Page 74 of The Venom We Bleed

Nolan’s place is not what I would have predicted. When he pulls into a gravel driveway in front of the one-story, cottage-style house, I expect him to back right out because he missed the correct address somewhere amongst the various streets and turns we took to get here. He doesn't.

Instead, Nolan shuts off the Pontiac Firebird that might have once been a bright cherry red, but over time has become a faded orange-red. From what I’d heard of Gio’s love for his Firebird, I’m surprised Nolan appeared so comfortable in the driver’s seat. A car is a luxury for the kids of southern Silverwood, and yet it’s clear that the Scorpion Kings share their things—even if they’re important to them. It almost makes me respect them, or at the very least, their comfort and trust in one another.

What would it be like to have that?

The lights of the Firebird dim and Nolan gets out of the car, pocketing the keys before popping the front seat forward to retrieve the duffle bag of my stuff. I open the passenger door, and the loud groan it makes causes me to jump in the near silence of the rest of the neighborhood.

Looking around, I take in the darkened street corners and empty sidewalks. It's not a bad neighborhood, more well-maintained than my complex for sure. Although some of the lawns are overgrown and there are plenty of fences in need of repair, there aren’t any boarded-up windows or cars on cinder blocks.

Nolan appears at my side, shutting the car door with a quick movement. I go still at his nearness and then slowly lift my gaze to his. At first, I think he's going to mock me for living in a place that's below his own. Perhaps he'll scoff and snarl that I shouldn't get used to this because I'll be going right back as soon as my apartment is fixed up.

Then again, why the hell would he or any of the Scorpion Kings offer to shelter me in the first place?

That question has been an ever-present curiosity in my mind since I walked out of my studio and got into the car. The Scorpion Kings are supposed tohateme. This whole fucking town hates me. Why would they bother to help me now?

"Come on," is all Nolan says, turning and heading up the front steps.

I follow behind him at a sedate pace, watching him as he unlocks the front door and holds it wide for me to pass through. I duck under his arm and look around. The first room reveals a small living area with a single three-seater couch, chipped box-like coffee table, and a lamp in the corner that belongs in the grandma section of the local thrift store. There’s only one thing on the wall—a painting that’s too faded for me to see well in the dim lighting. The newest thing in the room is the flat screen mounted on the wall.

The front door closes at my back and the lock is flipped, the sound of it echoing around the square room. Glancing back at Nolan, I swallow around a dry, swollen tongue.

"Where's your..." I don't finish. I was about to ask where his parents are before I remembered that Nolan's dad had gone missing a few years back.

‘Missing’ meaning he’d probably up and run away from his responsibilities. At least, that’s what most of the town assumed. Though there had been a good month or so following that people had speculated that Nolan, himself, had killed the man. Considering how well he’s taking my own recent murder, I’m starting to wonder if he actually did kill his father.

Would it bother me if he did?I wait, anticipating a rush of disgust or even unease, but nothing comes. Why would it? After all, if he’s a killer then so am I now.Either I’m fucked in the head or I just realized there are worse things to be than a killer.

"My mom's on night shift," Nolan says, answering my unfinished question. I nod, and he gestures to the hallway to the right of the living room. “Bedrooms are this way."

I trail Nolan in silence, letting him lead me through the house and feeling almost detached from my own body. My feet shuffle forward as my earlier questions come back to haunt me.

The Scorpion Kingsdohate me, don’t they? They have no reason to like me. But enemies don’t get rid of bodies for each other. I narrow my gaze on the back of Nolan’s head.

It’s a debt, I remind myself.A debt that they’ll no doubt collect at some point.

As I follow Nolan down the hallway, I rub my hands up and down my arms. My skin, though clean, feels stretched tight over my bones. So tight that any added movement on my part pulls and tugs at the flesh, making my body feel too small. I’ve never felt as if I were too big for my own skin. I don’t like the sensation.

Nolan leaves the hallway light off, bypassing the switch, but stops next to a tiny slit of a doorway and reaches inside. I flinch when dull yellow light illuminates the space, and though he doesn't seem to notice my reaction, he pulls the door to what looks like a bathroom mostly shut. The action leaves onlythe barest sliver of light to shine over the faded dark carpet underfoot.

Nolan points to the room across from the bathroom, gesturing for me to go ahead of him. “In here.”

I stop on the threshold. "This is your room." It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yes, it is.” Nolan nudges me, and I take one halting step inside.

The bedspread is a dark plaid pattern that can be bought at any general store. It’s folded back, the double mattress bed made with military precision. Aside from that, there’s little else in the room. A bench press, some weights, football gear in the corner, and a rickety-looking desk and chair combo that I refuse to believe Nolan actually uses.

Looking at the desk’s practically concave seat and then back at the man eyeing me with dark curiosity, I shake my head. He’s far too fucking big to sit in that chair. He’s built like the football player he is. It’d break under the weighty mass of him.

“Disappointed?” Nolan asks when I don’t say anything else.

I don’t respond, instead taking another step into the room and turning in a circle. There's no sour smell, no hint of body odor or days-old sweat. It's clean and fresh, the scent more like laundry soap and cotton than what I’d expected a man’s room to smell like.

Warm heat touches my back and my gaze unfocuses. The room goes blurry for a split second as Nolan's hot breath hits my ear, nearly burning my skin when he speaks. "Did you think I was rich, Princess?" His voice is low, deep. "There are only two bedrooms, and I'm not asking my mom to give up her bed—she works too damn hard to give it up for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” I pivot to face him. “What kind of person is that?” Before he gets a chance to answer, more words shoot out of my mouth. “The kind whose parents are criminalsand deadbeats? The kind who kills a man that tries to rape her?” I laugh, but the sound is anything but amused. “Hell, maybe I belong in the gutter more than any of you. Maybe it was just an accident that I was born a Donovan and this is the universe’s way of righting that wrong.”

Nolan’s dark eyes stare into mine. He doesn’t speak and doesn’t respond to my assessment. Instead, the two of us stand there, our gazes locked in battle. The only problem is … I don’t know what we’re fighting for.

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