Page 49 of Sweet Touch of Venom

I guess she can sense the heat emanating from me, like I’m my own inferno. “Because you really are clumsy. And if you can do this now, then I worry about how you are out in the field.”

She stiffens under my touch, and I don’t need to look at her face to know her lips are probably parted, disbelief written all over it. “I only tripped. It happens. Also, Mr. Inspector Alvarez, if you haven’t noticed, it’s dark out here; these rocks are deadly. And as for the mission, you don’t need to worry about that. I can handle myself.”

“Handle yourself?” My head snaps up, cocking my brow at her. “I can’t have a liability on my hands if you’re tripping and falling to hells nowhere.”

Her brows furrow, and I can spot all three expressions riding on her. Embarrassment, anger, insult—even when she tried to mask it. “Screw you.” She moves her arm, yanking her hand away, but I latch onto it. Not too hard, or that would cause more blood to form and pour out, but enough to keep her hand in the middle, so I can continue patching her up.

“Stop moving your hand. I need to clean it and put a bandage around it.”

“No, screw you,” she repeats with a snarl to her upper lip. “I’ll be glad to fix myself up so I don’t become a hindrance and a futile liability.”

Promise me you’ll take care of her.

My throat clogs with a weight I never asked for. But I’m glad to take it on if that means she’ll be okay.

I grind my teeth as my shoulders slack. My breath draws out slowly as I process the words. I glance back down at her hand. “What I mean is, I need to be focused when I’m on a mission. I would like to be less worried about your stability than theopposite of that.” I jumble my words, and I make no damn sense, but that’s the best I can do. Her arm relaxes in my hand, and I take the opportunity to dab the laceration.

“Just wrap up my hand and don’t ever touch me again,” she says, adjusting her body as if that’ll keep her far from me. “And I don’t need you to worry about me. I’ll be clear-headed. I do my job well and have never fucked up a mission. So, take your worry and gear it towards your own safety. Not mine.”

If only I could.

“Oh, I have no doubt about your ability to conquer a mission.” I am no longer spewing my delivery. I could lash back at her because she’s infuriatingly rude. She talks to me in a way that I would never allow. I’m tempted to grip her throat and fill her mouth with something that’ll keep it shut until we’re back, but I calm myself and continue tending to her hand. The cut appears to be no longer than five inches. And thankfully, it’s not deep and will heal in a matter of days.

After a couple of minutes of silence, I wrap one more time with a swipe of my fingers over the tape to keep it secure.

“Tudo feito. I don’t have a lollipop to give you for being such a champ, but you should be good as new soon. You can go to Dr. Rio to get it re-wrapped.” I glance at her as I stuff the supplies back into the kit. Dr. Rio has been our on campus doctor since the beginning. He was in the Medical field in the Marines until he was discharged. I found him in his home, surrounded in a pool of blood and sliced bodies. After they killed his wife and daughter.

She lowers her hand slowly, avoiding eye contact. “Thank you.”

I zip up the bag, then I toss it to the back. “It’s no problem.”

“I’ll clean up the mess when we get back.” Her tone is lower as she points her hands through all the spots that have her now dried blood.

“Don’t bother.” I flick off the light, start the car, and drive off.

She clears her throat, muttering something in French before flipping out her phone. Which reminds me that I need to catch up on the language, not if she’ll be around throwing threats and talking shit. Mental note: buy a French book.

“What’s the plan once we get back?”

I switch positions, resting my elbow on the window frame. “We gather the team, map out the blueprint for invasion. You, me, Mal and Boone will infiltrate it. Simple.”

She nods, putting her phone back in her jean jacket, and she turns to me. “And if shit goes left?”

I lower my brows. “What do you mean?”

“The mission never goes as planned; sometimes it’s more people than we expect or something else unexpected. It’s imperative we have a Plan B and Z.” She emphasizes pressing down her palm.

“Shit never goes left. In and out and that’s that and if it does, we will have it handled.” I lower my hand on the armrest, turning the corner and driving down Black Forest Road.

“How confident of you,” she mocks, facing forward. “If you say so,Headman.”

I despise when she calls me that. I don’t mind the crew doing it, but with her an irritated bubble settles in my stomach and I don’t like it.

I ignore the twist and continue heading back home. It’s an eerie silence between us, and I can tell she’s still stewing in the earlier altercation with her hand and likely what I said. Truthfully, she’s not a liability—far from it. I’ve always had a problem with thinking before I speak; it’s a thing my mother always told me. And it’s bit me in the ass too many times to count. Many times, I didn’t give a fuck. But tonight, it’s the opposite.

As I ride down the narrow pathway to get to GenCre, I tighten my hand on the wheel, ignoring the clench in my throat.

“About earlier, and what I said. I didn’t mean it.” I swallow it through.

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