Page 30 of The Venom We Bleed

Nolan curses and turns away from me, stomping up the hall. I don’t say a word, choosing to remain silent until we’re out of the club and back in my SUV. I get into the driver’s side and turn the engine on as he stews in the passenger seat. Several long minutes go by as I pull out of the lot and take the highway back to Silverwood.

Finally, he speaks. “It’s Gio’s call,” he says. “If he wants to end this shit with Darrio, then he needs to be the one to make the decision. Not me. They’re blood.”

I nod my assent. Blood doesn’t mean much in the long run. Just like Juliet’s blood abandoned her the second they could or the way Nolan cares for Ma-Ri despite there being no familial relation, it ends up being water under the bridge in the long run. For us, blood just means responsibility. As such, it’ll be Gio’s decision to make regarding his own piece-of-shit father.

Once that decision is made though, Silverwood will see a new leader in its underworld. As far as I’m concerned, Darrio Vargas’ days on Earth are already numbered.

13

JULIET

“Oh dear, you’ve had too much to drink, haven’t you?” The somewhat familiar voice is a grating edge to my muddled senses. My head pounds to the beat of music I cannot hear. With a groan, I try to roll away from the man, but hands merely adjust me so that I’m on my back. Try as I might to open my eyes, they remain fixed closed, as if my own body is fighting against me—as if it’s warning me that as soon as I open my eyes, the spell will be gone and I’ll have to face reality.

A man’s hand moves over my throat and down further. My skin itches, coming alive with the sensation of bugs crawling all over me. A low moan echoes up my throat and I resist the urge to gag. WhatdidI drink? It wasn’t enough to feel this drunk … was it? Mom and Dad said it was okay—it was a party and I was fifteen, after all. All the European countries let their kids drink. It was fancy. It was cool.

“So pretty…” The voice speaks again. The compliment is accompanied by hands slipping between my breasts and lower still. Pressure against my front keeps me in place. I’m pinned beneath something—someone—much larger and heavier than a mere comforter.

Sickness churns in my gut as cool air wafts over my skin and further down. The hem of my satin dress rises up my thighs.

Don’t open your eyes, a secret voice whispers. Don’t … open … your … eyes.

I blink blearily, my lashes lifting despite the dream’s warning and I sigh when I spy the stain-riddled ceiling of my cheap ass studio. Relief courses through me, but on its heels is the exhaustion of a poor night's sleep. I hate those damn dreams; it seems like I can never fully escape them. At least they fade after I’m awake. Sometimes. I’ve had nightmares for as long as I can remember. When I was still with my parents—before shit went to hell—my mother had ordered the perfect cocktail of drugs to keep them at bay. It was one of the few motherly actions she’d ever actually performed without complaint.

Now, though, I’ve got no health insurance, no medical connections, and the last of my medication dried up two weeks after my dad was arrested and denied bail. Which means when morning arrives with a pounding headache that throbs against my skull, there’s nothing but ibuprofen to manage it.

This time, I blame the untimely nightmare on the stress of looking for a job and running into the Scorpion Kings at The Dionysus Lounge—especially the one that had pinned me against the wall outside of Ma-Ri’s office.You don’t know what it feels like to kiss me.Those words circle in my mind, an annoying reminder accompanied by the fact that my eyes had gone to his lips, had focused on them even if only briefly, wondering…

I don’t need to wonder about shit. I just need to take care of myself, finish out the school year, and get the fuck out of Silverwood.

A blurry gray morning, complete with drizzling rain, wakes me as it seeps into my studio apartment with a chill through the thin balcony glass doors. Blinking my eyes open and then promptly shutting them as my headache screams at me, a groan rumbles up my chest. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I manage to force myself to sit up and swing my legs over the side of my futon. Fumbling madly against the cheap table nearby, I feel my fingertips graze a small bottle. I peek my eyes open just to confirm it’s the painkillers I need before popping the top, dumping out a full dose, and swallowing the pills dry.

There’s a notification on my computer of new emails—contacts from my dad’s lawyers. I ignore them. He made his bed and he can lie in it for all I care. I’m the one stuck here, dealing with the mess he made of Silverwood. The least he can do is leave me the fuck alone.

I wait another few minutes for the meds to kick in before I get up completely and start the day. I dress quickly and efficiently, thankful I laid out my clothes the night before. It’s become my routine because I know that mornings are either early or late but never on time. I either wake up hours in advance on account of the nightmares or the lack of good sleep has me slapping the snooze button half a dozen times before I actually get out of bed.

Today is the latter which means I’m running late to the school bus and hiking it across the parking lot as the big yellow cab pulls up in front of the curb. With my backpack slapping against my spine, I hurry my footsteps and practically leap onto the bus before the driver can shut the doors in my face. He scrunches up his ruddy cheeks as if he’d been planning to do just that, but doesn’t say a word as I pass him, panting and huffing, and slam into an empty aisle seat.

As we pass around Cory’s gym, I realize I’ve not yet gone back. I haven’t had time between school starting and jobhunting and then spending the last weekend training at The Dionysus Lounge. Curiosity and confusion still prick at me. Principal Long obviously has some connection with Cory, but what? And why would Cory and her talk about me?

There are no answers to be found on my own, yet still, the question permeates my mind as the bus finishes its route and makes its way back to the school. I spill into the cafeteria with the rest of the students, keeping my head low and making my way towards the front hall.

Unfortunately, my relatively peaceful entrance is ruined as a bold figure steps in front of me and I’m forced to either stop or run headlong into his chest. I choose to stop and look up with a scowl.

“There a problem?” I snap.

The guy is tall, probably another one of Public’s football players, with bulky muscles straining his cheap cotton t-shirt. He grins down at me and crosses his arms over his chest. “No problem,” he says, eyeing me, his gaze lingering on my breasts. Not much to see there—at least not with the hoodie I’m wearing—so I don’t know what the point is.

“Great,” I say. “Then move.”

I step to the side when he doesn’t and he follows. “Actually, I was wondering,” he continues, “how much for a couple of hours? Me and my boys want to celebrate after next Friday’s game. Oh, sorry, do you charge extra for multiples? We can do that.”

His words leave me utterly confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The dude pulls out his phone and swipes across the screen before turning it around to face me. “Saw the ad you put out,” he said. “Real ballsy, I’ve gotta say, but I get it if you’re that hard up for cash?—”

I snatch his phone from his hand without letting him finish and bring it closer to my face. A combination of horror and fury descends. Someone’s taken an old photo of mine—one that looks like it used to be on Silverwood Prep’s website for student leaders—and turned it into an ad promising private parties in exchange for money. I begin to shake.

“Yeah, so as I was saying, how much do you charge for three guys?” He leans forward, and the stench of cheap Dollar Store cologne hits my nose. “You’ve got three holes so I figure it’ll save some time if we all just fuck you at once.”

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