Page 34 of Poison Touch (Monarch Vipers #1)

KINSLEY

This early in the morning, Monarch’s campus is a ghost town. I wonder if Gunner is even here. Only a few cars are in the parking lot. No Jeep. I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad. Either way, I make my way toward art.

True to his word, Gunner is already at his easel when I get to class.

“I thought you might have reconsidered. Maybe your secret is bigger than you’re willing to share,” he taunts.

Oh, it is. “I guess you’ll have to wait to find out if this was all really worth it.”

“It is. You’re too badass for it not to be.”

“Your confidence in me is quite high.”

For the next half hour, he helps me with the basic lines of my portrait and then explains how to blend colors.

Applying them with certain styles of brush strokes and the amount of paint to use is the tricky part.

How does any of this come so naturally to people?

Gunner has an image in his head he’s working toward, so that’s what I’m aiming for.

By the end of class, I feel more confident about what I need to do to pass.

I put the almost-empty tubes in my backpack to run by the store to match the colors of the ones I need to replace.

Thanking Gunner, I breeze past Brielle. She spews some regurgitated comment that I ignore as I head for biology.

The rest of the day drifts by on a lazy current.

I can’t wait to hit the dojo after school to release this pent-up energy.

It’s only been a day, and my muscles aren’t nearly recovered, but I already decided by the time my last class is over.

I head straight for the parking lot. It’s gorgeous out.

On days like this, Luca and I would skip and make the two-hour drive up the coast to an old dojo.

The owners, friends of my uncle and dad, are great.

They loved it when we joined their classes on those rare days. Damn, I miss those times.

I slide off the suffocating blazer, then unbutton my collared shirt. Metallic waves of heat glisten off the black asphalt. I pick up my pace when I notice a group of people hovering around where I’m parked. When I come upon them, their chatter ceases.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

None of them answer. They separate, making a thin path for me to get to my bike.

I abruptly jerk to a stop when I see my motorcycle.

The word Ninja is X’d out with what looks like pink nail polish.

Next to it is the word “Slut” along with a crude drawing of an open mouth next to a dick, hairy balls and all.

“Oh, hell no,” I seethe.

Anger instantly fuels my blood as my heart pounds and my veins sizzle with fury.

I glance around at the faces surrounding me.

They go straight-faced, trying to hide their giggles, but it’s useless.

I roll up my sleeves and tie the tails of my shirt around my waist. That’ll have to be as good as it gets today.

I get on my motorcycle, insert the key, and then rev the engine.

Without putting on my helmet, I back out of the spot.

Brielle and her friends stand with Edge and the rest of Venom by his Jeep.

They each look smug like they’ve made their point and have had the final say.

Well, fuck them. This shit just got real.

Unable to help myself, I forget all of my training to control my rage and drive right up to them.

I come so close to Brielle that she squeaks and jerks back to avoid her toes getting crushed.

Her back slams into the oversized tire of the Jeep.

Stopping in front of their group, I stare longer than I need to at Edge.

Fury and something else I can’t read are smeared across his face.

But I’m too angry to try to figure it out.

Gunner gives me his usual salute along with a rare, solemn look on his face.

I plaster on a disgusted smile for Brielle. “Hi, Brielle.”

She juts out her hip and slides her arm through Edge’s. He doesn’t move. “Nice bicycle, trash. New paint job? Looks like art class and your private lessons with Gunner are really paying off.”

I don’t miss the jerk of Edge’s head twisting in Gunner’s direction. Ready to breathe fire, I ignore whatever it may mean, refocusing on the bitch in front of me.

“Oh no, Brielle…” I swish my wrist forward and roll my eyes dramatically. “I can’t take all the credit. I bet you’re way more creative than I am.”

She laughs along with the rest of her friends. “Don’t you know it?”

I’ve always been taught never to lower yourself to your enemy’s level, but this whore strips me down until my worst pours out of me in buckets of hateful sludge. Though, it’ll be fun to fuck with her at her own game.

“I do, actually. Though, thanks to Gunner, he’s been showing me all kinds of artsy tricks. I’ll have to show you. See all of you assholes tomorrow. I have to go practice my paint blending technique.”

“Have fun with that.” Brielle breaks out in brazen laughter and looks at Edge for approval.

Those slate eyes fix on me.

Like switching off a neon sign, I let my facade fall. “Have a colorful ride home, Brielle.”

“Fuck you,” she spits.

On their own accord, my eyes slide to Edge for one brief moment. His dark expression is unchanged. I back out from the confines of their group. Driving slowly through the parking lot, I pull up beside Brielle’s red convertible Mercedes. Why wouldn’t she have the top down on such a gorgeous day?

Did I also mention the convenience it offers me?

I slide my backpack around to my front and pull the almost-empty paint tubes from my backpack: Ruby Red, Jet Black, Midnight Blue, and Royal Purple.

Unscrewing the caps, I squeeze what’s left through the opening.

The blobs of paint plop onto her white leather seats.

I use the end of one of the tubes to smear the colors around, swirling them just the way Gunner showed me.

I’m such a good student. Then, practicing my brush strokes, I use my finger to draw a smiley face in the paint.

She’s behind me, screaming like a banshee as she runs toward me. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I told you I’d show you my new skills. Enjoy your ride home,” I call over my shoulder and toss the empty tubes in her car before I take off. Serves the bitch right.

The rawness of rage feels slightly healed. It shouldn’t, but it does.

