Page 8 of Venom (St. Sebastian’s at Cravenmoor Academy #1)

Rafferty

I leave Locke to his fucking plotting. He can play the long game, moving his chess pieces around the board. He sees a political marriage; I see a firecracker I want to set off in my bed. He talks about finesse, hierarchy, and rules. I prefer to make my own fucking rules.

Venetia Corbyn-Hale. I’ve seen the clip from the club a dozen times now. The way she moved on Viper Stone. Fuck. That’s a woman who knows how to play. A woman who speaks my language: violence and fucking.

Locke wants to separate her from her pet snake. I want to see what happens when you poke them both with a stick. He wants her tamed. I want her unleashed.

I pull out my phone and send a single text to one of my contacts in Manchester. Sniper. VCH job. Find him. Alive.

Information is power, sure, but action is everything.

While Blake is planning his charming introduction, I’ll be finding the poor bastard who had the balls to take a shot at her and failed.

He’ll tell me who hired him, and that information will be my key to getting what I want.

Locke can have his empire. I’ll take the queen, and I’ll have a hell of a lot more fun doing it.

I shove my phone back in my pocket and head for the door. Real power is taken, usually with your hands around someone’s throat.

I bypass the gym and head for my room. It overlooks the main drive, giving me the perfect fucking vantage point to see the new arrivals.

I want to see this for myself. The untameable princess and her bodyguard.

Locke thinks Stone is nothing here. He’s wrong.

A man like that, a man who lives by his fists and his reputation, doesn’t just become nothing. He adapts better than most, I’d bet.

I grab a beer from the fridge, twisting the cap off as I lean against the window frame. This is going to be fucking brilliant. Two new players in this stagnant fishbowl. One is a queen with a death wish, and the other is a killer who truly doesn’t give a shit.

Checking my phone for the time, I realise there are a few hours yet before she is due to arrive.

A few hours is a fucking eternity. I drain the beer and toss the bottle into the bin. It lands with a satisfying smash. Locke can sit in his library sniffing his fucking Scotch and pretending he’s a king. Kings get their heads chopped off. I prefer to be the one holding the axe.

Stripping off, I change into workout clothes so I can hit the gym and burn off some steam. Heading back out, I make my way down to the gym.

It is state-of-the-art, a playground for apex predators to keep their claws sharp. I use it to break shit.

The heavy bag swings from its chain like a corpse, and I start into it, my knuckles cracking against the worn leather. Left jab, right cross, hook. The rhythm is familiar, brutal. Each impact is a thought. Venetia. Viper. Blake.

The bag groans under the assault, a stand-in for every fucking obstacle.

Venetia. The thought of her sends a jolt through me, hotter than the burn in my muscles.

Viper. A problem, sure, but every problem has a weak spot.

Blake. He can have his fucking chess game.

He plays for kingdoms. He’s my best mate, but he can be such a douche sometimes.

Me . I play for the thrill of the win, for the feel of her beneath me, screaming my name.

I slam a final, brutal combination into the bag, the chains rattling violently.

“Feel better?”

I grab the bag to stop it from swinging wildly, but I don’t turn towards Blake’s voice. “Sort of.”

“Got a name yet?”

“My guys are quick, but not that quick. This was a shady deal, it will take some time.”

“What makes you say it was shady?”

“No one takes a hit out on a Corbyn-Hale and then goes on to miss. That’s suicide. Whoever this was, they weren’t a pro, it was a back-alley deal.”

“What is this nasty business she’s been digging into?”

Turning to him, I search his eyes. “She is digging up those who traffic women.”

Blake raises an eyebrow. “Oh? That’s… bold.”

“That’s put a price on her head by someone who doesn’t want her finding what they have buried.”

“Any idea why she has such intentions?”

“Does it matter?”

“It’s all part of the puzzle.”

“Hmm,” I mutter.

“Ana is not happy.”

Blake’s change in topic makes me snicker. “When is she ever?”

“Less so now. The Queen Bee is about to get stung.”

I let out a harsh laugh, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my glove. “About fucking time. Ana’s been queen of this castle for too long, ruling with nothing but Daddy’s money and an iron bitch fist.”

“Ana’s predictable rage will be a useful distraction. It will keep the lesser players occupied while we focus on the real prize.”

“You can focus on your prize,” I grunt, turning back to the heavy bag and delivering a vicious uppercut that makes it shudder on its chains. “I’m just here for the show.”

“The show,” Blake muses, his voice infuriatingly calm, “will involve a feral bodyguard who kills with snake venom. That’s not a distraction, that’s a complication.”

“He’s only a complication if he gets in my way,” I snarl, my knuckles screaming in protest. “And everyone who gets in my way eventually moves.”

I step back from the bag, breathing hard.

The workout hasn’t done shit to quell the restless energy coiling in my gut.

I need to see her. I need to see the woman who has a killer snake for a bodyguard and a hit on her head.

I need to see if the fire in her eyes is as real as it looks on screen. I need to know what breaks her.

“They were high school rivals,” Blake muses. “That is going to add a layer to this that I find interesting.”

Interesting. “I’m done here,” I say, unwrapping my hands. “Let me know when the circus arrives.” I stalk past him, heading for my room. Let Ana play her games. I’m looking forward to seeing Venetia Corbyn-Hale put her in her place.

As I’m leaving the gym, I pass Maddox Headley and his crew, hovering around, looking suspicious, talking in hushed whispers. His gaze meets mine, and he shuts his mouth, glaring at me for interrupting his little meeting.

I glare back, and he lowers his gaze.

That’s right, arsehole.

Making my way back to my room, I shove the door open and head straight for the shower.

Stripping off, I turn it on and step under the scalding spray.

The water does fuck all to cool the fire in my blood.

All I can see is her. Green eyes spitting defiance.

A body made for sin, tits bouncing as she grinds on Stone.

I slam my fist against the tiled wall. The brief sting of pain is a welcome distraction. The flash of jealousy is unfamiliar. But that’s what this all boils down to.

I’m jealous of that arsehole. But not for long. Soon she will be bouncing up and down on my cock before I ruin her for any other guy.

I stifle a grunt as my cock stands to attention at the thought of it. I grip it tightly and tug hard, working myself up over this woman who is about to rattle every cage here.

My hand works faster as I imagine her arching back, those glorious tits on full display for me and me alone.

The sound of my own harsh breathing fills the steam-choked space.

A woman like that isn’t won with leashes or pretty words.

She’s won with a firm hand around her throat and a cock that knows how to claim her.

My orgasm tears through me, a raw grunt of release. I lean my forehead against the cool, wet tiles, my body shuddering as the last wave of pleasure recedes. The fantasy fades, leaving only the cold, hard reality of my goal.

I shut off the water and step out, grabbing a towel.

I dry off and get dressed in black jeans and a grey tee that does nothing to hide the ink on my arms. Picking up my phone, I tap it and see no new messages.

This is taking too long. I want the name of the cunt who tried to off her to drop at her feet, before I remove them from the board for good.