Page 71 of Sweet Venom

I’d still break his arm, though.

“Uh…” He rubs his nape, staring at the ground and then back at Violet. “You didn’t mention you were going out withtheJude Callahan.”

He knows who I am.

Even better.

“We’re not going out…” She trails off when I tighten my grip on her waist, then sighs. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh, okay.” He gives a small pout like a fucking child whose candy has been taken away, not even mad that his fuck mission for the night was aborted.

“I’m sorry, Toby.” She tries to release herself from my grip to no avail. “You’re a great guy. I don’t want to put you in this mess.”

Great guy?

Greatfucking guy?

What bad taste in men.

“Nah, that’s fine. You’re kind of out of my league anyway. But…” He rubs his nape again. “Can I have your autograph, Callahan? I’m a huge fan. My friends will be mad jealous.”

Violet goes lax in my grip, not even attempting to hide the look of disappointment on her face.

Her type was so ready to throw her away for an autograph.

I’m suppressing a smile as I nod. There’s no pen or paper around, so Tobias—that’s his name—asks Violet for her lipstick and tells me to sign the tank top beneath his shirt.

He barely even looks at her as he turns around and leaves with a bit of a spring in his step.

I mean, heshouldbe happy, considering he left with an autograph instead of a broken arm.

Violet has already stepped away from me, clutching her wrist. No, the tattoo on her wrist.

The one that she uses to calm down or pull herself from whatever ledge her brain pushes her toward.

I roll the lipstick tube in my hand. “Want an autograph as well? Maybe somewhere bolder? Your tits, maybe.”

She takes it from my grip and slides it into her bag. “No, thanks. I’m not a fan.”

My jaw clenches. “You seem to be Davenport’s fan, considering how you praise his play style more than the tabloid hacks paid by his dad.”

She’s still staring down, fiddling with the zipper of her bag, her hair that looks prettier than usual flying in the wind. “That’s because he doesn’t get high on violence, unlike a certain someone?—”

I’m in her space now, which is why she jerks her head up so fast and cuts her words off. “So your type is nonviolent people like Tobias, who wouldn’t even lift a finger if you were in danger.”

She swallows but keeps her chin up. “You don’t know that. People act unpredictably when faced with danger.”

“Or maybe it’s their true nature that shows. Here’s the thing, Violet.” I step closer and she stumbles in her attempts to escape me, but I wrap my arm around her waist, trapping her against my chest. “I don’t give a fuck who your type is. From now on, I’m youronlytype.”

She releases a long exhale. “Why are you doing this, Jude? Because you can? Because messing with an insignificant person’s life brings you so much joy?”

“It does.”

“You know what I think? I think you’re only holding on to the remnants of your rage because without vengeance and killing and unleashing your monster side on others, you’d have to face the hollow emptiness lurking inside you.” She taps my chest with her finger. “Right here.”

I grab her hand and twist it away. “You’re into psychoanalyzing now? Shouldn’t you have used these abilities on your clusterfuck of a fragile mental state and mommy issues?”

“We both have mommy issues, it seems.”