Sweet Venom by Rina Kent - 8

8

“ D on’t make me repeat myself.”

The gruff edge of Jude’s voice makes needle-like goosebumps erupt on my skin.

The heavy helmet on my head smells like him—leather, wood, and inescapable danger. It’s suffocating, but I still look around, searching for someone.

Anyone who’d be able to save me.

“Violet.”

I grow still, my gaze flashing to him. He’s already on the monster of a bike, his legs on either side, and his gloved hands grabbing the handlebars. He has another helmet on, so I can’t see his face, but with the slight tilt of his head, I can tell he’s regarding me as if I’m an annoying insect beneath his boot.

Even though my heart hammers loudly, I lift my head. “I don’t want to.”

“Do you believe I give a fuck what you want?”

“No, but⁠—”

“If you don’t get on the bike, I’ll change plans, drive to your place, and give your sister a little visit. Let’s see if you’ll regret your choices by then.”

My body tightens up, the nightmare from last night and Mama’s words about killing whoever loves me playing in my head on a loop.

“Don’t you dare,” I whisper-yell, my hands balling into fists.

He tilts his head to the side farther, his domineering gaze sliding to my hands before he wrenches his attention back to my face. “Was that a threat? You’re capable of those?”

“Don’t go anywhere near Dahlia.”

“That depends on your cooperation. Or lack thereof.”

I let my fists relax and begrudgingly hop onto the bike. It takes me a few moments to get situated behind him.

I grab onto the back of the motorcycle with both hands as it revs beneath me, vibrating through my aching muscles. I’m conscious not to get too close or to touch him.

Only bad things happen whenever we touch.

“Where are we going?”

No reply.

Instead, he kicks the bike into gear, then stops, and I slam against his back, my hands grabbing onto both sides of his leather jacket at his waist for balance.

I’m about to pull back again, but he speeds away, the force of gravity not allowing me to move unless I’m in the mood to fall over.

My heartbeat escalates in frightening increments as he increases the speed until everything is a blur of light, faces, and the rotten town.

I lift my head and when the air slaps me from every side, I can breathe in the sharp tang. I sink my fingers deeper into his sides until I feel every ridge of his muscles, every contour, and every strong line.

The man is built like a weapon and he knows it.

“Can you please slow down?” I try to shout over the wind .

“Why? Does this scare you?” He goes faster, sliding between cars, and I slam my eyes shut as gravity shoves my head against his back muscles.

Even though the helmet separates us, I can feel how taut and rigid he’s built.

Everything about him is.

And yet I can still feel his warmth and inhale the masculine scent emanating off of him and flooding my senses.

“Don’t be scared yet. There’ll be plenty of chances for that.”

He goes even faster, as if testing those limits.

Seeing how far I can last before I fall.

I close my eyes half of the time, scared we’ll crash or that he’ll send us flying off a hill.

In my doomsday thoughts, I don’t feel when we leave Stantonville and only realize we’re in Graystone Ridge after seeing the sign between the grand angels and horses monument in the town center.

I’m dazzled by the lights, the chic restaurants, and the absolute absence of…well, the constant rotten smell lathering Stantonville’s streets.

The cobbled pavements and the bright signs give me a fuzzy feeling, like the start of a fairy tale or a distant fantasy.

Dahlia has always said we should come here for our movie and dinner nights, but I shut it down. Not only because it’s expensive, but I also don’t like seeing a world I can never belong to.

Like a dream that will never come true. I’d rather stay exactly where I belong—in Stantonville.

We leave the town center behind too soon as Jude takes a few turns.

He stops in the driveway of a house on a suburban street. It’s located on the hill, the highest of all the other streets .

My lips part upon seeing the rest of the town from up here, its glinting lights mesmerizing like a movie scene. The air smells of pine and nature, courtesy of the tall trees lining the neighborhood.

“Are you going to continue hugging me for long?”

I startle at Jude’s gruff voice, letting him go and hopping off the bike. “I was only trying to stay alive. You drive like a madman.”

My feet actually wobble when they touch the ground, probably from having my body fully pumped with adrenaline during that wild ride.

“A madman, huh?” He towers over me, peering down at me with menace.

I lower my eyes and start to remove the helmet. “I didn’t mean to call you names.”

“You did.” His glove brushes against my hand as he pushes it away when he sees me struggling, and he removes the helmet and places it on the motorcycle.

Then his hand slides to the back of my neck, and the leather glove feels like burning fire even though he’s not touching me directly.

I shouldn’t have this reaction to his skin on mine.

Or his glove.

I shouldn’t have this reaction to anyone touching me.

He bunches his fingers in my hair and drags my head back, and then his lips brush against mine.

The slightest graze.

Like a promise—or a threat.

His lips are softer than they look and they feel so full and all-consuming. Imploring, dizzying.

And I’m frozen again, my mouth trembling beneath his, and I’m consumed by the sensation .

The pull.

The heat.

I’ve had full-blown sex that didn’t feel as intoxicating as his lips barely touching mine.

No.

