Page 5 of Venom (St. Sebastian’s at Cravenmoor Academy #1)

Venetia

I haven’t moved an inch in the last twenty minutes. I’ve been staring out of my bedroom window at the black Range Rover that is parked up and wondering who the fuck it belongs to at this early hour.

My phone buzzes on the bedside cabinet, and I tear my eyes away from the car, crossing over to pick it up. It’s a text from Dad telling me to come downstairs.

With a grimace, I straighten the top of my stretchy, strapless white dress and slip my feet into the sky-high heels, waiting for this moment. Whatever Dad’s plan is, I’m about to find out.

I take a deep, steadying breath, squaring my shoulders and fluffing out my hair.

This is it. The battle begins now. My heels are a sharp, deliberate staccato on the polished marble as I descend the grand staircase, each step a declaration of war.

I don’t bother to soften my approach. Let him hear me coming.

Let him know I’m not afraid of whatever punishment he’s devised.

I push open the heavy study door without knocking and stride inside, my gaze immediately locking on my father behind his desk. His expression is grim and resolved. But he isn’t the one who makes my blood run cold.

It’s the man sitting in the armchair opposite him.

My steps falter for a fraction of a second.

Viper Stone. He’s here. In my house. Lounging in the leather chair as if he belongs, his tattooed arms on show in the tight black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, resting casually on the arms of the chair.

I take in the rest of his appearance with fresh eyes.

His dark brown hair is cut close, and his navy blue eyes are unreadable.

His attitude screams that he has won something, but I’m fucked if I know what that is.

Did he know who I was last night and came to my dad, or did my dad go to him for this little meeting?

Either way, it’s not going to end well for me. The stench of plotting is hanging in the air.

My gaze snaps back to my father. “What is this?” I ask, remaining as calm as I can.

“Sit.”

It’s a quiet command, and one I obey without question.

My father’s eyes are cold, unyielding. “This,” he says, his voice dangerously calm, “is your new reality, Venetia.”

Viper’s dark gaze sweeps over me, a slow, predatory assessment that makes my skin prickle with a mixture of fury and something else I refuse to name. A slow, infuriating smirk plays on his lips. He’s enjoying this. He’s a willing participant in whatever fresh hell my father has concocted.

“You are doing something you should have done three years ago,” Dad continues, as if discussing a holiday booking. “You are going into tertiary education. To St. Sebastian’s College. Mr Stone has agreed to accompany you. To ensure your safety.”

A laugh, sharp and incredulous, bursts from my lips. I can’t help it. The sheer absurdity is staggering. “You cannot be serious.” My head whips back to Viper, my eyes spitting fire. “You’re sending me away? You’re hiring him ? A gangster from the arse-end of Manchester to babysit me?”

The insult hangs in the air, a deliberate provocation.

Viper doesn’t even flinch. He just leans back further, an arrogant king on a borrowed throne.

“The word your father used was ‘protect’,” he rumbles, his voice a low, gravelly thing that vibrates right through me.

“But if you need a babysitter, princess, I can be that too.”

My hands clench into fists. The condescending nickname grates on every last nerve. “I would rather take my chances with the sniper.”

“ That is not an option,” Dad snaps, his patience finally cracking. “This is happening. You will go to St. Seb’s. He will go with you. You will do as he says. End of discussion.”

“Like hell it is!” I spit. “This is my life! You don’t get to hand me over to some tattooed thug like I’m a piece of property!”

“You have one choice. This is it,” Dad says, resuming his icy cold attitude. “You leave shortly. I suggest you go and pack.”

“No.”

We lock gazes. Father and daughter so alike in many ways, but I am no match for him, and we both know it. If I don’t do as he says and get my arse to St. Seb’s, he will find an even worse way to remove me from the board, and I fear what that will look like.

“Go.”

I rise slowly, stiffly.

“Go with her,” he orders Viper. “To make sure she doesn’t run.”

Fucker . He knows me too well.

My spine goes rigid. I want to tell them both to go to hell, but the finality in my father’s tone is a steel trap snapping shut. I pivot on my heel, a silent snarl twisting my lips. Viper rises from the chair, a slow, deliberate movement that oozes self-satisfaction.

