Page 9 of Venom (St. Sebastian’s at Cravenmoor Academy #1)

Venetia

T he silence is uncomfortable, but I don’t do anything to break it. I’m furious with my dad for doing this to me. He knows this isn’t what I want, and yet he is shipping me off like some idiot child. And like an even bigger idiot, I let him.

It’s the lesser of two evils, I know that. I know my dad better than anyone.

The hissing in the back seat breaks through my thoughts, and I turn to Viper. “Do you have anti-venom?”

He smiles, but it’s sinister and fucking too sexy for my liking. “I’m not an idiot, Venetia. It’s in the glove compartment.”

I lean forward and open it, not trusting him in the least. I see vials there in a plastic box and breathe out in relief. At least if the spawn of Satan escapes and decides to take offence to my presence, he can save me.

If he wants to.

I gulp and slam it shut.

“Have you ever killed anyone, Venetia?”

His question catches me off guard. “What business is it of yours?”

“We’re going to be spending every second together for the next year. Might as well get to know each other a bit.”

A year with him. Ugh. I hate my dad.

“My first kill was three years ago when I was eighteen,” I say, deciding to play his game, but also to let him know I’m not helpless. “A girl I went to school with was raped on a night out. I hunted him down and made him regret ever setting eyes on her.”

“How?”

I blink. “I stabbed him multiple times before I gouged his eyes out, cut his hands off, and burnt his corpse.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Violent. I like it. You ever shoot someone?”

“Kills two and four.”

“Out of how many?”

“Six. What about you?”

“What about me, what?”

“How many?”

“Lost count.”

Of course he has. Arrogant fucker.

“How come you never went to this academy after school?”

“Higher education isn’t for me.”

“There’s more to it than that.”

Yeah, there is, but I don’t want to tell him.

But similarly with the Nathan revelation, it tumbles out anyway.

“My mum died when I was seventeen. From breast cancer. I—I didn’t want to leave my dad alone.

” I fix my eyes on the road in front and don’t turn even when I see his face staring at me out of the corner of my eye.

We ride in silence for a few minutes, and then he pulls off at the Services. He pulls into a parking space and unclips his seatbelt. He reaches over and takes my chin in his strong grip, turning my head to face him.

His thumb strokes lightly over my jaw, a shockingly gentle gesture that sends a jolt straight to my pussy. His dark blue eyes search mine with a raw intensity that sees past the bullshit I surround myself with. He sees the cracks. I hate him for it.

“That’s why you fight so hard,” he says, his voice a low rumble. It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact. “For them. Because you couldn’t save her. ”

My breath hitches. The truth of his words is a punch to the gut. I try to pull my face away, but his grip is unyielding steel. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my lips. For a terrifying second, I think he’s going to kiss me. My body tenses, a war of want and rage coiling deep inside me. He’s the hired help. He’s my jailer. He’s the only one who’s looked at my past and hasn’t flinched.

Then he lets me go, the abrupt loss of contact leaving my skin cold.

“Get what you need,” he orders, his voice reverting to its usual hard edge.

“Coffee. Piss. Whatever. We’re not stopping again until we get there.

” He opens his door, leaving me reeling in a confusing storm of fury and something dangerously close to respect.

I watch him stride towards the entrance of the service station, his broad back a testament to the power he wields so easily.

Fucker. He disarms me with a moment of understanding, then immediately puts the walls back up.

But this horrible conversation has reminded me of something.

I haven’t checked for a while. I was obsessive over it for years, but lately, the older I get, even though I’m still only twenty-one, a part of me doesn’t want to know.

I grab my bag at my feet and climb out of the car.

Immediately, I feel eyes on me. I always do.

I hurry across the busy car park to the building and enter the ladies’ room quickly, shutting myself into a cubicle and hanging my bag up on the hook on the back of the door.

I pull my dress down and unclasp my strapless bra, placing it carefully over my bag.

And then I do a lump check. Slowly, eyes closed, as I was taught, in a circular motion around both of my breasts.

Moments later, I open my eyes and focus on my bra before I reach for it and put it back on, hoisting the girls into place before I pull my dress back up.

Tears prick my eyes, but I brush them away quickly and then flush the loo.

Grabbing my bag, I leave the cubicle. I wash my hands and head out to find coffee.

Instead, I find Viper loitering, coffee cup in one hand and talking on his phone as a woman eyes him up a few feet away.

