Page 19 of The Venom We Bleed

Blonde hair creates a golden halo of waves around a face made for worship. She’d been innocent the day we’d met. All chubby cheeks and big blue eyes. My attention leaves the first picture and goes to the second one. Although the faces are the same—the features of the second woman a direct replica of the first—there’s so much that’s changed.

If I thought Juliet Donovan was a dangerous obsession before, it’s nothing compared to how I feel about her now. In the first picture, she’s a year younger, smiling as she poses with a few of her previous classmates. My smile turns to a scowl as I stop on the brunette standing at her side and the guy standing a few feet away with his arms slung over another Prep student.

Avery Carpenter and Brandon Pillard.Fucking cockroaches.

I pull my hand away from the picture entirely and switch focus to the second one. She’s not posing for this one but standing outside of Silverwood’s public library at the bus stop.Though it was taken in the middle of summer, she’s wearing a jacket with the hood drawn up.

Hiding, baby?I wonder as I stroke the curve of her cheek. There’s no use.No matter where you go, I’ll always have eyes on you.

And on those who fucking hurt you.Withdrawing my hand a second time, I turn away from the wall of images taped and held to the wall next to my desk. I take a seat and swivel my chair to the row of monitors.

Each screen is a different size. Some curved, some flat, and some held together by duct tape and a prayer. I’d spent hours digging through dumpsters behind old computer repair shops for decent scraps to put this setup together, and I’d studied far longer to learn how to make it all work again. Every single second had been worth it because it had been for her.

Now, I hit a button on the keyboard that’s positioned at just the right height and the screens flare to life. Not all of them have clear pictures—some are static-filled, but most of them have something usable on them. I hit another button and the row in front of me shifts to the black and white grainy images of the CCTV cameras.

I haven’t had an opportunity to get close to where she lives now, but using a face-processing software I traded for some hacking skills on the dark web, I can still pick up where she’s been throughout the day. An image of the school cafeteria security cameras comes up and I smile as I watch Juliet throw a beautiful right hook into Gio’s whore’s face.

Megan White is annoying. I’d take a paid hooker over her any day, but then again, I’ve always had better taste than G. My cell buzzes, and I’m half-tempted to ignore it and continue watching Juliet take the bitch out on camera, but then I glance at the caller and know that won’t be happening.

Scowling, I hit the green button and bring the phone to my ear. I don’t speak. That’s not how I operate. A beat of dead staticky silence passes, just long enough for the person on the other end of the line to realize I’ve answered and then they start talking. “Is this the Scorpion?”

I roll my eyes and remain silent, waiting for the bastard to get to the point. If he’s smart enough to get this number then he’s damn sure got to be smart enough to know that admitting anything over the phone is a one-way shot of getting caught. A low chuckle breathes over the silence.

“Right, dumb question. I’m just going to assume you are.” The echo of nervousness is clear in the man’s voice, making me wonder how the hell he even bothered to get my number if he’s scared to talk to me.

I lean forward and switch screens, opening up the only browser I seem to use anymore, and type in my credentials. I tap my free hand against the desk as my screen name appears in black and white.

5C0RP10N.

“I have a job for you.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes again. Too much of that and what my momma told me when I was little might come true—my eyes might roll right out of my head. Still, it’s hard to take this guy seriously. Of course, he’s got a job for me. Why else would he be calling?

Putting the phone on speaker, I let my fingers fly across the keyboard as I pull up the connection to my cell and start working to trace the number. By the time he hangs up—whether I take the job or not—I’ll know every single one of his dirty secrets.

“I need someone on the outside who can help me,” the man continues.

A map of the globe pops up on my screen and at the press of a button, a square box appears over it—in North America.I knew that though. The man isn’t using any kind of voice-modulating device and he sounds American—the flat cadence of his midwestern accent is an easy tell.

“I was told you could help me,” he says.

I remain silent, waiting for the screen to catch up as another square box appears. The map zooms in over and over. Seconds tick by and the sound of crackling over the line has me tilting my head towards the phone, staring down at it. It wasn’t necessarily crackling so much as the sound of a toilet flushing—but not the regular porcelain kind. That was the sound of water on metal. Prison toilets are made of stainless steel.

“I’m willing to pay—whatever your price. What they’re saying I did. I-I didn’t. I want you to prove that I was framed.”

A beat stretches into the quiet, interrupted only by the harsh breathing of the man on the other end of the line. Then he curses. “You could say something, damn it,” the man huffs into the phone. “I have a daughter to protect. She’s?—”

Idiot.I grip the phone and turn off the speaker as I slam the thing to my ear. Just before I speak, though, I reach up and press a button at the bottom that will automatically change the sound of my voice, making it come over the line deeper and grainier than it actually is.

“Stop talking.”

There’s a brief moment of silence and then an outraged scoff. “Listen, you, I?—”

My grip on the phone tightens as I lean forward. The trace is almost there—zeroing in closer and closer. A dreadful feeling rises to the pit of my stomach. There’s no fucking way. No way in hell … but the computer dings a split second later and an aerial picture of the Hansgard Correctional Facility comes into clear view.

“If you want to protect your daughter,” I say, “you should know better than telling a criminal about your family.” AllenDonovan is a fucking imbecile. Had he called anyone else, he’d have put Juliet into an assload of trouble—more so than she’s already in as Silverwood’s pariah.

“I was just?—”

“Making the biggest mistake of your life,” I snap, cutting him off. “Shut up. You’ve done enough talking.”

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