Page 10 of Sweet Touch of Venom

“No. Now get to the point.” I nod to the screen. I’m ashamed enough. I had a woman punch me in the nose and get away with it. I can’t even think about it.

Catching my irritation, he cocks his head, spinning around, looking back down at the screens. “Okay, Mr. Grumpy Man.”

I don’t bother arguing with him; he’s always been a pain in my ass since bringing him on the team. But he’s great at his job, and it never goes underappreciated.

Mal strolls into the room, her presence giving them the same reaction as they do mine. But only she doesn’t acknowledge them. Great. Now time to hear her mouth.

“You’re back early, didn’t expect you back until?…” Her voice trails off. “What happened to you?” Her face scrunched, confused.

“Nothing happened.”

“He got punched,” Bedford chirps facing ahead typing on his keyboard.

I grind my teeth snapping in Bedford direction. “No. I didn’t.”

Mal opens her mouth, but I hold my hand up. “Leave it.”

I cross my arm circling my chest, resting my fingers on my temple. I can tell she wants to press me more about the situation, but she leaves it alone.

“Okay. What do you have for us?” she says, pressing a palm to the open space on the desk leaning next to Bedford.

“I think I have a clue on who this V is Ro, but it doesn’t make any sense.” He lets out a shaky breath clicking his keyboard.

My brows furrow looking at the screen. Pictures quickly circulate on the screen.

His black polished nail lands on the square box with pictures. “It took some digging, but this person does not want to be found. I’ve heard of them, though. Him or her. I don’t freaking know, but they are big in the dark web world. Wanted by many people. They mark some of their victims with the letter V. Some think they are personal to them? That I haven’t figured out yet.” He taps, then the collage spreads out, pictures and off-guard snaps layered across the screen.

“This, my friend, is Venom.” He claps his hand together inspecting the photo in awe as if he just found a goldmine. Technically, he did. “Although we’ve never seen their face. This person is ruthless. But that’s all I have for you. For now.”

My head shakes, completely lost and confused. “Why haven’t I ever known of this person?”

Bedford’s head shakes with his arms crossing then shrugging. “They really don’t want to be found.”

I step closer to get a better view; although, they are street cam photos, it can be difficult to see the face, but dissecting little details won’t be. I tilt my head at one photo that stands out from the rest. It’s of someone who’s back is turned. It’s fuzzy, but I can see the outfit clear as day, along with the rest of the form. My throat clenches tight as I narrow in on the figure. My nose began to sting with the replay of a hand decking me. Someone likeher. Green cargo pants with a black hoodie and those long ass curls. I could be speculating, or my theory could be accurate. Not everybody can wear those clothes exactly the way that woman did at the apartment. Same color, same coordination, same location where I killed…

“Damn,” I slip out as I stand straight.

“Headman?” Mal jerks her head to me in alert.

Not responding I dig in my jacket to fish out the dagger. Once I pull it out, cold to the touch, I investigate it further.

“What is that?” Bedford says, lurching out of his seat to come closer. My eyes run wild on the dagger, looking for clues. It’s a beautiful knife, embedded in gold and black snakes. You can tell it cost a fortune by the weight of it. And then there it was.

The letter V engraved right at the bottom of the blade. My heart thunders against my chest, a disbelief laugh slipping out. “What the fuck.”

Bedford gasps, his hand flying to his cheeks, smashing them in. “Is that?…?hers?” He reaches out to touch it, but my hands snap close, cutting my gaze at him.

He squints one eye, his pointer now tapping his cheek. Once he’s put two and two together, his entire face opens wide. “Did she do that to you?” He points to my face, amusement plastered all over him. I give a dry look, not feeding into it.

“What’s happening?” Mal steps in, flipping her gaze to the knife tucked in my hand.

“My guess is Ronan here met his maker and got decked in the face.” He couldn’t even contain the snicker. Asshole.

Mal, on the other hand, does not find it anywhere near as amusing. She turns to look closely at the screen with a snarl, then slowly turns at me. “What do we want to do, Headman?”

I open up my hand, glaring down at the knife, heat streaming off me, enough to melt the gold.

So, this is the person who has tortured my enemy, and then sucker punched me. But why the hell do they care about the peopleI’mafter? Maybe it’s competition?

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