Every instinct screams at me to fight, to claw his smug face, to burn this entire house down around them. But I know that look on my father’s face. He’s reached the end of his rope. Any further defiance now will only lead to a cage without even a pretend key.

So I walk.

I stalk out of the study, my back ramrod straight, my head held high. His heavy footsteps fall into step behind me as we climb the sweeping staircase. His presence is a physical thing, a dark shadow clinging to me, sucking the air from my lungs.

I climb the sweeping staircase, acutely aware of his gaze on my back, tracing the line of my spine, the curve of my arse in the white dress.

A traitorous shiver works its way through me, one part rage, one part a deep, disgusting lust, the kind that makes me rub one out over him while I’m in the shower.

We reach the landing, and I stop before the doors to my suite. My sanctuary. Now he’s about to invade it. My hand trembles as I reach for the handle.

“Open it,” he commands, his voice soft but laced with steel. It’s not a request. It’s the first of many orders I’m expected to obey.

“Shouldn’t you?” I bite back. “In case an assassin is lurking in the shadows, ready to kill me.”

His lips twitch, the barest hint of a smirk that infuriates me more than an outright laugh.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his hand shoots past my head and shoves the door open with enough force that it slams against the inner wall, the crack of wood echoing in the opulent hallway.

I flinch, the flash of aggression hits a nerve deep inside, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking at him.

“After you, Venetia,” he murmurs.

I stalk into my room, my jaw so tight it aches. This is my space. Mine. But his presence pollutes it instantly, turning my sanctuary into a cell he now holds the key to. He follows me in, the door clicking shut behind him with damning finality.

He doesn’t prowl or inspect. He just stands there, a mountain of tattooed muscle and sheer menace, and watches me. His stillness is more unnerving than any threat.

“Pack a bag,” he orders, his voice flat. “Practical shit. You’ve got twenty minutes.”

I spin around, my hands on my hips. “I’ll take as long as I need.”

His eyes darken, a storm brewing in their navy depths. He takes a slow step towards me, closing the distance until I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. “Twenty minutes,” he repeats, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. “Or I’ll pack for you, and I guarantee you won’t like my choices.”

“Are you always this big of an arse or just with me?”

“You,” he echoes slowly and walks to the window, turning his back on me. “You, girlie, have got a spanking coming to you if you don’t quit with the attitude.”

“Call me ‘girlie’ again and I’ll slice your dick off.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

I smile and slip my hand under my mattress, right under my pillow. I pull out the stiletto blade and make it two steps before he spins and lunges for me, gripping my wrist as he spins me around.

“Ah,” I grunt as he practically snaps my bone in half. “Get off, you fucker.”

“Make me,” he pants in my ear.

Clenching my jaw, I brace for impact and smack the back of my head into his face. I go dizzy, but he grunts and lets me go.

“Fucking hell, wildcat. You play dirty, don’t you?” His hands are either side of his nose, but he’s not bleeding, so I didn’t break it.

Dammit.

“When you’re built like me and predators lay their hands on me, nothing is off limits. Remember that.” I brandish the knife at him.

“Noted,” he says, a look of admiration in his gaze before he squashes it. “Eighteen minutes.”

Grimacing, I pull out a suitcase from my walk-in wardrobe and fling it onto the bed, shoving the top back so I can start throwing stuff in. I don’t for one second think he won’t make good on his threat, and I refuse to walk through the gates of St. Seb’s with a suitcase full of lingerie.

“Where exactly are you going to be staying? St. Seb’s has private rooms, solo occupancy if I recall from the brochure.”

“In your room, wildcat.”

I turn on him in fury. “Oh, like hell, you will. I don’t want you creeping about being a voyeur when I decide to fuck every guy there just for something to do.”

“Every guy?” He raises an eyebrow. “I’m not into watching. I prefer to be an active participant.”

“In your fucking dreams.”

“You were last night,” he murmurs. “My cock is still hard from your sweet pussy grinding down on it.”

“Fuck. You.”

He smirks. “I will be the last thing you see at night when you close your pretty green eyes, Venetia, and the first thing you see when you open them in the morning. I won’t just be in your room, but I will be in your bed. My back doesn’t like sleeping on the floor.”

