Page 98 of Sweet Venom

I shake my head. He’ll add us back in when he has some other shenanigans to report on.

Kane is right about Preston’s episodes, but I have no fucking clue how to deal with the motherfucker, especially when his brain decides to burn shit at three in the fucking morning.

I’m even considering talking to his dad, because things are getting out of control fast. But then again, I know all about the love-hate relationship they share, so I’m not sure if that would help rein in Pres or make him spiral further out of control?—

Bang!

A sharp, metallic crash comes from somewhere outside the room.

Instinct takes over as I pull a gun from my belt. The safety’s off, so my body moves before my thoughts can catch up.

I stride toward the door, gripping the weapon firmly, ready to fire if necessary?—

My chest seizes.

A vicious, suffocating constriction wraps around my lungs, like invisible hands digging in, squeezing the air from me. My vision blurs at the edges, dark tendrils creeping in like ink spreading through water.

What the fuck?—

I stumble, my knees buckling before I can even reach thedoor. My hand spasms, the gun slipping from my grip, clattering uselessly to the rug.

Gas.

Fuckingparalyzinggas.

I’ve been trained for this—conditioned for it by my father to prepare me for Vencor. Poison, gas, and pain training are a must for all Founders’ children, and I was no exception.

But this is different.

It’s too strong.

I can’t even twitch my fingers.

Because whoever did this knew the dosage it would take to bring me to my fucking knees.

And there’s only one person who would keep that in mind, because he oversaw my training right alongside Regis.

Julian.

I don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

I hear the measured footsteps, the deliberate pace, and the effortless control.

“It’s not good manners to steal from me, little bro.” His smooth voice laced with amusement lands on my muddled brain like polished steel.

He steps into view, his dark-brown eyes gleaming under the sterile light, holding a mask to his nose and mouth. His suit is pristine, not a wrinkle in sight, his tie adjusted just enough to be casual but never careless.

Meanwhile, I’m on my fucking knees, my lungs burning, my muscles locking up, the weight of invisible chains dragging me down.

“Julian Callahan always collects his debts,” he says, looming over me. “You knew that and still had the audacity to raid my establishment.”

I glare at him, trying to clench my fist, but my muscles won’t move.

“Don’t give me that look. It’s nothing personal. Just business.” He strolls to Violet as a few men, also wearing masks, barge into the room with a stretcher. “I’ll admit that you have more insiders in the Callahan compound than I gave you credit for. Consider me impressed.”

I want to lunge and punch him and keep Violet where she belongs—under my thumb—but I can’t move a muscle.

“Unfortunately, I’m not done with this one, brother dearest. I have a deal to complete.” He checks the monitors and then sighs. “She’s waking up before we’re done. You truly are anuisance, Jude. Your punch first, think later habits are a disgrace.”