Page 14 of The Venom We Bleed

“If Gio calls war on you because of Megan, you’re as good as fucked.” Roquel pauses a moment as if she wants that to sink in. “So, when I say find some friends, what I mean is when they come after you, and make no mistake,theywillcome after you—you’re going to need a lot more than some good reflexes to protect yourself.”

“I’m not here to fuck with anyone,” I tell her. “I’m not going to go out of my way to pay them back either. I just want to get my diploma and get out.”

She’s already shaking her head before I’ve finished. Her grip on the paper tightens as I reach for it. “You don’t get it,” she snaps, nearly jerking it away until I close my own fingers around the edge of the page. “It doesn’t matter what your intentions are. A lot of people lost their jobs—good people, people who were already living paycheck to paycheck, hand to mouth—and even if Mr. Calloway managed to save some, not everyone cares. Not everyone is as forgiving. They can’t get to your dad, they can’t get to your mom. All they have is you.”

Nothing she’s saying is new, but what is new is one person finally being brave enough to point out the obvious. With my dad in jail and Mom splitting town, there’s no one else for Silverwood to blame. I’m accessible. I’m related. I’m guilty by association.

Adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder, I turn away from her, pulling my schedule from her in a clean movement.“Thanks for the advice,” I say over my shoulder as I start walking. “But I’ll handle myself.”

“The Scorpion Kings are worse than Megan,” Roquel insists, her voice bouncing off the walls.

One of the lunch ladies lifts her head and gives the two of us a glare. I ignore her and shake my head. “Then I guess I’ll just have to be worse than them,” I say over my shoulder.

“No oneis worse than them,” she bites out.

Before Roquel can offer a response, the bell for next period rings and I hold up the hand with my schedule secured. “There’s a first for everything.” If anyone can be worse than the Scorpion Kings—it’s me.

6

JULIET

Despite my words, Roquel’s warning sits in the back of my mind like a nervous tick throughout the day. I spot her in a couple of my classes, but avoid her for the most part even when she openly tries to talk to me. It’s not that I dislike her, I appreciate the kindness she offered, but she’s at least right about one thing: I have a target on my back. Friends might help … or it might place them in the line of fire.

When the bell rings at the end of the day, the noise drills into the back of my head even though I’ve somehow been placed at the front of my final class—well away from the actual speaker system the bell is run on. Before it’s even finished ringing, I’ve started to gather my shit, stuffing books and papers into my bag before sliding out of my seat and heading for the hallway.

Footsteps sound behind me and a body shoves past one side just as I reach the door, a girl with long black hair glaring over her shoulder at me as my side hits the door frame. With a growl, I shove away only for the same thing to happen on my right side, nearly sending me to my knees this time.

“Motherf—” I cut myself off as I spin away from the doorway, not even bothering to see if the teacher is going to do anything about the obvious harassment. They’re no more my allies thanthe students are. A body slams into mine from the back, shoving me face-first into the locker across the hall.

“Watch where you’re standing,bitch,” a woman’s voice hisses in my ear before retreating.

I push away from the locker and send a seething glare at her back as a tall girl with hair in a low ponytail strides off, her shoulders wider than most men’s. Several students glare at me as I shrug back my shoulders and stomp off, cutting a right out of the hallway and slamming into the parking lot.

The fastest route to the bus loop cuts through the school, but I can’t be responsible for what I’ll do if another asshole pushes me. Unfortunately, luck is not on my side. No sooner have I started to make my way around the main building, than I’m stopped by someone calling my name.

“Hey, Donovan!” Gritting my teeth, I turn back already lifting my hand to shoot whoever it is the bird. I don’t get a chance.

Something wet, cold, and slimy slams into my front—dousing my clothes in the acrid smell of sour milk and vomit. Mouth gaping open, I stare down at the front of my shirt and the chunks of white and brown now covering me. I don’t know what the substance is, but it smells like the inside of a garbage can that hasn’t been cleaned inyears.

A low masculine whistle sounds nearby and I lift my gaze to settle on a pair of dark red-brown eyes. The whistler is a big man—definitely one of the football players by the width of his shoulders. With his hair shaved along the sides of his head, the high cut of his cheekbones, and a thick, square jawline, he looks half-gangster and half-runway model as he grins at me.

“What’s wrong, Prep Girl?” he asks, arching a brow with a deliberate shaved cut through it. “Not a fan of Silverwood Public greetings?”

“Ha!” I laugh, the sound loud and dry. First, Nolan Pierce. Now, Giovanni Vargas. All I need to complete this day is Alexio Medicci.The Scorpion Kings.

Rage pours through me. The anger so hot it burns the inside of my lungs, making me wonder if it's physically possible for a human being to actually breathe fire.

Cupping my hand and drawing it up through the mess clinging to my front, I start walking towards him. Gio Vargas sits at one of the picnic tables that surround the exterior amphitheater that I know hasn’t been used since Silverwood Prep was built. Each step brings me closer and closer to him.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t shift out of his relaxed pose—back against the table, legs outspread—a trio of others gathered around him, two girls and a guy. All of them watch me with barely repressed looks of utter hate. All except him.

Gio’s gaze remains on me as I move, but it doesn’t hold any contempt. The arched brow slowly comes down and wary curiosity is all he exudes. I smile, calling back to my days as a cheerleading captain at Silverwood Prep. Bright. All teeth. Forced exuberance. Only then, does Gio’s expression change, morphing from interest to suspicion.

“I’m a huge fan of Silverwood Public greetings,” I say cheerily as I stop a few feet from him. I haven’t moved my hand from where it rests against my stomach, holding a large portion of the foul shit that had been thrown at me. “Especially returning them.”

I open my palm and swing my arm back before letting it sail forward.

“Oh fuck!” The guy at Gio’s side dives away just as the other two girls scream bloody murder, their piercing shrieks like music to my ears. At least, it is until the clumpy gross mess slaps Gio right in the chest, staining the white band t-shirt he’s wearing with the same mess that I am.

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