Page 39 of Sweet Venom

Vi's thumb slightly brushes over the top of mine, and I can feel her eyes boring into the side of my head as I keep my focus pinned on our joined hands. It's the first sentimental touch we've ever shared. Who would have thought that reliving a nightmare could be a bonding moment? That thought has me squeezing her hand and releasing it to throw the Jeep in reverse and give her more. This stop was only part of my story. She feels sorry for the kid who lost his family, but will she still feel sorry for the man I was forced to become?

I don't bother driving her to all the other houses we stayed in during our time in the system. Only two matter: where my story began and the place that changed me. Up until the last house, I was not morally corroded or disturbed. Angry, yes, but depraved, no. This place made me sick. It's the sole reason I need to do one more job. It's not just for Chelsea.

As we pull off the highway, taking the exit toward Los Gatos, I remind myself that Vi is not from California. Most of the scenery and lavish homes are new to her and something to marvel at, and I suppose if I hadn't spent four years frequenting this street and the community just around the corner, I might look upon them with the same awe, but I can't. Not when I know what goes on behind closed doors.

Pulling up to the gate of Clara Estates, Charles, the seventy-year-old guard who's manned the gate for the past ten years, greets me with a warm smile. "Carter Manolas, is that you?"

"Hello, Charles. How have you been?"

"Better now that I got to see your face." He strolls out of the booth and stands at my door, placing his hands on my face easily since I'm driving my Jeep with no doors. "It's been too long, son. You've grown so much." I spent hours at his shack over the years just to escape the house that sits behind these iron gates. He pats my cheek lightly before adding, "I'm finally retiring. This is my last week." His eyes leave mine only to flash over to Vi riding shotgun. "I was wondering when you would get yourself a girl." He gives her a wink before returning to the shack and saying, "She looks like a keeper, Carter. You better not mess it up." Without another word, he presses the button on the gate and lets us back.

I've never brought anyone home. In high school, I kept a low profile. I didn't date. Everything I did was a means to an end, and I couldn't consciously put anyone else on the Sweets' radar. They were the last foster family we stayed with.

"Tate, what is this? Where are you taking me now?"

Her use of the name Tate over my given name gives me pause. I've never thought much about what people would call me if they discovered Tatum Carroway wasn't my birthname, but that's because I never planned on anyone finding out. But hearing it now from her lips, even though she has my real name, cements what I've known in my heart for years. Carter Manolas died a long time ago.

"Last stop, I promise, and then I'll feed you."

I can feel her eyes on me as we drive through the affluent neighborhood that has this old Jeep and me sticking out like a sore thumb. This vehicle in this neighborhood doesn't add up. Why would I intimately know the guard to a gated community filled with multi-million-dollar mansions? We pull up to the sixteen-thousand-square-foot European-inspired manor that screams opulence and money. Beyond the bi-fold security gate that sits at the edge of the private drive, walls clad in stone are punctuated with a series of arched and clerestory windows that define two towers at the front entrance. The design is meant to bring old-world architecture into the 21st century, but because I lived there, I know they serve another purpose, just like the gate that sits at its front.

With my car pulled up to the curb, I nod toward the house and say, "This is the last place I lived while in the system. I spent two years in that house."

She keeps her eyes pinned to the house, taking it all in as she says, "It looks like a dream, but your tone suggests that's not the case." Not wanting to sit outside the house a minute longer, I pull away. "We're leaving already?"

"Yeah, I know a good spot down the street. I'll tell you about it there." Truth is, I need time to collect my thoughts. I know I want to give her this truth, but I'm not sure how to share it, and once it's out, I can't take it back.

* * *

"Hey, I'm going to use the restroom. Just order me what's good." Vi says before she heads toward the bathroom.

