Page 77 of The Venom We Bleed

With my breaths puffing against his skin, I try to slow my heart rate by counting backward from ten and start over when I reach zero. Still, I don’t feel as composed as I want to be. It’s not fucking working and if I didn’t want to lose it in front of one of the goddamned Scorpion Kings all over again, I’d cry. I’d actually cry.

I don’t want to open my eyes and see if those shadows are closer, if they look like the man I killed or worse. I press my forehead into Nolan’s chest and shoulder. “Turn the light on,” I say again. His heat is a fiery thing and I can’t help but soak it into my skin, needing the warmth if only to stay sane.

His hand continues to hold me to him. When he speaks, his tone is even, unyielding. “I’m not going to turn on the light because you can’t stay afraid of the dark for the rest of your life, Jules. If I let you sleep with the light on now, then it might take you a hell of a long time to sleep without it again.”

“I can sleep without the light on, I just need…” My throat closes up.

In the studio, there was always moonlight to see. There was the light from the oven and microwave clocks and when my head got really bad, I could always leave the bathroom door cracked with the light. In here, in his arms, there is only shadow and dust and darkness.

I’m suffocating.

“No, you’re not.” It takes me a moment to realize that Nolan is responding to me. Even my thoughts are slipping out. I’ve lost all control. “I won’t let you suffocate, Jules.”

I take several deep gulps of air before I manage a response. “You don’t give a shit about me.” The words come out on a croak. “Are you sure it’s not becauseyoudon’t want to sleep with the light on?” I challenge.

His chuckle is low and raspy, the sound of a man both amused and tired. Suddenly, I feel bad about keeping himawake. He and the others didn’t have to come to my rescue. No one asked Gio to break down my door. No one asked them to get rid of the body. No one asked them to help me. It would have been easier for them to leave me be—to let Silverwood find out and turn me into a criminal too.

“Maybe it’s a little of that,” Nolan admits, distracting me from the direction of my thoughts, “but you have to know I’m right.”

I swallow around a thick, struggling throat and sag into him.“Fuck.” It’s all I can say.

He nods against me, the feel of his hair brushing my temple when he bends a bit more making me shiver. “Yeah,” he says. “‘Fuck’ is goddamned right.”

Nolan doesn’t move for a long time, just holding me there as I get my breathing under control and my heart rate slows back to what can probably pass for normal on a screening. A yawn stretches my jaw and nearly pops it.

“Better?” he inquires as I finally push away from him. My cheeks feel too hot and I’m mortified that I just let him—fuck, I have no idea what this was, but I do know I felt vulnerable around him and I don’t think that’s such a good idea.

“I’m fine,” I say, silently praying for the words not to be a lie.

Though I can’t see him, I have the distinct impression that Nolan is surveying me in the dark like the guy has night vision or something. I scrub a hand down my face, an odd bout of self-consciousness rearing its ugly head.

“So,” I say, “are the guys coming over here or…”

“They’re going back to their own places,” Nolan says as if I didn’t just have a whole mental breakdown against his chest. “I can ask them to come over, though, and stay the night if you want.” He pauses as if hesitating and then, “Do you want them to come over? To make you feel safe?”

“I feel safe.” The words shoot out of my lips and this time, no amount of praying will make them the truth. They’re a defensive mechanism and a lie.

The sound of air and a softwhooshandthumpas I assume Nolan flops back onto the bed and his pillow tells me he isn’t fooled. “Fine,” he says. “Then sleeping shouldn’t be a problem.”

I remain sitting up, my line of sight no longer blocked by Nolan’s body. The shadows are back in the room, lingering just beyond some invisible barrier that keeps them a few feet from the bed. My eyes strain to see them for what they truly are—my imagination.

My imagination is a cruel bitch, though, because they remain.

“Tell me something,” I say, needing more of his distraction.

“Hmmm?” Nolan’s sleepy hum is the only sound in the room other than my own breathing.

“Why did you come tonight?”

He stills in the process of pulling up the sheets. Forcing my eyes down, I focus on the build of a man—a real one—next to me on a bed that feels too narrow for both of us. I have to admit, though, it’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than my futon.

“Go to sleep,” Nolan says, repeating his earlier words. “No more questions.”

“I want to know,” I insist. Patting the bed, I reach out, not stopping until I feel the hard muscle of his body. My fingers skim down and I realize that I’m much lower than I meant to be when I touch several lines in succinct procession. Ripping my hand away from his abs, I hold the offending limb to my chest and silently curse myself.

“No, you don’t, Princess.” Nolan doesn’t sound sleepy anymore. He sounds angry.

With my hand against my chest, between my breasts, I part my lips and say the one thing I know will make him talk. “He tried to rape me.”

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