Page 10 of Vicious and Volatile (Vengeance and Venom #2)

W hen I wake the next morning, it’s to a note from Ares.

At the office taking care of some things. Meeting with James and the team. Need to plan a meeting with the Barons about Augustus, but that will have to wait a few days. Call me if you need anything at all. But I thought you should take the day with Ophelia. I’m happy you have her back. And I’m so damn proud of you, Vengeance.

My fingers brush over my lips as I read his handwritten note. It’s been years since anyone told me they were proud of me. If I were a cat, I’d be full on purring right now.

I pad out of the bedroom, listening at the door to Ophelia’s room. I don’t hear anything, and after a quick check in the rest of the penthouse, determine she’s still asleep.

I dress quickly, in a simple dark blue dress that’s comfortable, and comb through my hair. Ready for anything today, I head back out into the living room. Considering Ares is gone for hours, for the very first time, I find the remote and open all of the window coverings.

Damn. It really is a shame he can’t let the light in. Because it’s gorgeous in here with all this natural light spilling in. And the view… Central Park looks glorious today in the brilliant summer sun.

I’ve never really known what I was doing in the kitchen, but I do know that Ophelia needs to eat. So, I head to the fridge and pull it open. There are some pre-made meals that the cook has left, but all of them are lunch or dinner foods. But I spot a carton of eggs on the top shelf.

Eggs aren’t that hard. Right?

For the very first time, I dig through the cupboards. I find a frying pan. I retrieve a spatula. There’s even some butter in the fridge. I fire up the stove with a little trial and error and melt the butter in the pan. I crack half a dozen eggs into it and swirl the cooking utensil through the goopy mess.

And as if summoned by the scent of food, the guest bedroom door opens, and out steps Ophelia.

“Morning,” I say, offering a smile as she looks around, seeming a little disoriented, but looking a hell of a lot better than last night. She’s even dressed and ready for the day. “I made breakfast.”

“Oh boy,” she says, giving me a well-earned and wary smile.

“Hey, you should feel honored,” I say, brandishing that spatula. “I only cook for people who are really special.”

“Thank you,” she offers as she sits at the massive dining table that I have actually never sat at yet. “It really was sweet of you.”

I look at the mess I’ve made in the pan. How can something look burned and undercooked at the same time? I swirl it all together, trying to even it out, then scoop out equal portions onto two plates. I round up some forks and then join Ophelia at the table, setting her plate in front of her.

“Eat up,” I say as I sink into my own chair. I stab a fluff of eggs and look at Ophelia. “You need it.”

“We don’t body shame, Lana,” Ophelia teases me, even as she scoops the first bite into her mouth. She fans at her open mouth as it burns her tongue, laughing as her eyes water.

“Sorry, straight out of the pan,” I chuckle back, blowing on my own bite before stuffing it into my mouth.

“No, hot is good,” she says as she cautiously chews. “It’s the first hot thing I’ve eaten in fucking forever.”

Ugh. I hate this. The reality of what happened, of how long it was. “Well, eat up. I can cook more if you want.”

“Oh, I don’t know if that’s gonna happen, babe,” she says as she slows her chewing. And then she spits it back out onto her plate. “There’s shells all over in these eggs.”

At just that moment, I bite into a crunch that turns my stomach. I spit my own bite out. “Oh shit. Those are bad, huh?”

“They’re pretty bad,” she laughs at my expression. “But the thought was sweet.”

“Should we go out?” I suggest with a chuckle.

“I think we should,” Ophelia agrees with a nod.

“Come on,” I say, standing and heading toward the door. I loop my purse strap over my head and pull out my keys. Ophelia follows right behind wearing my clothes and shoes. She watches without saying anything as I lock the door and then we head down in the elevator.

We step into the hot, muggy air. It’s wildly busy outside, all the locals bustling to unknown places and the tourists rushing to see every possible sight.

We cross the street where Central Park stretches out ahead, vibrant with joggers, dog walkers, and tourists snapping pictures of the littlest, most mundane things.

Ophelia keeps close to me, her arms wrapped around her middle, her steps cautious. I match her pace, giving her time to take it all in.