The drive over to Yen Ching was quiet. Most of our driving today has been spent in silence, and it's throwing me off. I don't know what to make of it. Last night I told her I was throwing my hat in the ring and wanted to be her man. I fully expected to meet resistance. I was prepared for her to fight me tooth and nail and shove her relationship with Ellis down my throat. I'm fully aware I can't offer her the same things Ellis Lykos can with his endless wealth, but I'd be damned if I couldn't protect her better and love her more. I know he didn't leave the marks on her. The fact that Sebastian Lykos has been MIA speaks to his guilt, but I also haven't witnessed Ellis take action to retaliate and stick up for his woman. I would know. I never take my eyes off him.

I've just finished placing our order for sweet and sour chicken and a side of dumplings that I know are Vi's weakness. The woman can eat whatever she wants; she works out enough to burn it all anyway, but she chooses to eat healthy. However, when I’ve witnessed her splurge, it’s always on Chinese food. Yen Ching isn’t anything fancy. It's a family-run, seat-yourself establishment, but it has some of the best Chinese food in the Bay area.

I'm just taking our drinks to the table when a hand squeezes my shoulder from behind, giving me a jolt, but it's the voice that gives me a scare. "Long time no see, Car." Damn it. I knew I shouldn't have stopped outside the gate. I should have just kept rolling. Those damn towers see everything. Her long nails bite into my shoulder, putting my whole body on high alert. I set the drinks down before facing her and breaking our contact. Those hands are no longer welcome on my body, not that they ever really were.

"Monica, what a surprise running into you here." That's not a stretch, either. The woman wouldn't be caught dead in an establishment like this. It's beneath her, and she sticks out like a sore thumb, layered in her designer brands. The woman is in her late forties and has gone overboard on plastic surgery and Botox. She doesn't do subtle, clearly, which is part of the reason her husband isn't faithful. That, and he's a sick depraved bastard with no soul.

"Well, I was in the area and feeling nostalgic." She coos as she reaches out to touch my right arm. I can't help it. My entire body goes rigid, and she notices because her lip quirks up in a knowing smile. Monica always did like a game of cat and mouse. I slip my hands into the front pockets of my jeans just as her hand attempts to brush down to mine. We both know that statement wasn't about the food. She saw my Jeep and followed me here.

Right before I'm about to respond, Vi loops her arm through my left. "What did I miss, babe? Who is your friend?"

I want to snap my head in her direction to get a read on her antics—the nickname, the arm holding, all of it—but I'm also fucking thankful for the save, and I don't want to tip Monica off.

Monica's eyes slowly drag away from mine and over to Vi's as she holds out her hand, "I'm Monica Sweet. I'm sure Carter's mentioned me. And you are?"

Vi doesn't take her hand and instead goes in for the kill, dropping her name, "Vivian Fiori." She pulls me tight to her side before using her spare hand to pat my chest and add, "Carter's girlfriend."

I have no doubt that Monica Sweet knows precisely who she is. Vivian Fiori's name and face are now synonymous with Fiori Fashion House. For years, there was a rumor of an heir to the Fiori fortune, but no one was ever pictured, and no names were given. It wasn't until her twenty-first birthday that she appeared on a cover of a tabloid in a bikini at her own pool party. Needless to say, everyone knew her face the next day. Aside from the clout her affluent name drips and her endless wealth, the label she put on our relationship just now is definitely eating Monica alive.

She quickly drops her hand and straightens her blazer before flipping her long fake blonde hair over her shoulder. "Well, Carter, you'll have to bring your new girlfriend over for dinner so we can catch up."

That will not be happening. Not a fucking chance in hell I'm putting her on Kyle Sweet's radar, but that doesn't stop me from lying through my teeth anyway. "Yeah, I can reach out next week to set something up." I don't want to get on her bad side just yet. While I plan on returning to the Sweet Manor, it will not be for dinner; it will be to burn the place to the ground.

"Perfect." She clasps her long, manicured red nails together before stepping in for a hug, only to think better of it when she sees Vi's hand rub over my arm. "Okay, well, I have an appointment, so I'll see you soon," she says as she pulls out her phone, slowly giving me one more full-body sweep with her eyes before turning on her heel and leaving.

The second she's out the door, I pull Vi into me and say, "You have some explaining to do."

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