refusing to be spit out.

“You what?”

“I know everything I say will sound like an excuse, and it probably is. But if I had a redo⁠—”

“You don’t. None of you do. It’s why I’m slaughtering every single one of you, Violet.” His voice is frighteningly low. “If my mother doesn’t get to breathe anymore, why should you? You stood by while she was bleeding in the street, so I decided to be your personal grim reaper. One you’ll never escape.”

My jaw hurts from how tightly I’m locking it, but I remain silent. I don’t think he wants to hear me talk.

His pain has transformed into hot rage, and all I can do is stand here as he burns me alive.

So what if I tell him my semi-dormant suicidal ideations have been a constant itch beneath my skin since that day?

Or that I freeze in times of danger, so if the man who stabbed Susie stabbed me, I’d still be frozen to the spot.

He wouldn’t believe my excuses.

I don’t think he even wants to hear them.

“But I won’t be your grim reaper.” Jude grabs my nape and my whole body stiffens. “At least, not yet. You see…”

He searches my eyes, peering down at me with an intensity that burns despite the chilly air.

“I would’ve killed the previous ones by now, after I hunted them down and made them lose all hope, but you…” He runs his harsh gaze over me. “Death doesn’t scare you, so you need appropriate torture. Hmm. What do you have to offer me, Violet?”

I swallow and hesitate, conscious that my lips could touch his full ones when I speak, then say, “I’m fine with whatever. Just don’t bring Dahlia into this.”

“You don’t get to dictate the rules.” He releases me with a shove, back to being disgusted with me. “Your role is to obey.”

“Obey what?”

“Me.” He slides his gaze from my shoes up my body, and it’s like I’m being stripped naked.

It’s that uncomfortable male gaze I’m used to, but this time, it’s more…malicious rather than sexual.

“From now on, your life is mine. You don’t get to die or hurt yourself as long as I don’t allow it.” His lips curl into a small smirk, something I’ve never seen on his face before. “I’ll see you around, Violet.”