“It’s so normal out here,” she says after a while, her voice soft. “It’s like… nothing happened.”

“It’s Manhattan, babe,” I reply. “Nothing is actually normal here.”

She snorts, a flicker of her old self peeking through. “That’s one way to put it.”

We find a smoothie cart near the edge of the lake. I order two sunrise blasts, slipping a couple of extra dollars into the tip jar as the barista hands them over. I pass Ophelia hers, and we find an empty bench overlooking the water.

She stares at the lake, holding the drink in her lap. “I used to think parks were so boring. Remember? I’d always whine when you tried to make me go out running with you.”

“You hate dirt and bugs,” I say with a smile.

Her lips curve into a faint grin. “Guess some things don’t change. But the open space now… The sun…” she turns her face up to it, her eyes sliding closed. “That’s something I’ll never take for granted again.”

My heart beats faster as reality looms over us .

There’s a calmness around us in this area of the park that feels almost unnatural after the whirlwind of the last few days.

Ophelia breaks the silence, her voice low. “I thought I was going to die, Lana. So many times.”

Her words hang in the air, cutting through the peaceful backdrop around us. Here it is. I knew it was coming, have been waiting for it. It had to come out eventually. The truth. The trauma. The reality of what happened to her.

I don’t move, letting Ophelia continue.

“I’d wake up every day, wondering if it was the day she’d just… drain me. Or forget about me. Or decide I didn’t taste good anymore and just rip my throat out to put an end to me.” Her grip on the smoothie cup tightens. “And then there were moments I thought maybe I wanted her to. Just to make it stop.”

Tears well in my eyes, but I blink them back, swallowing the lump in my throat. “O…”

“How do I just go back to being… normal? To not feel like prey. I kept seeing her face every time I closed my eyes last night. The way she looked at me like I wasn’t even a person.”

“You are a person,” I say fiercely, setting my cup aside and turning to face her. “You’re Ophelia. You’re smart, funny, annoyingly stubborn. You’re the same person who once talked me into crashing a fundraiser just so we could get free champagne. You’re still you, no matter what that bitch did to you.”

She looks at me, her eyes glassy. “I don’t know, Lana. I feel a little…” her voice cracks. She clears her throat, sitting a little straighter as she tries to gather herself. “Broken?”

I reach for her hand, my fingers closing around hers. “Then we’ll put you back together. Piece by piece, however long it takes. I’m not going anywhere, okay? ”

Her lips tremble, but she nods. For the first time since we sat down, her grip on her cup loosens, and she leans her head against my shoulder.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky to have you,” she whispers.

“You didn’t get lucky,” I reply softly. “You earned me. Just like I earned you. Best friends, remember? Ride or die.”

She laughs weakly. “Ride or die.”

“At least you can feel a little bit better about the fact that the man who did this to us is dead,” I say, recalling the grisly end Augustus met.

“Wait, us ?” Ophelia demands as she sits upright, staring at me with furrowed brows.

Shit.

It suddenly hits me that Ophelia has no idea that I was taken too.

But it’s too late now. Besides, she needs to know. She deserves the truth.

I nod. “I was investigating. Poking at every possibility. When I discovered the warehouse, when I found the people that had been taken, Augustus saw me on his cameras. He had his guys jump me. Take me.”

“Fuck, Lana,” Ophelia says. She’s pale white. “You got sold to a vampire too?”

I swallow once. I nod. “His name was Lawrence. And he wasn’t a good man, but he also made sure I had food and water.”

Ophelia curses again, studying my face. “How long?”

“Eight days is all,” I answer truthfully. “Ares found me, rescued me six days ago. He found the record. It was coded, so that’s why it took a few days to find you. We rescued two other women before you.”

“Holy shit, Lana,” Ophelia says, shaking her head. “I always knew you were the toughest fucking person in this city. Here you are, walking around like being trafficked isn’t the most traumatizing, dehumanizing thing that can happen to a person.”

I take her hand and shake my head. “It’s not like it was fun,” I tell her, my voice firm. “But it was only for eight days, not eight weeks. And besides, it’s not a trauma competition.”