On the way to the dojo, I make a quick stop at the local hardware store. Grabbing a can of black matte spray paint off the shelf, I pay, then head back out to my motorcycle. The person sitting in the yellow Ferrari next to my bike is the last person I would have ever expected.

Kade places his arm on the ledge of the open window.

“This car seems a little flashy for your dark and silent type. Don’t you think?”

“I like yellow, and I like fast cars.”

I shrug. “Then who the fuck am I to judge?”

He takes a drag from the joint pinched between his fingers. Holds his inhale.

I nod at the hardware store behind me. “You planning on buying a rope or a hammer? Maybe a nail gun or a drill?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Or did you follow me ?”

He exhales long, the sweet stench of weed wafting out of the open window. “That was a shitty thing Brielle did to your bike.”

I kick a pebble near my foot. “Yeah, well, I’m sure it’ll cost a hell of a lot less to fix than to replace her seats.”

Is that a tiny smile I see before he folds his tongue, tapping the metal bar against his teeth? “You’re probably right.”

“Why are you here, Kade?”

He doesn’t look at me as he takes another hit. “Edge asked me to check on you.”

Fueled by shock and another bout of fury, I pop off the top of the spray can. “If he wanted to know, he should have done it himself. Besides, I don’t need to be checked up on. I can handle myself just fine.”

He barely nods. “I figured as much.”

I shake the can, the little metal ball inside bouncing off the sides.

Kade’s expression is impassive as he revs his engine and puts the car in gear. “Hey, Ninja. We should race.”

I don’t try to hide the grin spreading across my face. Flutters of excitement blossom in my chest at the idea of racing him. “Yeah, we should.”

He pulls out of the parking lot. I turn back to my bike and spray over the pink graffiti, mumbling all sorts of things that should never come out of a lady’s mouth.

Good thing I’m not a lady. Even more in the mood to kick the shit out of something, I drive to the dojo a couple of blocks away and park under the tree at the far end of the parking lot.

“Hey, kiddo, I wasn’t expecting you today,” Uncle Trey says.

“Today’s a good day to let off steam.”

He nods. “Have at it. The place is yours until seven.”

Two hours later, sweat runs down the side of my face and my back. I take a short break before practicing with my favorite weapon, the bo. By the time I finish, I’m beyond exhausted to care about what Brielle did or why Edge had Kade check on me.

It’s almost seven when I leave the dojo.

I tell my uncle bye as his next class prepares to start.

The cool night air feels refreshing against my heated skin.

The couple of lights in the parking lot are too dim to light up the spot where I parked.

That wasn’t too smart on my part. A dark parking lot and a single lone girl equals a perfect setup for very bad things.

The sky is clear with an almost full moon, so at least I have that going for me.

I put on my backpack, freeing my arms in case I need to defend myself. I know I’m being melodramatic. Nothing ever happens in this part of town. But fuck me if today hasn’t screwed with me enough.

I’m almost to my motorcycle when a figure steps out from behind the large oak.

“Isn’t it a little dangerous for you to be out here all by yourself?” Edge asks.

I take off my backpack and lay it by the wheel of my bike. “Like I told Kade, I can handle myself just fine.” I pull the band from my hair and put it on my wrist.

“I don’t doubt it for a second, but I’d still like to see you try.” His voice is low, menacing, challenging.

He steps toward me. The moon streaks his smooth face with pale light.

The adrenaline from training still pumps hard through my veins, and the thrill of his challenge amps up my anticipation of giving him what he wants.

That and the anger I still feel, more toward myself than him, have me wanting to kick his ass even more.

He kissed me, I let him, and he went back to fuck Brielle.

I have no claim over him, nor do I want one, but fuck if it still doesn’t make me want to drop-kick him, then beat the shit out of him.

And who knows what involvement he had in having my bike vandalized.

He runs his hand through his hair.

Wanting to erase the way those hands touched me and the way his lips claimed mine, I busy myself with finding the ignition key.

“What? Kade checking up on me wasn’t good enough for you?

” I reach for my helmet. “I don’t know why you even care.

” I sound like a jealous girlfriend, and it pisses me off even more.

He places his hand over mine. “I had to see for myself.”

Without effort, my eyes find his in the near darkness. A sea of torment and defiance swirls through my thoughts. The frustration and confusion on his face, the lust and carnal need simmering in his stormy eyes. It’s as if I’m staring in the mirror.

What the fuck is going on between us? I’ve had stupid crushes on guys.

That feeling of giddiness when it builds, knowing you’re going to run into them in the hall, the jumble of nerves when they notice you staring, or the excitement mixed with tension when a friend tells you they heard “crush guy” likes you back.

Whatever is happening between Edge and me is on another level.

A level so high I can no longer see the ground.

I feel as though I’m floating and fading all at once.

That’s the scary part—the slice of this infatuation.

It’s dangerous for all parties involved.

All the other stuff is kids’ play. The constant thoughts about him are messing with me.

By the way he’s studying me, he hates—or he’s confused by—this confliction, too.

But it doesn’t seem like either of us can stop.

I have no idea what his story is or why a collage of mistrust, resentment, and torment is painted on his beautiful face.

I have a million reasons not to get involved with Ledger Hunt.

Yet my body goes rogue from all rational thought, and the desperation for him to touch me when he’s this close is almost unbearable.

I don’t look away as I straddle my motorcycle. “As you can see, I’m fine. So, why don’t you go stalk Brielle?”

A deafening silence lapses between us before he answers, and when he does, need and dominance weave through his hushed words. “She’s not the one I want.”

I tell myself the chill skating across my skin is from the light breeze drifting by.

But I know better.