Page 111 of The Venom We Bleed

“The 1800s?” I frown. “Don’t tell me you still use the carriage house.” Even as I say the words, the evidence of the well-used building is staring me in the face.

The carriage house appears almost as well kept as the farmhouse we passed. There are no cracks in the windows, no grime coating the outside of the structure, and a light above the door along the side of the building makes it clear it now has electricity running through it.

Lex parks the car and glances back at me. “I live here,” he says before popping his door open. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

I watch him walk up to the carriage house and pull out a set of keys from his pocket. He lives here … in a carriage house. What? I look to Nolan only to find him staring back at me. In the time since we passed the gate, he’s found a pair of aviators and pulled them on. The shiny reflective surface of the glasses makes it impossible to see his eyes and know what he’s thinking.

Something warns me against getting any deeper with these men, against asking questions that they might not be willing to answer. Once the questions circle in my head, though, they won’t be stopped.

“Why does Lex live out here instead of with his aunt?”

Nolan glances from the quaint looking carriage house that looks so very different from what I ever expected of Lex and back to me. “Lex’s aunt didn’t expect to take in a kid when she did,” he admits. “She got him through his younger years after his parents…” He drifts off, but he doesn’t need to remind me. Before my own father’s criminal dealings, it had been one of the worst scandals to break in Silverwood. A supposedly kind, loving couple had come under a social services investigation for abuse of their young son. Rather than risk being shamed, Sancho Medicci had killed his wife and then himself. “He prefers it out here,” Nolan finishes after a beat and faces the windshield as the door opens and Lex climbs back in.

“All done. Let’s go.”

Lex quickly backs away from the carriage house. When we get back to the gate, Nolan hops out and locks it back up, and then we’re on our way once more.

The more time I spend with these men, the more I start to wonder who they actually are. Are they criminals? Are they manwhores just looking for a good time? Football players hoping to make the most of their high school career? Lost kidswith few people to look after them and guide them in the right direction? Or are they something else entirely?

I’m almost afraid of the answers I might find.

Once I’m back at school, I’m forced to face the reality of Principal Long’s stipulations.Counseling.

Julia Beck is one of those women whose face is ageless. There’s no hint when you look at her face. She could either be one of the teenagers walking the halls of Silverwood Public or she could be a woman nearing her forties. Sitting in front of me with black-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her upturned nose, she clasps her hands on top of her desk and stares back at me. She’s analyzing me as much as I’m analyzing her.

“It’s my understanding, Miss Donovan, that you don’t necessarily want to be here,” she says.

“Yup.” I pop the word out as I lean back in the relatively comfortable seat across from her and turn my head to look out of the window in her door.

Since coming back to school, the guys haven’t left me alone. I know it’s because they worry about the man who attacked me and whether or not there will be a second attempt from whoever put him up to the task. As the days go by, though, I am starting to forget there was ever a time where I wasn’t surrounded by them twenty-four-seven. I fall asleep in Nolan’s bed, wake up in Nolan’s bed, ride to school with one of the three of them, and sit next to them at lunch and in classes. I’m quickly growing accustomed to my new normal even if it disturbs me how easy it’s becoming.

“You’ve had a lot happen in the last several months,” Miss Beck says. “It’s understandable that you’d have a lot of emotions about it.”

My eyes cut back to her. “Can I ask you a question?” I deadpan.

She blinks, seeming surprised by my ready engagement, but brightens almost immediately. “Yes, please do.” She leans closer.

“What did you lose when my dad fucked over the rest of the town?”

Her expression falters. “I’m not sure that I?—”

I hold up a hand, stopping her. “Please,” I say. “No bullshit. If I have to be here, then I’d rather get the hate out in the open than have to play this back and forth, ‘Oh no, you poor thing,’ ‘Well, other people have issues too and it’s because of your father's garbage.'”

The counselor’s face goes rigid in an instant, guarded and closed off. “I don’t care for the rude and inappropriate language,” she states. “However, I do appreciate your candor, Miss Donovan. So, in light of your transparency, I’m happy to offer you some of my own.”

I wait for it. The blow that’s sure to come. How this is her job and she’s just doing it, but she doesn’t care to help someone like me. Oh, she won’t say it like that. She’ll make it a point to use those big educated words to tell me that my issues aren’t as important as other people’s and how just because I’m displaced doesn’t mean I can act as I want. No more beating bitches’ faces in. No more acting out in class and causing an issue. No matter what anyone else in this school does to me, I should just sit here and take it and be grateful they don’t think of a reason to throw me in jail along with my dad.

Not that they’d have to look far for a reason…

Nolan had said they hid my attacker’s body, but how well was it truly hidden? What if they’re just holding on to it to use it against me later? Where would they even hold a body for long periods? The carriage house?

“Six weeks after the initial story of the Donovan-Calloway embezzlement scandal broke and stocks of the company plummeted, my fiancé killed himself.” Miss Beck’s announcement stuns me.

I close my eyes.Fuck.When I reopen my eyes, I’m shocked to find no emotion on Miss Beck’s face. There’s no consternation, no animosity, no rage. I frown in confusion and one corner of the woman’s mouth tips up.

“My fiancé was a lot of things,” she continues. “An intelligent investor was not one of them. He sank everything he had into Donovan-Calloway.” Like many others, no doubt, I keep my mouth shut. “Another woman in my position might hate your father,” she says. “But you … you’re not Allen Donovan, are you, Juliet?”

“What do you know about who I am?” I bark the question at her.

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