Page 7 of Reclaiming Venom

Ridley’s smile widened, a mischievous glint in her eye. “How about with your favorite meal? I make a mean chili that always gets you talking. Of course, that can’t happen until you’re able to go home.”

For the first time since waking up in this strange new reality, I felt the ghost of a smile tug at my lips. “All right, darlin’,” I drawled, the endearment slipping out naturally.

A nurse came in and let us know visiting hours were over. I wanted to argue, and beg for Ridley to stay, but she’d given me a lot to think about.

As Ridley stood, gathering her things, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of anticipation. The road ahead was uncertain, fraught with obstacles, but something told me this fiery woman would make the journey worthwhile.

Chapter Two

Venom

The scent slammed into me like a runaway train, a heady mix of lavender and leather. The combination was unfamiliar, yet strangely comforting, making my nostrils flare involuntarily. I paused, one hand still gripping the doorknob, as my eyes struggled to adjust to the dimness within.

Shadows danced across the walls, twisting the familiar into something alien. For a fleeting moment, I felt like an intruder in my own home.

With measured steps, I moved forward, the floorboards creaking softly beneath my heavy boots. Family photos adorned the walls, their smiling faces staring back at me with an accusing intimacy. Ridley was in most of them. Children with my eyes. My throat tightened, a lump forming that I swallowed with difficulty.

“Who are you people?” I murmured, reaching out to touch a gilt frame. My calloused fingertips left smudges on the glass, marring the smiles.

In some photos, I recognized myself -- younger, less gray in the beard, but undeniably me. My arm around Ridley’s waist, a little girl perched precariously on my shoulders. But try as I might, I couldn’t summon a single memory to match the images. The past remained stubbornly locked away, a treasure chest buried beneath layers of amnesia.

My fists clenched at my sides, a surge of frustration bubbling up inside me. I was a man who thrived on control, who always knew where he stood. This helplessness was maddening, a betrayal of my very identity.

My gaze landed on a photo of myself, my cut emblazoned with patches, arms crossed over my chest, radiating the kind of “don’t-fuck-with-me” energy that had served me well as VP. At least that felt familiar, a tangible reminder of who I used to be.

But as I stared at my younger self, a different kind of ache bloomed in my chest. Who was I now, stripped of those memories? Without the stories behind each smile, each embrace frozen in time?

The lavender scent intensified as I moved deeper into the house, clinging to the air like a cloying perfume. It should have been soothing, but instead it only heightened my disorientation. This place that should have felt like a sanctuary was as foreign as a distant land, the echoes of my past haunting me like ghosts.

And yet… and yet there was something. A flicker of recognition, a whisper in the dusty corners of my mind. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. I couldn’t be sure.

I paused before the large family portrait, the colors faded and the edges softened by time. I studied the faces of the children, my children, trying to etch them into my memory. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words catching in my throat like unwanted guests. “I’m trying. I swear I’m trying to remember.”

But the smiling faces were a cruel reminder of a life I couldn’t recall. Just glimpses, tantalizing fragments that slipped through my fingers like smoke. The frustration was a physical ache, a knot in my stomach that wouldn’t loosen.

The sudden creak of floorboards ripped through the silence, making me jump. I whirled around, my body instinctively tensing, and found myself face-to-face with a whirlwind of blonde hair and boundless energy.

Ridley.

She strode toward me with a confidence that seemed to light up the room, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of hope and fierce determination. The contrast between her vivacity and my somber mood was stark, yet somehow comforting.

“There you are, handsome,” she said, her voice rich and warm. “Thought I might find you brooding in here.”

My breath caught in my throat. This woman -- my wife -- exuded a strength that both intrigued and intimidated me. “I wasn’t brooding,” I muttered, though the lie felt weak even to my own ears.

Ridley’s laugh was like summer thunder, bold and unapologetic. “Sure you weren’t, tough guy. But let me tell you a story that might put a smile on that ruggedly handsome face of yours.”

She perched on the arm of a nearby chair, her petite frame somehow commanding the entire room. “Like I told you before, I’m the one who claimed you.”

“Tell me more about it. I need the details. Maybe then…”

She started in on the story, and painted such a vivid picture, I could see the scene in my mind. Almost like a movie was playing.

“Ridley, do you remember me?” Torch asked.

She hesitantly nodded. “You’re the president of the Dixie Reapers.”

“That’s right. And the man beside me is my VP.”

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