Page 47 of The Bitterness of Venom

“And if I kill youinstead?” I ask, eyes still glued to Desmond’s.

Clint chuckles. “Then we all die. But fair warning, I have six men all around us; three on you and three on him. You wouldn’t get your gun raised in time to kill me before they shoot your pretty little brains out.”

My eyes fly around the room, but I don’t see anyone. Clint isn’t stupid enough to give me a gun without backup, though. I know they’re somewhere in the shadows. Watching. Waiting.

“Eyes on me, baby,” Desmond commands me softly, and my gaze swings back to his.

My hand moves of its own accord, the barrel aimed at my head as my hand shakes aggressively. Desmond’s eyes widen and he tries to jerk himself out of the chains. “Point the gun at me, Freckles.” His voice is frantic as he fights harder against his restraints.

“Ticktock, little one. You or him.”

Agefifteen

I knew something was wrong when I heard my mother cry out from the kitchen. She made lots of strange sounds, but she never cried. Not like this.

Throwing my bedroom door open, I see a man. He is wearing adeep, gray-colored suit, shiny loafers, and smoke bellows from his nose and mouth. He grips Momma by the arm, a needle in his other hand. Momma’s eyes fly to mine and widen. The man’s eyes follow and he grins when he sees me.

Momma tries to get away, but she isn’t verystrong. The man sticks the needle into her neck, pushing the liquid deep into the vein there. Momma cries out again. Begging and pleading with the man, but he pays her no mind, just watching me.

Then Momma becomes quiet. She looks happy, almostpeaceful. The man drops Momma, but I can’t stop looking at her as she stares up at the ceiling. Can’t stop looking when foam and acid trickle from her lips as she chokes on it.

"Now you owe me a debt.Theirdebt," the man says, and my eyes snap to his. I can’t rationally think. I am in a state of shock. "If anyone asks, she overdosed. I was never here. Nod if you understand."

I do on autopilot. Tooscared to do anything else.

"Now run."

And so, I do.To Desmond, my best friend.

My finger movesto the trigger, and I stare at Desmond. A single tear falling down my face. I can’t kill him. If he's gone, everything I love with cease to exist.

"Blaise, baby. Don't do this," Desmond pleads. His body shakes as he tries to get to me.

I smile sadly. "I love you, Desmond."

"Blaise!"

And then I pull the trigger.

THIRTY-THREE

The soundof the beeping machines is enough to drive me mad.

It seems like everything moved in slow motion as I watched a bullet penetrate the back of Blaise’s head. Her eyes widened, lips parting, as she fell to the ground. Blood pooled around her head, and I screamed. Not a roar, but a fucking desperate scream.

Uncle Clint sighed, shaking his head as he walked over to my girl. He looked a little remorseful as he stared down at her. But it was wiped away quickly, andthen he left. Leaving me chained. I don’t know how long I sat there, staring at Blaise, before I noticed the rise and fall of her chest. It was faint, but I saw it.

I knew I had to get out of these chains and fast. So, I started bashing the chains against any hard object I could find in the warehouse by running into them. Finally, the stupid wooden chair broke and I was able to free myself.

After that, everything is a blur, including getting her to the hospital.

She is lucky. A shot behind the ear that barely missed her skull. She'll live, thank fuck. But the doctors don't know why she hasn't woken up yet. So, we have to wait. It's up to Blaise, is what they told me. Honestly, fuck that.

"Wake up, Freckles," I whisper in her ear. Kissing her temple.

She has a bandage on the underside of her head that they come and change sometimes. Seeing her like this, unconscious, hurt in a hospital bed, is my undoing. I never thought something could hurt so much. Watching her sacrifice herself to save me will forever follow me to sleep. The single tear as she told me she loved me one last time.

I bury my face in the sheets beside her lying form, and I can’t stop the tears dripping from my eyes without my consent as I process the events of the last twenty-four hours.

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