Page 107 of The Venom We Bleed

Gio leans down and I tense as the brush of his jaw, covered in a stubbly beard growth scratches along my cheek just before hot breath touches my ear. “Confess, Prep Girl,” he commands against the side of my face. “We don't keep secrets from each other.”

“I’m not one of you,” I remind him, and I never will be…

“You could be.” Each breath blows hot air over my earlobe making me shiver.

“No,” I whisper back, almost afraid to break this quiet space between us. “I can’t.”

He arches back up, his eyes meeting mine in the darkness. “You could have stayed at Silverwood Prep.” The words are a statement, not a question, so I don’t bother to respond. I just lie there, feigning a relaxed pose beneath him to keep this man from realizing just how bothered I am by his nearness. “Tell me why you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t afford it,” I say.

“Morpheus Calloway would have taken you in,” he says. “He would’ve paid your tuition.”

“Morpheus Calloway isn’t my father,” I snap back. “He’s not even my uncle—not really.”Thank fuck for that.

“Blood doesn’t mean shit.” My formerly pseudo-relaxed pose tightens for a brief second before I realize he’s not taunting me. Gio’s face is dead serious. “Blood doesn’t earn you love or respect or even loyalty,” he says. “It’s just another way for people to control you. If Morpheus Calloway wanted to take care of you after you lost everything, why didn’t you let him?”

I stare back at Gio with an extra caution that I hadn’t before. His words are ones that I happen to agree with. “Because…” The word comes out soft, almost nonexistent in the tone I use that’s just below a whisper. “I can’t trust that his help doesn’t come with strings…” Or that it won’t just disappear tomorrow.

No one helps another person out of the goodness of their hearts. People’s hearts aren’t so kind. Hearts are vicious, greedy creatures and mine died a long time ago.

“Juliet.” My name on his lips sounds so odd now. I’m more used to him calling me ‘Prep Girl’ even though the nickname is an annoyance.

I squirm under his hold and his gaze. “What?”

“You can’t go through your life without trusting another person.” His tone is soft and warm.

I twist my head and stare across Nolan’s room. In the computer screen sitting on his too-small desk in the corner, I spy the reflection of us—Gio hovering over me like some hungry beast, and me, splayed out beneath him like a sacrificial lamb. That’s what I am to this town. The sacrificial lamb to their rage. They can’t get to my father, they can’t get to my mother, but they can get to me, and they will. They’ll take it all out on me if I let them.

One of Gio’s hands passes both of my wrists into a single grip and he reaches down to take my chin between his fingers. He turns me back to face him, forcing my head up until our gazes are locked. “Tell me, Juliet,” he urges. “You can trust me.”

Tears burn at the back of my eyes. No, I can’t. I really fucking can’t.

“They want me to see my dad.” Despite my thoughts, the words escape, and I can’t pull them back once they’re out.

“Who does?”

“Everyone,” I tell him. “Morpheus. Principal Long. Dad. His lawyer.”

Gio seems to take that information in. His gaze doesn’t shift away. “What do you think?”

“Why would I want to see the man that ruined my life?” That’s what no one seems to understand, I’m just as much a victim of his crimes as they are.

Gio sighs. “I hate my dad,” he admits.

My lips part. I hadn’t been expecting him to say that … not at all.

“He’s a piece of shit,” Gio continues. “He used to beat my mom when I was too young to do anything about it. He doesn’t hit her anymore though.”

“You stopped him?” I guess.

Gio jerks his chin down in a nod. “I got my ass beat, but I started to fight him every time he’d smack her around. He doesn’t do it anymore, but she still refuses to leave him. He still talks shit, calls her fat and ugly, and complains that she can’t cook and she doesn’t treat him as a woman should.” Each word from his mouth seems to make his jaw clench tighter and tighter. “She loves him even when he doesn’t deserve her devotion.”

Slowly, judging his willingness, I tug at the bonds of his hands. He releases me, but his body stays on top of mine. Myhands sink down, my arms coming over his shoulders. His muscles bunch and contract beneath his t-shirt as my hands run over his back. I want to tug it up and off him, to feel his skin. Maybe if I were a bit more sober, I wouldn’t do it, but here, now, in this place, when I want something—I make it happen.

Gripping the hem of his shirt, I pull and Gio doesn’t fight me. He lets me take it off and toss it over the side of the bed. One of his hands presses into the mattress next to my head, holding himself up, while the other plays idly at the hem of my tanktop. There are dips and hollows that hide his chest in the shadows, but with how close he is, there’s no camouflaging the absolute state of him. He’s bulky and shredded with muscles.

When I touch him, he breathes harder—as if it’s taking severe concentration for him to let me. Like Nolan, Gio is the kind of man who enjoys being in control. Maybe he needs control to accommodate for everything else.

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