Page 17 of Rawest Venom

He’s letting me get ahead, but he’s much faster. The masked man is enjoying his hunt, but he doesn’t know who I am. Is he a regular lackey? One of Ace’s men? The white mask could be a clue. A Von Dovish who was out mushroom hunting? They would be able to afford the technology of the modulator.

As the edge of the park grows closer, the lights from the city illuminate the four hundred yards between me and safety. It’s late, but there are crowds still strolling by on the streets between the buildings. The lights from the casinos and strip clubs bounce off the brick walls. If I can just get near enough, the drunks could hear my screams. Three hundred yards.

A swishing sound behind me indicates he’s sprinted up near my shoulder and I zig-zag away. Before I can get out of his reach, a leg sticks forward to trip my ankle. The ground moves closer and closer as I fall. Tucking into a ball, I roll forward, but he comes with me, landing on top of my back.

“No!” I shriek, but his large body’s full weight pressing into me deafens the sound. Clawing desperately at the almost frozen ground to try to gain some traction, I’m unable to move due to his mass. He doesn’t even have to struggle. Losing air, my vision becomes unfocused.

“Mouth it is.” The analog voice ripples in my ear until I feel ill. Worried I may vomit, I press my ass into him so I can give my stomach some room.

But when I do, one hand reaches up to gather both of mine above my head, holding them there. His cockhas turned to stone and thrusts erratically between my jean-covered butt cheeks.

“I know you want it. You know how I know? Because when I come in my glove and stick it in your face, you’ll open your mouth just to get a taste.” Shaking my head rapidly, I try to tell him no, but my hips move to hump him back. A monotonous deep chuckle causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand erect. The ungodly moans seep from his chest, wailing into the night like a banshee. With a few more juts, he erupts, his hand then shoving between us before coming up and covering my mouth.

I hate that he’s right, but I shake my head as his fingers dangle in front of my lips. When I open them, he plunges the leather inside, and I suck and tongue and toy with each digit like it’s my own personal lollipop. The desire I had before escalates into a raving drive, and if he hadn’t come already, I may peel his pants down myself to use him like a dildo. His breaths heave in staccatos over my neck as I taste him. Salty, bitter. And intoxicating.

Pulling his hand away, he laughs maniacally. “You’re not real, puppet. You’re my little puppet.” Before I can ease away from him, a hard swat lands on my ass, jolting me up and back onto my legs as I sprint away as fast as I can. Lingering cackles dance in the open field as I near the exit of the park.

The closer he allows me to roam toward the city limit, the farther away he is. Just as I enter an alley, then burst onto a busy side street, my feet stumble into twocouples walking out of a local bar. One man catches me and sets me upright.

“Whoa! Are you okay?”

Nodding, I brush him off, then place my hands around the back of my head, allowing my lungs to expand with much-needed oxygen.

Ambling toward home with a stitch in my side, I take in the sights of the South. Colorful neon signs, with tattoo and piercing shops on every corner, the sounds of horns honking only interrupted by the rumble of cruiser bikes roaming down the road in packs. Meat-on-a-stick vendors line the sidewalks and aggressively yell their wares at passersby.

Every few blocks, red light casinos and strip joints are interrupted by small alleyways. Sometimes the establishments combined into a convenient pay for play. Down narrow passageways are the dirty sex clubs advertised only by overly large men in suits, usually smoking or wearing sunglasses while appearing intimidating.

When I finally reach home an hour later, I head straight into the shower, turning it all the way to hot. After allowing the harsh droplets to scald my pale skin pink, I open my mouth wide, washing out any remnants of what I just allowed to happen. Focusing on anything else in the shower, the shampoo bottle, the instructions on the conditioner, I try not to let myself think about why I enjoyed myself as much as I did.

In fact, I try not to think about myself at all.

Once I comb out my red locks and brush my teeth twice, I roam into my room and pull out my fresh pajamas.With a tired sigh, I slide them on and then shimmy under my sheets.

As my arm reaches up to turn out the light, a hoarse cry rises from the acid knot in my belly. Clawing its way up my bare throat, it rips out, rattling the thin, white apartment walls.

A bloodied and severed big toe lays in front of my angled tissue box.

Six

CALUM

Is it upsetting? Morally outrageous?Disgusting, as she called it? Did I insult her delicate sensitivities?

I don’t really care. It’s what I pay her for, to take my orders and obey them. My blasphemous appetites are keeping me and, therefore, the entirety of the West alive. Absolutely no apologies necessary.

“But no one cancooktofu to taste like steak, Mister Von Dovish. No one. I am a genius in the kitchen and even I cannot!” Monet rants as she blasts through the kitchen door mumbling about quitting for the sixteenth time this week. Our chef has been with us since my childhood. She’s not going anywhere.

Now that she has departed, I take the opportunity to check my pets in peace. It was never supposed to be a comforting area, but the cellar could probably look more pleasing than the dungeon it has become, with its weeping stones and cobwebs. But then it wouldn’t feel likemine.

The estate is supremely well caredfor. It’s what my ancestors died to provide for the next hundred generations after them. Above ground, everything is cream, marble, curved white woods, and gold trims. Clean and presentable. Well mannered. But that’s the surface. Retreating underneath the wainscoted walls gives me a sense of home. Of comfort. The darkness creeps up my legs, infecting my soul like venom as I descend as if being lowered into the earth.

It's not beyond my comprehension how much the house looks like me.

Down a tiny, narrow hall, at the second black wooden door, lives my jar room. Making sure each bacterium is appropriately buzzing, I feed the sourdough yeast and monitor the other systems from the control area. The mushroom grow room is small but ample enough to provide a quality supply for myself. Passing the dehydrator, I pop one and chew. The bitter taste doesn’t even faze me anymore. In fact, I appreciate the pungency.

Other than the storeroom, no one is allowed in these sections. Livia had her ballet lessons, and I had the basement. If Calum, the Callous King of West Side had a throne room, it would reside here.

There’s a thought… A throne. I’ll have a carpenter build one.

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