Page 43 of The Bitterness of Venom

All in all, the charity event is boring, and the food is bland and mediocre at best, but I'm here for the cause. And surprisingly, so is Desmond. He entertains the old men, allowing the wives to touch and feel his arms. And at the end, I see him slip an envelope into the donation box.

But just like everything in my life, things take a turn for the worse as soon as I get back to the apartment.

THIRTY

Shaking Desmondoff my case is hard. The man is a stage five clinger—in a good way these days. I had to trick him into going and getting me ice cream for my sweet tooth. But really, the thought of lying to him and ice cream make me sick. But I have to protect him.

Clint: Five minutes. Dress to fight.

As if my heart isn’t already pounding hard enough at seeing his name, the message that follows almost makes me collapse. This would be no easy feat. Not after everything.

I slip on biker shorts and a tight tank. Grabbing mytennis shoes as I dash out the door. The black SUV waits for me on the curb and I have to push the acid back down my throat. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want someone to have control over me like this.

I climb in, but I’m alone this time. That’s my first clue that something horrible is about to happen. I’m never alone in the back seat. I almost wish to see half his face in the shadows and cigar smoke clogging my nose.

I pinch the skin of my thigh as I watch the town disappear from behind the window. The town of Hutton isn’t huge, so it doesn't take terribly long to go through it. All around it is trees and dense forest, so I'm shocked when we pull up to an old, abandoned warehouse. There are cars all over the gravel parking lot, and that makes me let out a pent-up breath. At least he doesn't plan to kill me today. Not with all these witnesses.

The SUV pulls up to the edge of the parking lot and the back door of the building flies open. "Time to play, little one."

Blood trickles into my eyes,blocking my vision, as another hit takes me to the ground. Hastily, I wipe the blood from my eyes as the man lands on top of me. The knife gleams in the light of the overhead ceiling fixture above the ring. The roar of the crowd is deafening. The man slashes the knife down, but I dodge it by twisting my head out of the way. The knife clatters against the ground. Using the distraction, I bring my knee up, nailing his balls and saying a quick prayer when he falls off of me. I pull myself to my hands and knees, crawling across the floor toward the discarded knife. My hands grasp the metal just as a strong hold jerks on my ankle. Gritting my teeth, I kick blindlybehind me until the hand falls away and I have mine on the knife.

My hand trembles as I hold the knife out in front of me. The man’s eyes widen and he dives for me, taking my body to the ground and caging me in. He fights for the knife, trying to take it from my hand.

“Kill or be killed, little one!” Clint bellows from the side of the ring. His knuckles turning white as he grips the rope.

My eyes fly back to the man’s, and he gulps. “Please don’t, I have children.”

I swallow thickly, blood and tears dripping down my cheeks as I yell, pushing with all might as the knife drives through the man’s throat. He gasps, blood pouring out of his mouth. He gargles and some of the blood lands on my face. His body crumples on top of mine, his weight holding me down. I can’t breathe.

Get off.

Get off.

I scream it in my mind but can’t get those words out of my mouth. A blank gaze slips over the light in his eyes, the life leaving him. His weight becoming heavier. And I can’t fucking breathe. I just want him off of me.

Finally, someone pulls him off my body.

With another man’s blood on my face, murder on my hands, I vow to never be anyone’s puppet ever again.

There are some stains you can’t erase from the soul.

There issomething so fucking disturbing about washing another man’s blood off of your skin.

About realizing you're truly a bad person.

Before, I just had a bad attitude, did things to survive inthe situations I found myself in, but I had never taken a life. Never watched the spark of life fade from someone’s eyes. There is a lot of fucked-up things I have done, but this is the worst of them all.

I scrub my body until it's raw. The skin becoming irritated, leaving behind soap burns as I try to wash the stains from my skin and my soul.

I step out of the shower and into the foggy bathroom, grabbing a towel and wiping the condensation from the mirror. My ribs hurt, my face throbs, appearing red and blue. The split in my lip can't be covered with makeup. The evidence of my sin is inked all over my body. I want to send my fist through my reflection, but I know that won't do any good. Plus, seven years of bad luck? No, thank you.

I push the bathroom door open and tiptoe through the hallway to my room. Gently shutting the door. I'm startled by the presence looming before me even though I shouldn't be. Desmond looks pissed as he takes me in with my towel clutched to my breasts. I see ice cream melting in the small trash can by my feet.

"Where have you been?" He stands, walking toward me, and his nose flares when he gets a good luck at my face. "Fuck, baby. What happened to your face?" He tugs on my towel, making it drop around my feet. He scans my body and I begin to tremble. "Who am I killing, Freckles?"

He searches my eyes, and a tear falls. He curses before opening his arms. I basically fall into them. Clinging to his warm body as he carries me to the bed. Gently, he lays me down. He presses soft kisses to my bruised ribs, trailing up my stomach and to my face. "Tell me who hurt you and I’ll make them disappear," he whispers into my temple.

I want to laugh and tell him I already made them disappear, but then I remember the man I killed has a family that will never see him again. And it's all my fault. Instead, I kiss him. Hoping he'll take the hint and stop asking questions. Hedoesn't. He pulls away from me slightly. “Tell me what the fuck is going on."

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