Page 28 of Venom (St. Sebastian’s at Cravenmoor Academy #1)

Venetia

I don’t make it to the lake. Not that I figured I’d saunter up there without an escort, but this was quicker than I expected. It proves they have been watching me.

Three of them step out from the shadows of a stone archway, blocking the path. They’re trying to look menacing, holding pipes and a crowbar, but they just look like boys playing dress-up. Their nervousness is a stench in the air.

“Lost, princess?” one of them sneers.

Maddox Headley emerges from behind them, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face. “Not anymore,” he murmurs. “The lamb has been separated from the herd.”

“It’s a flock, you idiot,” I hiss and then remember I’m supposed to be delicate and fragile.

My arse.

“Venetia,” he says, ignoring my insult. He probably didn’t even hear it. “I was hoping we’d get a chance to meet one-on-one.”

My gaze rakes over the four of them, trying to make a point, but this jerk is so arrogant, he only seems to register his own voice, his own actions. “Well, here I am,” I drawl. “And you are?”

The insult that I don’t already know his name irritates him.

His face tightens. “I’m Maddox Headley.” He says it like it should mean something to me, like I should curtsy or swoon.

All I feel is a profound sense of disappointment in Ana.

This is the best she could do? A weasel with delusions of grandeur.

“I just want to talk. Get to know you. Ana said you were looking for a good time.”

The urge to knee him in the balls is a physical thing, a frantic itch under my skin.

Instead, I force a smile. I reach out and place a hand on his arm, my touch light.

The blade strapped to my thigh feels like a brand of pure power against my skin.

“Did she?” I murmur, letting my gaze drift to his mouth.

He smirks. He’s so predictable it’s almost painful. He thinks this is his moment, his great conquest.

“She said you were tired of your bodyguard,” he continues, his voice dropping to what he probably thinks is a seductive whisper. It sounds like a dying frog. “That you wanted a real man.”

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. A real man? This snivelling little sycophant wouldn’t know a real man if it smacked him on his arse. I let my fingers trail down his arm, a slow, deliberate caress that has his breath hitching.

“Maybe she was right,” I whisper, leaning in closer, invading his space. I can smell his cheap cologne, a cloying, desperate scent. “But I don’t really want to talk in the middle of a path with your friends watching.” I flick my gaze over his three goons, who are watching us with leering interest.

“Of course not,” he says, his voice smug. “I have somewhere more private in mind. Somewhere with a better view.” He offers me his arm, a gentlemanly gesture that is utterly at odds with the crowbar one of his goons is holding. “The clock tower. We can be alone up there.”

My stomach clenches. “The clock tower?” Not the boathouse.

The boathouse was a decoy.

Ana is smarter than I gave her credit for. My three self-appointed knights, my violent, possessive protectors, are on their way to the wrong damn castle.

I am alone.

Four of them, one of me.

The odds are shit.

But when did that ever stop me? This changes nothing. It just means the satisfaction of gutting this little prick will be entirely mine.

I let a slow, sultry smile curve my lips. My hand tightens on his arm. “The clock tower sounds perfect,” I purr, my voice a silken promise.

“This way,” he says, his voice thick with triumph.

I take his arm, letting him lead me away.

His goons fall into step behind us, their heavy footsteps a clumsy rhythm on the stone path.

I walk with my head held high, the perfect prize being led to her glorious humiliation.

But under the thin fabric of my dress, the cool, hard weight of the blade strapped to my thigh is a promise.

They think I’m a lamb. They have no idea they’re about to lock themselves in a tower with a fucking wolf.

It looms over the courtyard as we approach. He pushes the heavy oak door at its base open, revealing a spiral staircase shrouded in darkness. The air inside is thick with the smell of dust, old stone, and the faint, metallic scent of anticipation.

“After you, princess,” Maddox says.

The stone steps are worn smooth in the centre, spiralling up into the gloom.

My hand trails along the cold, rough wall, my senses mapping the space.

One entrance, one exit. A narrow, enclosed battlefield.

With each step, the hum of fear sharpens into a razor’s edge. It doesn’t paralyse me. It prepares me.

We emerge onto the top floor. Above us, gears the size of dinner plates tick and whir with a low, rhythmic groan.

Maddox’s guys block the staircase. Their arms are crossed, their faces set in sneering masks of triumph. The trap is sprung as they slam the door closed.

The sound echoes like a gunshot in the cavernous space. He drops the charming facade like a snake shedding its skin. His smile is gone, replaced by a look of pure, malicious glee.

“Welcome to the party, princess,” he sneers. “Glad you could make it.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Did he really think it would be this easy?

