Page 75 of The Venom We Bleed

“We're bunking together,” he says, breaking the tension.

I back away from him, my breaths rushing in and out in uneven spurts. He’s too close, too big, too much. The bare hint of light from the bathroom in the hall does nothing to help me. Without the overhead light on, I’m reliant on that singular beam of illumination as well as the moonlight coming in through his bedroom window.

Nolan steps closer, following my retreat. My heart jumps against my ribcage, thumping in a rapid unsteady beat. The urge to flee overwhelms me. He must see that in my eyes too because upon his next shift forward, he speaks. "Where else are you gonna go, Jules?" The question is presented in a low tone. It’s not sarcastic, it’s not cruel, but merely curious.

When I don’t answer immediately, he reaches out and flicks the light switch. The whole room is bathed in the yellow glow, and I close my eyes against the glare. Relief slides through my veins a split second before I snap my eyes open again when his fingers brush my arm. I take another step into the room, the backs of my legs bumping into the bench press, causing me to stop and glare up at him.

"I can go to a motel." Ican, but I don’t want to. Not that I’ll tell him that.

"You got the money for that, Princess?" He arches a brow. "I thought you didn't even have the cash to pony up for a phone."

I grit my teeth, annoyed and far beyond humiliated. "That's none of your fucking business."

Nolan tilts his head to the side, a strand of sable hair falling over his forehead giving him a boyish look. It's not fair. He shouldn't look boyish. He should look like the conniving and manipulative motherfucker that he is.

Why did I come here again?

I supply an answer even as I think the question—I’m still in shock. He used that to his advantage.

Or maybe you don't want to be alone after what happened,a snide inner voice whispers back.

Nolan backs away just as quickly as he advanced. He turns and hefts the duffle bag from his shoulder onto the bed and strides to the open closet in the corner. Reaching inside, he withdraws something and then heads back for the door.

"I'm going to get changed and grab a drink," he says. "Do you want anything?"

I shake my head before I realize he can't see it with how he's facing the doorway. "No, thanks." Gratitude sounds a bit awkward considering who he is, considering whoIam, but I get the words out anyway.

Nolan doesn’t taunt me for it. He just gives me a firm nod and leaves the room, shutting the door on his way out, leaving me alone. I’m not leaving. There will be no motel, not just because he’s right—I don’t have the money for one—but because it would be stupid to be alone right now. Even if Nolan is the last man I’d ever have expected to offer me this kindness, I’ll take it.

Kindness for outcasts like me is in short supply.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, I feel something in my chest crack wide open. I stumble under the weight of it and slump onto the edge of the bed. Staring down at my hands, I blink and try to focus, but they’re moving all over the place. It takes me a few more seconds to realize that it’s not my visionbut my hands. They’re shaking, practically vibrating as I bring them closer to my face.

I killed a man tonight.

The memory is fresh in my head. Yet, even as I draw it back up—it feels hundreds of miles away, collected into a bubble that’s attached to me, but only by the thinnest of strings. All it would take is one little snip and it’d float away, never to be seen again. My breath comes faster, sawing in and out of my throat as I push the heels of my palms into my eye sockets.

They,the man who’d tried to rape me had said.They told me you’d fight harder.What did that mean? Who the fuck is‘they?'

The logical conclusion would be that someone had either paid the man or convinced him to harm me as revenge for my father’s crimes. Although I’d asked about calling the police, the truth is that they wouldn’t protect me, and I don’t need them to anymore anyway. That fucker had tried to take something from me, and I’d killed to protect it, to protect myself. Lowering my arms from my face, I sigh and look up.

There’s nothing really to look at in Nolan Pierce’s room. No mementos, no photographs, nothing to hint at any of his interests other than living, breathing, and working out—as if he, himself, is little more than a guest in his own life. I find myself staring at the laptop sitting in the center of his desk. The screen is dark, offering a reflection of my face. My arms close around myself, rubbing up and down once again as a chill seeps into my body. I rock back and forth.

“I don't regret it," I tell myself. "I don't regret it. I did what I had to do. I don't regret it." The truth burrows into me. I don’t regret it, but Ishould.

A roil of emotion swarms me, swimming through my veins. I curl inward, dragging my legs up until my feet hang off the edge of the mattress and I can wrap my arms around myself. I’m tooclose to the edge, sure that with little effort, I’ll splinter apart and pieces of me will be lost forever.

My stomach is a ball and chain hanging in my body, weighing me down. It tightens and contracts as if someone is punching me right in my abdomen, over and over again. The pain moves up to my head, the repetitivethud thud thudtaking root in my temples.

I killed a man tonight, and I'm not sorry.

"Jesus ... who the fuck am I?"

I don't even realize I've spoken aloud or that Nolan's bedroom door is open again until he replies to my question. "You're someone who's had a bad night, Princess," he says, causing me to lift my head to meet his gaze.

My eyes widen in shock.Oh ... my ... God.

Nolan Pierce is ripped. In the back of my mind, I knew he had to be. He's a football player after all. He has weights and a bench press in his room. His friends work out at Cory's Gym. Reality is far different when you just know something versus when you can see and experience it for yourself.

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