Page 33 of Sweet Venom

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.

Anyonewho’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 andMama’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.”