Page 9 of Sweet Venom

It’s subtle, but I see his free hand flex, sticky blood still dripping onto the concrete. “If I hadn’t shown up, that pathetic waste of space would’ve violated you. And considering your meek, entirely washed-up, and boring personality, you would’ve let him.”

I would’veneverlet him. I was going to hit him.

But I don’t need to explain myself to a literal stalker. Besides, explaining myself has never worked, and it’s only gotten me into worse trouble.

So instead of slipping down that hopeless road, I tilt my head to the side. “What’s it to you?”

He narrows his eyes, a hint of rage flashing through them. “The fuck you just say?”

“Nothing. Just…let me go.”

“No, you said something. Repeat it. Now.”

I let out a fractured exhale, causing my glasses to fog up.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion or the throbbing pain in my back. Maybe I just want to go home, read my novel, then go to sleep so I can wake up early and study and then go to class.

Maybe I’m just suicidal.

Whatever the reason, I let the words I constantly police spill out in one go. “I said it has nothing to do with you. Whether I’m assaulted or killed or thrown into a dumpster is not your business. And honestly, if you believe me to be boring and washed-up, why not stalk someone else? Or maybe quit the whole despicable ordeal and do something better with your time?”

He remains motionless, probably as surprised by the statement as I am. I didn’t mean to talk back, but I guess Inow have no filter when I’m nervous. Add all the physical and mental pain, and I’m ready to just…go.

The stranger’s face slips back into stark indifference, a blank, careful mask I can’t read. “You think I want to follow you around? See your pathetic life in 3D?”

“I’m sure you don’t. So why are you?”

“Why do you think?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

He steps farther into my space, his chest a breath away from mine, his fingers tightening around my wrist. He’s so close, his boots rub against my sneakers, and I’m assaulted by the smell of wood and leather, a potent masculine combination that fills me with apprehension.

I can’t help it.

Having lived in a world where most men use and abuse women, I can only feel dread at the scent.

“Have you done something bad, Violet?”

I gulp. Sure, I thought he’d know my name if he’d put so much effort into watching me, but still, hearing it uttered in his voice causes goosebumps to erupt on my skin.

“No.” The lone word leaves me in a strangled breath.

“Liar.” He has a distinctive way of speaking—precise, deep, but also frighteningly monotone, as if talking is a true hindrance.

“Why would I lie?”

“Because you’re no different than the rest of them. All of you are rotten to the core.”

Who are ‘all of us’?

Before I can ask, he strokes my wrist with his bloodied glove, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It seems sensual, but, in reality, it’s no different than a veiled threat.

Both of us watch as he smears my tattoo with blood.

“Endure,” he reads the word inked there. “Very fitting.”

I try to pull my wrist free, but he tightens his grip. “You’ll need to endure, Violet, for a long time.”