“You’re all alone up here, sweetheart. No one can hear you scream. We’re going to teach you a lesson. A little hazing, to welcome you to St. Seb’s properly.” He begins to unbuckle his belt. The metallic click is unnaturally loud in the ticking silence. “We’re going to teach you the hierarchy.”

Rape? How fucking original. It’s all pathetic men like Maddox have in their arsenal.

They aren’t wasting any time.

The shaved-head goon lunges for me.

My body moves on pure instinct. I pivot on the ball of my foot, letting his momentum carry him past me. As he stumbles, off-balance, I drive my elbow back into his kidney. Hard. He grunts, a sharp exhalation of pain, and crashes into the clockwork machinery with a clang of metal on metal.

A second one comes at me from the side. I drop low, sweeping my leg out in a powerful arc, catching his ankle. He goes down with a surprised yelp, his head cracking against the stone floor with a sickening thud. He groans once and lies still. Two down.

They pause, their smug confidence faltering. They expected tears. They expected pleading. They did not expect this. “Didn’t you do your research, Maddox?” I laugh. “Did you just take Ana’s word for it?”

Maddox and his third idiot come at me together, smarter this time, trying to flank me.

I backpedal, keeping them both in my line of sight.

I block a clumsy punch from Maddox—good to know where he stands on hitting women— the force of it jarring my arm to the shoulder.

I use his momentum to spin away, delivering a sharp, snapping kick to the other’s kneecap.

I hear a distinct pop, and he howls, dropping to the floor and clutching his ruined leg.

But the first one recovers. He grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back so hard that stars explode behind my eyes. Pain, white-hot and blinding, erupts at my scalp. He grins, his breath hot and foul in my face. “Got you now, you little bitch.”

His grip is iron. Rage, pure and cold, cuts through the pain.

I slam the heel of my hand upwards into his nose.

There is a wet, crunching sound. He screams, a choked, gurgling cry, and lets go of me as blood pours down his face.

He stumbles back, clutching his shattered nose, his eyes wide with shock and agony.

Now, it’s just me and Maddox.

He stands there, his belt dangling from his hand, his face a mask of disbelief and incandescent rage. The pathetic bravado has evaporated, replaced by the raw, ugly fury of a spoilt child who has just had his favourite toy broken.

“You fucking cunt,” he hisses. He lunges, swinging the heavy belt buckle like a mediaeval flail.

I dodge the first swing, the buckle whistling past my ear and clanging against a huge brass gear.

I dodge the second, but the leather strap catches me across the ribs.

A line of fire erupts across my side, and I gasp, the air knocked from my lungs.

He swings again, and this time I’m not fast enough.

The buckle connects with my shoulder, and a deep, throbbing pain radiates down my arm.

I stumble back against the solid stone wall. Maddox advances, his eyes gleaming, his chest heaving. He has me cornered.

“Not so tough now, are you?” he pants, raising the belt for another strike.

My hand darts to my thigh. The leather strap, the cool, familiar shape of the handle. I rip the blade from its sheath just as he swings.

The blade flashes, a silver arc of defiance. It connects with his outstretched arm. The knife is razor sharp. It slices through his expensive shirt as if it were tissue paper, biting deep into the flesh of his forearm.

He grunts. “I’ll kill you!”

I brace myself, knife held ready. He’s bigger, stronger, and now he’s fighting like a maniac.

He crashes into me, his weight driving me hard against the wall.

My head snaps back, and for a second, the world goes white.

The knife is knocked from my grasp, skittering across the stone floor out of reach.

His hands are around my throat.

His thumbs press down on my windpipe, and my vision starts to swim.

Black spots dance at the edges. I claw at his hands, my nails digging into his skin, but his grip is like iron.

I can’t breathe. The rhythmic ticking of the clock above our heads is a deafening roar in my ears.

Panic, cold and sharp, tries to claw its way up my chest. I fight it down.

Closing my eyes, I remember what Dad always taught me. Relax. Loosen your muscles.

I do it, prepared to twist, but he doesn’t let go, if anything, he chokes me further. He lets one hand drop away as my vision blurs, to crawl up my thigh.

A splintering crash echoes up from below. The sound of heavy, running footsteps on the spiral stairs, too fast, too powerful to be more of Headley’s crew.

The door to the clock room bursts open with such force that it slams against the stone wall and shatters off one of its hinges.

Viper and Rafferty pour through the doorway, avenging angels forged in hellfire.

They take in the scene in a heartbeat, the three guys laid out, but I’m pinned to the wall with Maddox about to violate me.

“I’ll take it from here,” Viper says, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that promises a world of pain.