Page 25 of Poison Touch (Monarch Vipers #1)

It’s my turn. I can feel the weight of the stares of the four others in the room.

One set of eyes in particular has me especially unbalanced.

I ignore Edge as I consider all the impossible shots before me.

I make my way to the other end of the table, aiming for the cue ball.

The six ball is at the far-end bank in the center.

I need it to return and find its home in the left corner pocket by my hip.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Eden asks.

“No. But here goes nothing. And if I miss, I know you got it and the eight ball on your next turn.”

She scoffs in amusement.

I lean over and set up my left hand, easing the stick onto it and lining up the cue with the six.

Glancing slightly to my left at the destination pocket, I catch Edge’s frozen form standing in the doorway.

I pull the stick back and slam it forward into the cue ball.

White blurs down the table and hits the six, sending it back my way.

I brace myself for the second it takes to sink into the corner pocket.

“Holy shit!” Eden shouts. “That was awesome. I thought you said you sucked?”

“Normally, I do. Maybe I perform better under pressure,” I say as I look straight at Edge.

Josh settles in on the dark leather couch. “That was nice, Kinsley.”

“Thanks,” I answer, still focusing on Edge.

A mischievous gleam flashes in his usually hardened eyes. Before I can decipher what to make of it, he turns and leaves without a word. The pressure in the room immediately dissipates.

“How can one guy cause so much tension?” Bryce asks, visibly relaxing. He shakes his arms, then takes his shot, missing his mark altogether.

I take my next shot and miss. No matter. I made the one I needed to make a point with. Pressure has always been a friend of mine.

Josh misses his turn. The guy is passed out and snoring.

Eden ended up sinking our one ball, then the eight ball, to win us the game.

I go to take a sip of my drink and find it empty. I’m not even feeling buzzed from the alcohol. Damn adrenaline. Damn Edge. Fucking buzzkill. As much as I want to have another one, I don’t think it’ll do any good, and I’ll be just setting myself up for a shitty day tomorrow.

“I’m going to get some water. You guys want anything?” I ask.

Eden and Bryce hold up their cups. “I’m good,” they say in unison.

A text sounds on my phone. From my uncle:

Rain’s coming hard and fast

Forgetting the water, I quickly return to the poolroom and tell my friends I’m heading home.

They try to get me to stay, but the last thing I want is to be stuck in a house with Venom for God knows how long.

I say my goodbyes and head to the wall of open sliders leading out to the beach.

The sky is nearly black. Not one star is visible.

A throng of slick bodies pushes against me as they rush inside. Flashbacks of the UG erupt in my head. I drive back the onslaught of memories, PTSD striking at the worst possible moment.

“Shit.” Determined to get out of there, I weave through the crowd in the living room, hook a right at the pool, and move quickly down the beach.

To make even better time, I take off my shoes and run.

A scull of wind and rain rips off the ocean.

Damn, I still have a couple of blocks to go.

The wind and the rain aren’t the issue. The lightning striking too close for comfort.

Not wanting to take a chance and get struck, turning into a charred Kinsley, I race to the closest lifeguard stand.

Running up the planked boardwalk, I pray the door is open.

The padlock hangs loose from the metal loop.

Grateful for the small favor, I duck inside and close the door behind me.

It’s a small, dark room with overriding smells jostling between the rain outside, seaweed, and sunblock.

I shiver from the cold rain coating my skin.

When I pull out my phone, the battery light in the top left corner is red, with only two percent left. “Dammit.”

I plop into the seat, prop my legs on the wooden edge, and wait for the storm to pass. My eyes are just about to close when the door bursts open. At first, I think it’s from the wind, but a tall, lean figure is silhouetted in the doorway. The wind rages behind him, whipping his hair.

“What the?—?”

“Fuck,” he finishes my sentence for me. His voice has the rough texture of raw sin and dirty sex. He steps in, closing the door behind him. “Is that your first thought?”

I don’t know what my immediate thought is, nor do I have time to acknowledge it.

All I know is every muscle in my body seizes at the sight of him.

My breath catches on the inhale, getting trapped in my lungs.

Of all the people to be stuck in the middle of a thunderstorm with, Ledger Hunt is the last one I trust myself to be with.

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” he says.

I can’t see his face, but it’s evident by the delight in his tone that he’s going to enjoy this.

That makes one of us.