I snap out of it and pull back, sliding a palm over my tingling lips. “W-what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Look away from me again and I’ll kiss you. And it’ll escalate to something worse the more you indulge in that distasteful habit.”

“You…wouldn’t.”

“Try me and see how far I’ll go.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

I drop my hand, and his rich brown eyes slide to my lips, darkening, peeling off my outer layer and settling beneath my clothes, my skin, into my bones.

He’s…dangerous.

Because why am I reacting to him this way?

I’ve never been into physical touch or sex. Hell, I’ve avoided it like the plague and only succumbed to peer pressure in college because, apparently, if you keep your virginity after eighteen, society deems you a weirdo, and your classmates give you pitying looks.

The few times I let some frat boys fuck me were a disappointment.

No.

I actually disliked it.

Being exposed, touched intimately, and feeling ugly throughout it all.

I had body dysmorphia, no matter how much they praised me and told me I ‘feel so tight.’

It didn’t help that I had flashbacks of the noises I heard when Mama was being fucked while I was cooped up in the closet.

Whenever I heard the guys breathing heavily on top of me or growling and moaning, I only had flashbacks of the men in Mama’s life.

I even slammed both hands to my ears during the last time I had sex, because I could hear the one man who loved punching my mama and leaving her bleeding after he was done.

Because the guy I was having sex with smelled like him—cheap cologne and strong cigarettes.

I even started humming like I did back then while doodling sketches in my notebook in the near darkness to drown out the sounds.

Needless to say, the guy called me a weirdo for ruining the mood and left as if his ass were on fire.

I just lay in bed, stared at the ceiling, and laughed, but then started crying because that’s what Mama did after they left.

Then I threw up. I usually do after sex, and since I barely find pleasure in it, I stopped it altogether after the “weirdo” episode, choosing not to poke a bear I didn’t need to.

So, as a certified sex avoider, why the hell did my stalker’s lips just now make me feel like that ?

I don’t know what that was, but it was different from my usual disgust, and I definitely have no bile gathering in my throat.

“Follow me.” Jude’s words snap me out of my thoughts, and I have no choice but to trudge behind him and toward the house.

He doesn’t have to say the “Or else…” for me to understand that my actions will determine Dahlia’s fate.

While I have little to no regard for my own life, Dahlia is the only person who’s ever cared about me, loved me, and made me feel like I’m important. I’d never let Jude or anyone else hurt her.

Ever.

No matter what I have to go through.

I follow him into the house, my steps careful, and I slide my glasses up my nose.

The air is laced with something clean and expensive, a faint trace of musk and cologne clinging to the walls.

The entrance spills into an open floor plan, warm lighting cascading over polished wood floors leading to an off-white staircase that disappears into darkness.

It’s beautiful but odd.

This isn’t the kind of mansion or penthouse I imagined someone like Jude would live in. Two stories, sleek and modern, like something out of a magazine. Muted grays and blacks, soft ambient lighting that doesn’t feel harsh, and furniture that looks like it belongs in a high-end showroom.

And yet…as I glance around, my chest squeezes with unease.

Something feels off.

The house is too sterile and perfect, like no one really lives here.

Like it was put together with intention but has never actually been touched.

My footsteps are too loud as I trail behind Jude, gripping the straps of my backpack tighter. The thick silence presses against my ribs with each breath.

I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose, but Jude has a way of integrating silence and using it to make me uncomfortable.

It doesn’t help that the house feels wrong. There’s no lingering scent of home-cooked meals or any worn-in furniture. Just…nothing.

We walk toward the living room, and I take it in—a charcoal-colored sofa, a glass coffee table, and a massive flat-screen mounted on the wall.

Everything is pristine, not a pillow out of place, not a single mark on the floor, not a hint of the man who’s taking over my life.

And my sanity.

Jude’s silent, controlled strides are my only tether to reality. He removes his leather jacket and throws it on the chair. His T-shirt stretches across his back, ink curls down his arms, the shadows animating the symbols and designs.

He faces me and I stop dead, swaying in place, then look down. His boots come into view, and I jerk my head up, covering my mouth with my palm.

I certainly don’t want to give the prick a chance to kiss me again.

His lips twitch, just the slightest bit as he flicks a glance to the sofa.

Sit.

No words. Just a single motion.

I hesitate, clutching my backpack tighter, then my shoulders hunch and I sit. On the edge.

Still gripping the straps.

Jude doesn’t join me, just stands in front of me, looking like a wall. He’s already tall when I’m upright, but at the moment, he’s ten times more intimidating.

“Now what?” I ask, remembering to look at him.

He doesn’t reply, just continues to stare at me, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking about .

“You brought me here for a reason, right? If we can reach it soon, that would be great.”

Jude tilts his head to the side. “In a hurry to go back to your unremarkable life?”

“Yes, actually. It might be unremarkable, but it’s mine and I’m happy with it.”

“Happy enough to write about how much you’ve thought about dying every other day?”

My throat dries, the emotions getting clogged in there. “You had no right to read my journal.”

