Page 137 of Beautiful Venom

She’s getting too close for comfort, and it’s reshuffling my priorities, hindering my goals, and clouding my judgment.

Liar. She’s been clouding your judgment since the first time you saw her.

“Ready for some fun?” Preston’s voice echoes around me, pulling me from my deep thoughts.

He’s standing at my left, draped head to toe in black, including the gloves. Even his blond hair takes on a shadowy hue in the night as he draws his turtleneck sweater up to his chin and toys with a knife.

“You can have all the fun you want, but his life is mine,” Jude says from my right as he twirls his hockey stick.

Like Preston and me, he’s dressed in black, but he’s also wearing a raincoat. Since he loves getting up close and personal with his victims—meaning smashing their skulls in—it’s a good idea to protect oneself from all the blood splashes.

When Jude sent the text to invite us to his latest ‘hunt,’ I agreed.

Usually, I don’t come along, leaving him and Preston to their own devices.

I don’t revel in bloodlust. Don’t consider killing and violence a viable purging method like Jude does.

When I’m assigned to kill someone, I do it with a gun and a silencer. Other times, I pay people to slip poison into their drink.

Because that’s how I deal with things—in a clean-cut way and under complete control.

I don’t like messes.

And I certainly loathe the cleanup.

Preston isn’t violent on the ice or in public, but in the darkness or when it’s only the three of us, he unleashes his unhinged side. Truth is, he’s a bloodthirsty motherfucker who revels in seeing the life leaving people’s eyes.

“No weapon?” Preston asks me.

I slip my phone into my pocket and push my jacket aside to reveal the gun.

“Man, you’re so boring.” Jude shakes his head. “I bet it comes with a silencer, too.”

“Naturally. Can’t leave evidence behind.”

“This is literally my family’s forest and we have the cleanup team on standby.” Preston walks up to Jude and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Just say you hate life, unlike me and the big man.”

Jude slams his stick against Preston’s shoulder. “Don’t kill him. He’s all mine.”

“Finders keepers,” Preston sings in a manic tone, then jumps off the porch.

“Motherfucker.” Jude rushes behind him, and soon, they both disappear between the tall trees in a blur of movements.

I remain still for a few seconds, then take the stairs one at a time.

Jude released his target for the night about fifteen minutes ago, and we all watched the sleazy middle-aged man go north.

There’s no need to rush.

Tall trees loom above me, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands against the dark sky. The moon slips in and out of view, its pale light flickering through the thick clouds, casting silver slashes across the forest floor.

As I walk, the dirt beneath my shoes crunches, the sound swallowed immediately by the weight of the night.

I stop, my breath steady as I study the ground and turn on my flashlight.

There they are.

Hectic, heavy nonconformist footsteps in the mud.

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