Page 15 of Vicious and Volatile (Vengeance and Venom #2)

“ A re you almost done?” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“Just finishing the last few details,” the woman says as she wipes the excess ink away.

It hurts so damn bad.

“How did you do this to your whole body?” I gape as my fingers rise to lace into my hair. I have to tell myself to not move, to not quake with the sting.

“I actually enjoy the feeling,” Ares chuckles, though he looks sheepish to admit it to me in my current state.

“You’ve also spent hundreds of hours under this gun and gotten used to it,” Britt, the tattoo artist points out, arching an eyebrow at my fiancé.

“ Hundreds of hours,” I breathe out, absolutely baffled. I’ve been lying here for two hours, and they’ve been some of the longest of my life. “You’re insane, Ares.”

He just chuckles and takes my hand, giving it a supportive squeeze. “You’ve got this, Vengeance.”

I clench my jaw harder and squeeze my eyes closed. I force steadying breaths in and out of my nose.

“All done,” the woman finally says, either ten minutes or ten hours later — it feels like both.

I wipe at the corners of my eyes, even though no tears have actually fallen. With Ares’ help, I sit up from the table, and finally, I take it all in.

“Holy shit,” I breathe. “It’s gorgeous.”

My eyes flick up to Ares’. He stares at it. But my stomach does a little drop. Ares’ eyes are reddened. Moisture glistens there.

Tattooed on my upper right thigh is an Ancient Greek helmet. It’s vicious and beautiful looking all at once. A single red rose accompanies it, tucked into the side of the helmet. Thorned vines twist around the helmet, locking them together. And several rivers of blood run down the surface of the helmet, staining the petals of the rose.

The helmet of Ares, the god of war.

The vengeful thorns of the rose, intertwining them together forever.

The idea came to me in my sleep. I dreamed the entire concept. The moment I woke, I’d scrambled for a piece of paper and a pen, scratching out a very horrific rendition of the image my psyche had come up with.

It’s perfect.

The perfect representation of Ares and I.

“Lana, it’s…” Ares says, his voice tight, his emotions right at the surface.

“Now we match,” I say, taking his hand, pulling him to stand right in front of me. I lick my lower lip as my eyes fall from his face to his chest .

There, in the center of it, red and brilliant, is a new tattoo of his own.

A single red rose, right over his sternum. Thorns and vines extend from the rose. Britt is extremely talented, because those vines and thorns truly look like they’re burrowed straight into Ares flesh.

I’m not sure how she managed to do it so perfectly, to make the rose so realistic and visible. She had to tattoo right over other tattoos she’s placed over the years. Ares is already completely covered in ink. But this doesn’t look like it was added later. It’s as if every other piece of ink was designed around this particular tattoo.

“I fucking love you,” Ares says, his voice quivering with his emotion. He bends, cupping the side of my face as he kisses me. And there’s something a little different about this kiss. It’s soft. Gentle. His breath shakes. This kiss feels… sacred.

“I love you,” I say, a smile pulling on my lips.

“This is genuinely one of my favorite pieces I’ve ever done,” Britt says, reminding us that we aren’t the only two people on the planet.

“It’s amazing, really,” I say, smiling up at her. “Sorry I was such a baby about it.”

She laughs and sets to cleaning up. “You’re an ink virgin, I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”

She gives me aftercare instructions and wraps me up so it can’t be disturbed. Gingerly, I pull my skirt back on. It barely peaks out from beneath the fabric, and I love it.

Ares takes out his card and pays Britt. And I have to swallow that weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. This is going to take some time to get used to. But it’s different now. I’m fucking engaged. For real. I’m going to marry Ares. That’s how marriage is right? Equal partners. What’s mine is his, and what’s his is mine?

Except the scales are tipped heavily in one direction.

But Ares has never, ever once made me feel that way.

So, I swallow my pride. And I shift that pride.

Ares is absolutely something to be fucking proud of. And he’s mine.

“Ready?” he asks as he holds his hand out for mine.

“Ready,” I answer him with a smile.

We step out of the tattoo shop into the darkened night. There, at the curb, waits Ares’ motorcycle. Where it once intimidated me, maybe even scared me a little, I now smile at the sight of it. I’d missed it. We’ve been driven around for so long now, or we’ve been in a car. But I’m thrilled when I climb on behind Ares and get to wrap my arms around him, letting them trail as low as I like.

Could life be any more perfect right now? Yes, there is still shit. Still drama. Still so much to deal with.

But truly, I’ve never been this happy in my entire life.