“I think we’ve established that I don’t give a fuck what you think.”

“Fine.” I release a breath, feeling exhausted by just looking into his unfeeling eyes. “Can you tell me why I’m here? I’m tired and could use some sleep before my early classes tomorrow, so if you don’t mind…”

I start to stand up, but the look he gives me pins me in place.

Finally, however, he turns around and flips on the TV. “Don’t move.”

Before I can ask what’s going on, he pulls out his phone and sidesteps me.

My eyes trail after him, but he disappears around the corner.

Even with his absence, I don’t feel relaxed, not in the least. If anything, my shoulders are crowded with tension as I stare at the screen. I’m not in the mood to watch TV⁠—

My lips fall open.

The scene playing before me is familiar.

The video is cut, set to vertical mode, showing only two people.

A man and a woman I’ll never forget for as long as I live .

My breathing comes out in harsh pants as the man stabs the woman.

Then he does it again.

And again.

And again.

Her blood spills on the pavement, on her beautiful white-and-yellow sundress, her blonde hair, and her eyes turn lifeless.

Bile gathers in my throat, and my heart nearly rips out of my chest, but I remain frozen. Just like the time I saw this same scene play out right before my eyes.

And just like then, Mama’s words play in my head like a mantra.

“Don’t meddle, you little bitch.”

“Do you think anyone would need the help of an ugly whore like you?”

“Who do you think you are?”

“Useless.”

“Useless.”

“Fucking useless.”

Tears stream down my cheeks and my fingers twitch, my entire body trembling so hard, I’m wheezing.

That’s when I hear it.

A muffled moan of pain.

A groan.

A bang.

It’s not coming from the TV since there’s no audio, and the woman, Susie Callahan, is lying in a puddle of her own blood, her empty eyes staring at nothing.

No, the sounds are closer.

Somewhere in the house.

I consider leaving, maybe…maybe calling the police .

But the police didn’t save Susie when I called them that day. Ever since then, I’ve regretted my cowardice and the way I let Mama’s voice freeze me in place.

I’m paying for my silence by being assigned an angel of death in the form of Jude.

So, I’ll never be a bystander again.

Standing on wobbly feet, I cast one last glance at Susie, then wipe my eyes as I try to find the source of the sounds.

Muffled groans.

No, they’re screams, I think.

My legs are still shaking as I go down the stairs, jumping a little when the lights switch on.

Damn. I really hate basements. I’ve watched enough true crimes documentaries to know this is where the shit hits the fan.

I pull out my phone, gripping it tighter as the volume of the sounds increases.

I pass by an open door and stop.

A large blond-haired man with bulging eyes is strapped to a chair in the middle of a sterile basement room. The walls are white and there’s a metal cabinet behind the chair.

His mouth is covered by silver duct tape, and his shirt and pants are torn in places, blood oozing from his multiple injuries. The worst part is his bare feet, where dirt and leaves are stuck to the dried blood.

“Mmmm!” he screams behind the duct tape, rocking back and forth in his chair upon seeing me.

I rush to his side, my legs barely carrying me, and I try to slowly remove the tape. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay, you stupid bitch!” he snarls, shouting. “Untie me before that sick motherfucker comes back.”

“Oh, okay.” I’m breathing harshly as I slide behind him and work on the tight knots. “Who did this to you? ”

“Who else? It’s that motherfucking crazy asshole!”

“J-Jude?”

“I don’t know his name. Stop talking and hurry the fuck up!”

“These are special knots. It’s hard to undo them.”

“Useless stupid bitch.”

I release the rope. “If you’re going to call me names, I won’t help you.”

“You…” He exhales deeply. “Just please, okay? I’ve been under a lot of stress with that fucker chasing me with his friends and then drugging me. I just want to go home, so help me out, yeah?”

With a sigh, I work faster on the ropes. People can be really deranged when they’re under a lot of stress, so I don’t blame him.

More importantly, I keep thinking about why Jude and ‘his friends’ chased this man.

As soon as his hands are undone, he helps me untie his feet.

The moment he’s free, he wobbles toward the exit, but a shadow appears at the door.

Large, imposing, and holding a knife in his hand that shines under the light.

I freeze and so does the man.

“Not so fast.” Jude looks at him with that familiar aloofness.

“Fuck! Just let me go, you sick fucker.”

“I can.” Jude’s gaze slides from the man to me. “But only one of you gets to leave this place alive.”

I take a step back. “Please don’t do that⁠—”

“Her!” the man screams. “Kill that stupid bitch, not me.”

I swallow, my heart shrinking. So much for helping him .

“What do you think?” Jude asks me, tilting his head to the side. “Will you be a saint and sacrifice your life for this waste of space? You’re into all that despicable business, so it might be tempting.”

I look down, whispering, “Death doesn’t scare me.”

“But I do scare you, and I already decided that you won’t get the easy way out.”

I gasp as Jude grabs the man, who was trying to squeeze past him, turns him around, and looks me in the eye as he slices his throat open.