She shakes her head again, studying me. And finally, she looks away, her gaze going over the lake, but not really seeing anything. “As if we weren’t fucked up enough before.”

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?” I joke. “And sometimes gives you unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

Ophelia laughs, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it all. “This is why I love you,” she says as she leans into me. “You get me in ways no one else ever will.”

“I’ve got you, babe,” I say, laying my head on her shoulder this time.

Once we’ve caught our breath, so to speak, and downed these overpriced smoothies, Ophelia declares she needs to do a little retail therapy.

I’m hesitant to agree. After being locked away in isolation for two months, taking on New York might be overwhelming, but maybe doing something normal will be just what she needs.

The streets of Manhattan are alive with their usual buzz, and Ophelia walks beside me with her arms crossed, her head held high. She’s still wearing clothes she borrowed from me and a pair of sunglasses she picked up at the first boutique we stopped at, like armor against the world.

For hours, we browse racks of clothes, wander through department stores, and even stop at a café for overpriced lattes. I don’t typically drink caffeine, but Ophelia has been an addict as long as I’ve known her. And all of this must be working; Ophelia acts like her usual self—making snarky comments about outrageous price tags, joking about us buying matching outfits like we’re twelve. But I’m watching her closely, looking for signs that it’s all too much.

The bright lights of the stores, the crowds, the noise—it would overwhelm anyone, let alone someone who’s been through what she has. But Ophelia keeps it together, her walls firmly in place. Only once does her hand tighten around mine when a man accidentally bumps into her. I don’t say anything, just give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

By the time the sun starts to set, our arms are full of shopping bags, and Ophelia seems more relaxed than she did this morning.

“Today wasn’t so bad,” she says as we step back into the penthouse, dropping the bags by the door.

“You did great,” I reply, meaning it. “Should we order some dinner?”

Ophelia waves a hand through the air dramatically as she plops onto the couch. “Obviously, and watch a truly terrible movie while we eat, but first I do need to ask you something.”

There’s a shift in her tone—serious, cautious. I have a bad feeling that I already know where this is going.

“Ares,” she says, her voice careful. “What’s his deal? Why’s he helping you? ”

The question hangs in the air between us, heavy and unavoidable.

I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. I know how my best friend is. I know she’s been hurt by a man before, and her likelihood of understanding is slim. “Ares is… complicated. He’s not what you think he is. He’s not like Christina.”

Her expression hardens. “He’s still a vampire, though, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” I admit. “But he’s also the reason I found you. He’s the reason we’re sitting here right now, talking. I trust him, O. So, I need you to trust me on this.”

Ophelia doesn’t respond right away, her gaze fixed on the skyline outside the window. Finally, she sighs, her shoulders sagging just slightly. “Well… Let’s order dinner then, shall we?”

Okay… What the fuck? I know this can’t be it. Ophelia isn’t one to just let things go. The woman I’ve known would be asking a million questions. Maybe this is still a trauma response. She can only take so much at a time. So, baby steps, I tell myself.

After I call in our delivery for food, I take a second to use the bathroom. With privacy for a few moments, I take out my phone and text Ares.

Ophelia is doing pretty good, but she feels a little… fragile. I hate to ask it, but is there any chance you could give us the night?

His reply comes through just moments later.

Whatever you need, Vengeance. I need to go see Florence and Clementine anyway.

Thank you. There’s about a million reasons why I love you, this is one of them.

I smile at the words. It’s the first time I’ve ever typed them out and sent them to someone. My stomach feels all fluttery.

But that feeling is nothing compared to when he replies.

Fuck, those are now my three favorite words, Lana. Being able to read them anytime I want from you?… I love you. Endlessly.

My legs nearly kick, and a squeal is barely contained behind my lips. But I maintain my composure so Ophelia doesn’t overhear me.

Instead, I finish my business in the bathroom and walk back out into the living room.

And the rest of the night is blissfully normal. Take out. Ice cream. A cheesy movie. Laughing with my best friend until tears are rolling down both our faces.

Maybe there is still a chance at normal after all.