Page 15 of Rawest Venom

“People.” Walking a step back from me, he snorts a slight breath through his nose. As he retreats, my tingles dissipate and the longing for his nearness returns, despite how utterly petrifying it is. “Are you prepared for tonight?”

“Yeah! Yes! I am. You know me. I want to do a?—”

“Good job.” My teeth find my bottom lip when he finishes my sentence. We latch eyes for another twenty seconds, my clit thumping erratically, until his shoulders relax ever so slightly. Running a hand through his mocha brown waves, he waltzes in reverse away from me. “Good luck tonight.”

The pit of my stomach ties into a knot. Was that a warning, or a seduction tactic? I hate that I can’t tell the difference.

As soon as my shift ends and I lock up the store, Ihead to a gigantic bookstore I saw once on North Side. Glistening streets, clean and smoothly paved, greet me as soon as I cross the bridge into Strauss’s territory. Pulling into the oversized glass building, I find a parking spot near the back of the full lot and hustle inside. There are only a few hours before my first training begins, so I need to hurry to find something.

When I enter through the metal detector doors, I’m immediately overwhelmed by the sheer volume of bookshelves filled to their tops with possibly every book ever written. My head drops back as I stare up at the three, no, four stories built high with white gleaming everywhere, the ceiling lights illuminating every corner of the store. There’s nowhere to hide in bull territory.

“Ma’am.”

A large uniformed security guard sits on a stool near the entrance. Well, Strauss’s guards are more like trained fighters with weapons, but I’ll pretend like they are here for mysecurity.

“Ma’am, you’re blocking the doors. You need to move along.”

“Oh, sorry.” I hadn’t even realized my mouth was hanging open, staring into the place, but I shuffle my feet toward the first section. An oversized sign hangs above several rows claiming ‘Biographies.’ Do I like biographies?

Meandering down an aisle, my hand trails along some covers mindlessly. Does Cal like biographies? He said he reads people, and I know he was joking, right? But maybe he also meant he enjoys memoirs. Swallowing, I stare back and forth down the first shelves.

There’re so many books to choose from… Like staring into an empty well, I cannot come up with anything. The covers swirl before my eyes: blacks, whites, splashes of red. My heart pounds harder, sweat forming around my hairline until I shove it away with the back of my hand, feeling as though I may faint.

“Excuse me, do you need help?”

A quick gasp leaves my mouth as the young employee wearing a large badge labeled “Darvius” peers around the corner of a bookcase. Spotting me, probably looking close to death, he shoves his glasses up his nose and strolls over. No words form when I try to respond. He repeats himself. “Do you need help, miss?”

Looking at the gray Berber carpet, I stammer, “Uh, what would tech geeks like to read?”

As if offended, he straightens his shoulders and flattens his lips into a line. “Geekscan like a variety of books. What does the guy you’re trying to impress like?” Is it that obvious? I mean…he’s not wrong.

“I-I’m not exactly sure.” Shoving the sleeves of my work sweatshirt up to my elbows, I pick up a copy of a famous scientist. Then, I put it back down. Not that one. It just didn’t feel right.

“You work at West Tech?”

Glancing at the employee, I shrug a shoulder. “Yeah.”

He walks over a couple of steps and picks up a different book, one with a man who wrote computer programs, and hands it to me.Dating Data: Coding Love for Those in Tech.“Then shouldn’t you know whattech geekslike?”

Taking the book from his palm, I stare at it. Then, shove it back at him and brush past him down the aisle. “I can’t do this.”

It’s just too overwhelming. I hate that I can’t just go in and pick a book like a normal person. But I’ve never been normal. At least…I don’t think I have. Besides, I need to get ready for the evening’s excursions.

By nightfall, I’m in my regalia and slipping through the side streets toward Gnarled Pine Park. It’s hard not to take shortcuts, but I do my appropriate helpless damsel distraction tactics for the cameras.

Oh, what does this street sign say? Ugh, it’s so difficult to read. All the words and numbers are so confusing. Hmm…yes. I believe I must be heading in the right direction, but may need a man’s help to guide me. Who will rescue me from my own stupidity?

After wandering aimlessly toward the woods, I skirt around the trees with ease. If the woods would let me, I’d make this my home. It’s far safer than an overstuffed bookstore.

Despite the frigid air crystalizing my breath, I’m cozy in my leather jacket and jeans. Now it’s simply a matter of how long I should wait before Ijust happento stumble upon someAmanita. But the earth calls to me and I never get to spend as much time outside as I like.

Deciding to enjoy the crisp winter night, I lie on my back and gaze up at the sky. It’s starless, with hazy cotton clouds almost covering the moon. Staring into the void dome surrounding me, I feel weightless, matterless, and unrestricted. Part of me melds with space andland until the particles that make up my essence cease to exist as a separate entity.

At some point later, the snap of a twig shakes me from my meditation. Slowly, my body takes form: fingers and toes tingle, legs and arms, trunk so very heavy as I crash back to Earth with the weight of gravity. The knot I had forgotten about returns to my stomach and my pupils blow out to capture any light the darkness provides.

The sound wasn’t an animal carelessly wandering for an evening meal. It was purposeful. Measured. Meaning someone is here and wants me to know it. This someone either doesn’t understand what I am capable of…or doesn’t care. Could be good, could be bad.

Either way, I’m not taking the risk. With a swift motion of my torso, I flip into a crouching position, landing lithely on my feet. Wind surrounds my ears, telling me the person is on the move and I should be, too.

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