He appears oblivious to the attention. When I look around, I see more than one woman staring at him. A flash of annoyance rips through me.

His call ends with a curt, “Get it done,” and he shoves the phone into his pocket.

His gaze sweeps the area, dismissing the hopeful women with an indifference that’s almost as insulting as a direct rejection, before it lands on me.

A slow smirk curves his lips. The intensity in his dark blue eyes pins me to the spot.

The world falls away, leaving just the two of us in this brightly lit, sterile hell.

He stalks towards me, a predator in his natural habitat, and for a second, I think he’s going to grab me and haul me out of here.

Instead, he shoves the cup of coffee into my hand. “Drink up. We’re leaving.”

His fingers brush against mine, a brief, searing contact that sends a jolt up my arm. I snatch my hand back as if I’ve been burnt, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I didn’t ask you to get me anything.”

“I wasn’t asking if you wanted it,” he says, his voice a low growl. “I’m telling you to drink it. Obedience, wildcat, remember?”

Without another word, he turns and heads for the exit, leaving a trail of women drooling over him in his wake, shooting daggers at me. Fuck them, silly bitches. They wouldn’t know how to handle a man like Viper Stone, even if he gave them the time of day.

I consider making him wait, but the idea of him throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me out of here is a real possibility, so I’m left with no choice but to follow, clutching the warm cup like a lifeline.

I take a sip. The coffee is bitter, strong, and exactly how I like it.

Fucker. Back in the car, the silence is heavier than before, charged with the things we don’t say.

“Do you always get women drooling over you wherever you go?” I ask, irritated beyond belief.

He shrugs. “Who cares? You?”

“I don’t care. If they knew how much of a red flag you were, they’d run screaming in the opposite direction.”

“Would they?”

“Yes,” I bite out, refusing to look at him. “They’d see you for the monster you are and run for the fucking hills.”

“But you’re not running, are you?” he murmurs, the words a silken threat that slides over my skin. “You’re sitting right here beside me. What does that make you, Venetia?”

I turn on him, my eyes narrowed. “It makes me a prisoner.”

His laugh is a low, dark rumble that vibrates through the seat. “Keep telling yourself that, wildcat. Maybe one day you’ll even believe it.”

I don’t grace him with a response, instead turning my attention to the changing scenery. The urban sprawl has bled away, replaced by rolling hills and vast, empty moors. The sky is cloudless and gorgeous, but a cold knot is forming in my stomach.

I should’ve run.

“I’m a prisoner as well, you know,” he says after a few minutes. “This isn’t how I wanted my next twelve months to go.”

“So why did you agree to it?” I ask desperately.

“Your dad made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter.

“I need you to be a good girl for me, Venetia. Can you do that?” His sincere question, laced with a sexual undertone, makes me clench my jaw.

I want to tell him to go to hell, but the fight goes out of me. “Sure, whatever.”

“Sure, whatever, what?”

“What?” I snap.

He takes the slip road that takes us off the motorway, and I wait in silence as we sit at the roundabout at the top. After he has navigated through the late morning traffic, he pulls over to the side of the road.

“Sure, whatever, what?” he says, turning to me, a wicked, expectant gleam in his eye.

I know exactly what he wants from me. I almost refuse to give it to him until the thought strikes me. There is power in that word. In its meaning. And it isn’t his.

“Sure, whatever, Daddy . I’ll be a good girl for you.”

His eyes flash with a deep lust, and he stifles a groan.

A muscle in his jaw clenches so hard I think he might shatter his teeth.

He puts the car back in gear and pulls out onto the road with a viciousness that makes the tyres squeal.

The victory is a sweet, heady rush in my veins.

I found his weakness. He wants control, wants to be the dominant one, but a single word from me can make him lose that iron composure.

He didn’t expect that. This game just got a lot more interesting.

We drive the rest of the way in a silence so thick it’s suffocating. But my triumph is hard to smother.

Then, it appears. A dark slash against the blue sky.

St. Sebastian’s at Cravenmoor Academy. It’s not an academy; it’s a fucking fortress, a collection of gothic buildings surrounded by ancient stone walls that scream ‘keep out’.

Gargoyles sneer down from the rooftops, their stone eyes watching as Viper steers the Range Rover towards a set of colossal iron gates.

This is it. My gilded cage.

He pulls to a stop, and the gates swing open with a low groan, an invitation into the lion’s den.