Through the darkening evening, Ares rips through the streets. He navigates us easily. I marvel at it. We’ve both lived our entire lives here in Manhattan. All twenty-four years for me. All technically thirty-two years for Ares. We could have walked right by each other on the sidewalk a dozen times and never truly noticed one another, never realized that our perfect other half was right there. There are more than a million and a half people who live on this island. And that’s nothing to mention the tourists or commuters who come into the city every day. The chances of us finding each other should be slim to none despite this island only being twenty-three square miles .

But here we are. We found each other. There are vampires in New York. And my perfect match is one of them.

No wonder I couldn’t ever find anyone who fit me.

I didn’t even know his kind existed until I found him.

But you’re going to die someday, and he won’t, a pesky little voice whispers in the back of my mind.

I shove it out with aggression. Not today. I won’t let those thoughts ruin a perfect moment.

But the perfect moments can’t last forever. We still have life to deal with.

Ares pulls into an underground parking garage. Hand in hand, we head for the elevator. And then we shoot up to the fifty-first floor.

I would question how this was going to go. But considering the time of night, I think my questions are already answered. What kind of lawyer keeps nighttime hours?

A vampire one.

It’s quiet when the elevator opens. It’s to a lobby with a T-shaped hallway. On the wall is a directory. I don’t get a chance to read through all of it, though, Ares directs us down the hallway to the right.

At the very end of the hall, Ares pushes open a door. It feels wrong that there is a receptionist at a desk just inside, it’s ten o’clock at night.

“I’m here to see Regina Wick,” Ares says cooly. “Ares Hunt.”

“Follow me,” the young man says as he rises to his feet. We follow him down a hall before he pushes a door open for us. We step into a gorgeous office that screams class and wealth.

A woman looks up from her desk, and I’ve met a few vampires now, but none of them look as vampire as this woman. Her cheekbones are severe. Her hair is jet black, as are her eyelashes. Her lips are painted brilliant red. She wears a formfitting black dress that looks like it costs a fortune. From her ears dangle silver earrings that look like wooden stakes.

“You must be Ares,” the woman says as she stands. She walks around the desk, extending a hand. Ares takes it, shaking it confidently.

“Yes,” he answers. “And my fiancée, Lana.”

My stomach does a little backflip. It isn’t the first time Ares has introduced me as his fiancée, but it’s the first time the title has been real.

“Please, sit,” she instructs, her words quick and businesslike. She walks back around the desk and sinks into her chair once more. It doesn’t look the least bit comfortable.

Ares takes one of the chairs that looks just as uncomfortable, and I take the other. They are, indeed, uncomfortable.

“I received the death certificate you sent me,” Regina Wick says. “It’s been filed. As the executor of your father’s will, and considering you are the subject of most of the will, we can work through the majority of this without the others involved.”

That answers a lot of questions right off the bat.

Regina sits opposite us, opening a thick folder. The weight of what’s inside feels suffocating, even though I know none of it directly involves me. But Ares’ pain, Ares’ discomfort are mine too, and I can feel it coiled tightly beneath his calm exterior.

Regina adjusts the papers on her desk, her movements precise, before looking directly at Ares. “The estate of Augustus Lonan is extensive, as I’m sure you’re aware. The total valuation of his assets exceeds twenty billion dollars, though much of that is tied up in real estate, businesses, and long-term investments.”

Holy shit.

I knew Augustus was wealthy. It was always obvious, always spoken about.

But this scale is more than I can really comprehend.

Ares sits silently, his expression unreadable, but I can feel the tension in him. However, he doesn’t look surprised by the insane number that was just reported.

Regina continues, unfazed. “In New York City alone, Mr. Lonan owned twenty-three properties, including six high-rise office buildings in Midtown, several luxury apartment complexes, and a handful of mixed-use developments in lower Manhattan. Additionally, there’s the private estate in the Hamptons, the penthouse in Dubai, a villa in Tuscany, and several dozen more properties scattered throughout the country.”

Regina flips through the papers, her tone unchanging. Her gaze is laser-focused, absolutely tuned into the task at hand. She glances at the next page. “There are additional accounts held in private banks in Switzerland and the Cayman Islands, as well as a portfolio of rare art and jewelry valued at just over four hundred million dollars. Half of all these assets, per his will, are now yours, Mr. Hunt.”

Again. Holy shit.

“Half?” Ares blurts, his tone sharp, cutting through the air.

Regina nods. “Correct. The remaining half has been divided equally among your eight half-siblings. However, as all of them are minors, the assets intended for them will be placed in a trust. You’ve been named as the manager of that trust. ”

Ares’ grip on the arm of his chair tightens, the leather straining beneath his fingers.

