Page 153 of Sweet Venom
“Dahlia doesn’t push her luck like that little motherfucker Preston.”
“Heard that, too! Want a fight, big man?”
I’m about to pummel him against the wall, but Violet clenches her fingers in my T-shirt, her manicured nails digging into my muscles. “Please don’t fight.”
My eyes narrow. “That’s what I do, though. Fight. Punch. Kill. Youknowthat. If you have any fantasies about fixing me, it’s better to abandon them.”
Her smile falters a bit. “It’s not that…”
She trails off as Dahlia approaches to interrupt the moment, dragging Violet to the table.
All of them are a damn nuisance tonight.
I’d prefer it be just the two of us watching some TV or talking about school. But no, Violet wanted to invite ‘the important people in our lives’ on this fine Sunday.
Dinner is loud and obnoxious, mostly due to Preston and Dahlia—who refuses to let him have the last say in anything.
My mood is split between being annoyed at all of these people stealing Violet’s attention from me and being apprehensive at Preston’s state.
He seems hyper and cheerful, but he also has a bruise the size of fucking Texas on his side. I saw it earlier when he waschanging in the guest room. He said he got it in practice, but no puck would form that kind of bruise.
He’s lying.
Prestonneverlies to me.
The fact that he did is the reddest flag of all flags.
I need to get to the bottom of this before he does something stupid. He’s been whining more and more about his dad lately, which is bothersome in and of itself because he does dangerous shit to get his dad’s attention.
“This is truly amazing, Violet,” Kane says after sipping the soup.
“Aw, thanks.” She blushes. She fuckingblushesat Kane’s remark?
What. The. Fuck?
Kane smiles. “I mean it. I need the recipe.”
“See?” Dahlia says smugly, pausing her nonsensical fight with Preston. “I told you Vi was the best cook ever.”
Kane raises a brow. “I thoughtIwas the best cook ever.”
She keeps her thumb and forefinger slightly apart. “You’re just a teeny-tiny bit behind her.”
“Now, I’m offended.”
Dahlia strokes his cheek, and Violet smiles at the cheesy-as-fuck scene as I stab my fork into the lasagna.
Her gaze slides toward me…expectantly? No, it’s something else.
“What do you think?” she asks in a small voice.
“It’s amazing!” Preston cuts me off before I can even say anything. “I’ll be having dinner here regularly.”
“I’ll cut your throat,” I warn.
“Boo. Who will you bond with over mommy issues once I’m gone?”
I narrow my eyes, and he just grins.