“Your back?” I spit out. “Fuck your back! You aren’t sleeping in my bed with me!”

“Wanna bet?”

“You are infuriating.”

“So are you. Pack your bags. Ten minutes.”

I huff out an angry breath and start pulling out clothes from my wardrobe.

“You are very monochrome,” he observes. “Only white and black.”

“Says the man dressed all in black with a black Range Rover sitting outside.”

“Fair enough,” he says. “Are you going to tell me why you were in my club last night practically coming all over my cock?”

“I wasn’t coming over anything. You were about to burst your balls over a lap dance, so shut the fuck up.”

“My hand is itching to spank your arse, so don’t give me a reason, Venetia. You owe me an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” I spit, turning my back on him and yanking a stack of black jeans from a shelf. I shove them into the suitcase with unnecessary force. “My father hired you. You work for him. Which means you work for me. So maybe you should remember who’s in charge.”

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. “You think you’re in charge?

” he asks, his voice dangerously close to my ear.

I hadn’t even heard him move. My body goes rigid as his heat seeps into my back.

“Let’s get something straight, wildcat. Your dad is paying me to keep you alive.

That’s my only job. How I do it is up to me, and right now, I say you tell me why you were sniffing around my territory. ”

I refuse to turn around. “I was conducting an investigation,” I say through gritted teeth, grabbing a handful of white silk tops.

“An investigation into what? How big my dick is?”

My hand stills. The bastard. I can feel the smirk in his voice. “I was checking that you weren’t trafficking the dancers. Satisfied?”

There is a pause. A slightly pissed-off pause, which tells me all I need to know, if I had any doubts. He’s clean. “And what did you find?” His voice is a purr, laced with arrogance.

“That you’re a massive arsehole, but not that kind of monster.” I toss the tops into the case. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he says, stepping back. The loss of his body heat is startling. “Five minutes.”

I moved to the en-suite to get my toiletries. When I return, he is back by the window.

“Why?”

“Why what?” I mutter.

“Why are you so bothered about the girls?”

My blood runs cooler. “None of your business.”

“A pretty mafia heiress like you, doesn’t stick her nose into sick business like that unless she has a reason.”

“They have no one else to look out for them.”

“You mean you didn’t, so you’re paying it forward.”

I freeze. Fuck him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Liar.” He moves in closer again. “Who hurt you, Venetia?”

“No one.”

“I can dig into your life, and I can dredge up all of your skeletons, or you can tell me.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“I don’t think for one second that you were trafficked. You look exactly like your dad,” he says dryly. “So, what is it?”

“My ex, Nathan. Was an enormous gaslighting, narcissistic cunt. I don’t pretend to know what vulnerable women are going through on a daily basis, but I know I can help them get out of situations they don’t want to be in.”

We are both stunned into silence after that. I don’t even know what made me tell him, and he is shocked that I did.

“And he still lives?” he says after a beat.

“Unfortunately.”

A muscle in his jaw clenches. The air shifts, the playful antagonism draining away to be replaced by something cold and still. He doesn’t offer sympathy; men like him don’t deal in such flimsy currency. He deals in violence.

“That can be fixed,” he says, his voice a low growl that vibrates through the room. It’s not a question. It’s a statement of intent.

My breath catches. The casual way he talks about ending a life makes a slow smile curve my lips. “I don’t need you to fix my problems.”

“Doesn’t sound like you fixed it very well yourself if he’s still breathing,” he counters, his gaze sharp, cutting. “A man like that, they don’t stop. They just find another girl to break.”

His words hit their mark, a painful truth I’ve tried to ignore.

“I said you don’t need to fix it. And if you breathe his name to my dad, I will end you. Don’t concern yourself with my past.”

“You and your past are my concern now,” he says, his voice dropping again, intimate and possessive. “Which means your enemies are my enemies. I don’t leave enemies standing.”

I stare at him, caught in the intensity of his dark blue gaze. This is more dangerous than our earlier sparring. This is real.

“Time’s up,” he says, breaking the spell. He nods towards the door. “Let’s go, wildcat. The posh academy is waiting.”