She pulls another document from the folder and slides it across the desk. “The trust will cover all living expenses for your half-siblings, including their education, healthcare, and general upkeep. Their mothers will continue to have full custody and day-to-day authority over their lives. Your role is purely financial—you’ll oversee disbursements, investments, and ensure the trust is properly maintained until each child reaches the age of eighteen.”

Ares leans back slightly, letting out a hard breath through his nostrils. “Fuck.”

Regina’s gaze is steady, her expression unreadable. “You’re the eldest, Ares. Surely, it can’t be a surprise that your father trusted you to ensure the stability of the trust and to maintain the family’s financial legacy.”

“It’s quite obvious you didn’t know Augustus,” Ares says darkly. “We were estranged for three years. And things between us were… strained, to put it extremely lightly, just before he died.”

I can feel his disgust like a physical force, but Regina doesn’t flinch. She simply makes an acknowledging noise and presses on. “If you have any questions about the distribution or the management of the trust, I’d be happy to clarify.”

Ares doesn’t respond immediately, his silence heavy and pointed. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough. “No questions. Just keep going.”

Regina nods and flips to the next page, continuing her precise, clinical recitation. She smooths the paper in front of her. “The next items pertain to Augustus’s personal belongings. These include his art collection, the contents of his private library, and a collection of heirlooms—jewelry, antiques, and rare artifacts. Most of these are to remain in the estate’s vault until their allocation can be decided. If you’d like to take possession of any items, I can arrange for their transfer to you.”

Ares’s jaw tightens, his grip on my hand firm. “I don’t want anything of his,” he says flatly.

Regina doesn’t even blink. “Understood. Should you change your mind, you only need to inform me.” She sets the page down and looks at him directly. “That concludes the division of assets and responsibilities. Now, if you’d like to formally sign to accept the terms of the will, we can proceed.”

The silence stretches. I glance at Ares, watching the flicker of emotion behind his eyes. For all his composure, I know this is a storm he’s trying to contain. Finally, he gives a short nod.

“Let’s finish this,” he says, his voice cold.

Regina reaches for a pen, handing it to Ares, along with a neatly prepared document. “Sign here and here.” She points to two marked lines.

He takes the pen without a word and leans forward, his movements deliberate. The scratch of the pen on paper fills the room, somehow louder than it should be. When he finishes, he drops the pen on the table with a muted thud.

“It’s done,” he says, more to himself than anyone else. It feels… big. It also feels like a relief.

The nightmare of Augustus Lonan has come to an end.

Regina collects the papers, stacking them neatly. “Indeed. I’ll file the necessary paperwork and ensure the trust is officially established by the end of the week.” She stands, smoothing her tailored blazer. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Hunt.”

I stand when she does. Ares stays seated, staring at the papers like they’re something vile. Regina hesitates for just a moment, her professional mask slipping slightly.

“For what it’s worth,” she says softly, “I did not know Augustus well. But as we worked on this, it was obvious Augustus respected you.”

Ares’ head snaps up, his eyes dark with ire. “Spare me,” he says, his voice sharp enough to cut.

Regina nods once, seemingly unfazed, and walks toward the door. She opens it, and Ares finally stands. “If you need anything further, don’t hesitate to reach out,” she says as we walk out the door. She doesn’t wait for a response though; she closes it as soon as we’re clear of the threshold.

I walk beside Ares back out into the lobby and then into the elevator, unsure what to say. His hand is still clenched around my own, the muscles in his forearm taut.

“Ares?” I say softly as we descend back to street level.

He exhales sharply, like he’s trying to expel something heavy from his chest. “It’s over. Finally over.”

I lean into him, studying his conflicted face. “Is it?”

His dark eyes meet mine, and I see the storm still raging beneath the surface. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Part of me feels… relieved. The other part wants to burn everything he left behind. Every cent, every building, every scrap of his so-called legacy.”

“You don’t have to keep anything,” I say gently. “You can do whatever you want with it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not that simple. The trust for the others… I can’t just walk away from that.”

The elevator dings and then opens. We step out and walk out the door, back out onto the ever-busy streets.

Ares looks around, and I wonder if he’s thinking about how much of this city he just inherited. He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think he’d leave me half. I figured it’d be split evenly, or he’d cut me out altogether. This… feels like one last way to keep me tangled in his web.”

“Then untangle yourself,” I say, my voice steady. “Take what’s yours, make it something good. Something that isn’t his anymore.”

He looks at me, his expression unreadable, and then nods slowly. “Maybe you’re right.”

I squeeze his hand, a quiet show of solidarity. “I’m always right. You’ll figure that out.”

A laugh escapes his lips, and something lightens in his eyes. For a moment, the weight between us eases. “You’re too fucking perfect, Vengeance.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine, his presence grounding me as much as I hope I do for him. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

“Always,” I whisper back.