Page 50 of Sweet Touch of Venom
She doesn’t respond, and I wonder if she heard me or not. “It’s fine. I can take it.” I peer over at her as she turns to face me with a faint, dead smirk. “I won’t cower in the corner bawling my eyes out. Your words will never truly affect me to that point. They have no meaning behind them. It packs no punch. No ammo. Nothing,” she says almost robotically, with a slight squint that comes off chilling. “So, take your useless apology and shove it back down your throat.”
Well shit. That’s an even worse response than I would’ve given.
I resist the temptation to grin at her blades she just threw at me. She’s so far gone and emotionally void that it does something unfathomable to my gut. The shift appears on my lips, and I turn to face the road. That shit is appealing to me. Placing a few tingles under my ribs and down to my toes.
Because so am I.
*Tudo feito - Alldone
Chapter 19
Venom
Operation: Get ready.
So much for never seeing me bleed. It’s been days and my hand has begun to heal already. After the ointments Dr. Rio amped me up with, I’ll give another week to see the scar tissue mending back together.
Once I wrapped my hand, I step out of the bathroom, sliding my blade into its rightful place, then I look in the large mirror that resides right by the bay window. I check myself out, making sure I feel good. I decided to wear a tight black turtleneck shirt and underneath a black tank, just in case I got too hot. Fighting takes a lot of energy, and that means sweat.
Plus, black cargo pants were already in the closet with the basic GenCre combat attire. It’s practically a row of them, which is off-putting. I choose to wear it because it makes my ass look fantastic. I twist around, checking myself out in the mirror.
“Hmph. Nice.”
Lowering down, I tie the loose string on my combat boots, securing it. There’s also an array of their combat boots which Iwill not be wearing, and it makes me wonder, how the hell does he know my shoe size?
So strange, that man.
I straighten up, my green nails shining through the mirror. I did my nails late last night since I couldn’t sleep. The memory of Ronan wrapping my hand with a wrath of a ticking time bomb is unsettling, and kept playing in my mind all night. I have the faintest idea of what pissed him off so much; he still handled my hand with such care, like hewasdealing with a bomb.
As I’m making my way out of the door, my mask that sits on top of the dresser stands out, the spikes glistening, luring me to take it. I gnaw on the side of my mouth. I always wear my mask when I’m doing solo missions. But when I was out with the girls, I never did. I don’t see why I should now.
“Another time.” I release a breath before walking out.
I make my way out the door, a sigh of relief escapes my chest. Thanking whatever entity is up above because it looks like Ronan left out while I was showering.
I head down the creaking steps and towards the hall. After bumping into a few loose strays (students), I finally make it down to the steps where Wicked, Boone, and Ronan stand, locked and loaded. Earpieces are in and guns by their side. Ronan is placing his gun behind him when he looks up at me coming down the steps. My stomach does a filthy spin and twist before flopping to the floor, his eyes scaling down me like I’m freaking Cinderella awaiting her prince. I take my eyes off him, swallowing the log in my pipes.
I am not Cinderella, and he is definitelynotmy prince.
“Took you long enough, princess,” Mal sneers, rolling her eyes before going to the door to gather the gear. I ignore her because I’m really over her shit.
“How's your hand?” Ronan strolls towards me, finally getting his gun in the holster. He’s wearing a black turtleneck like me;it fits his chest marvelously, and it shows all the curves in his broad plates and muscular shoulders. Black cargos and black combats, making him dark and dire.
I inspect his entire face. He has the smoothest tawny skin, even under the tiny scars and laceration on his cheek and lip. His normally wavy hair neatly swooped back, the faded scruff looks freshly shaved, showing his squared and chiseled jaw.
No one should look so damn hot going on a mission to murder people. I want to pinch myself, so I don’t have to feel the heat rising to my neck.
“It's fine.” I look away from his gorgeousness and glance over to the side, watching Mal place a hand grenade into her duffel bag. Ronan doesn’t respond, he only watches me as he puts another gun on his waist. I’m so unnerved, my palms are sweating already, and I haven’t even done anything. He grabs a pair of black cut off gloves from his back pockets and puts them on. Once he’s done, he reaches into his pocket again.
“This is for you,” he says, lowering his voice; his accent is so thick sometimes his words slur to make the terms out. He pulls out an earbud from his pocket. It’s small, not bulky and awkward.
“Chris, my other main guy, speaks into these. He scopes out the building from the outside, making sure nothing goes haywire. If it does, we have a full backup team. All we need to do is say ‘kite on flight.’” He lifts his brow, passing me the earbud. “Plan A and Z, right?”
My heart shouldn’t tingle with baby flutters, but it does. I don’t smile. I won’t give him that. But I do appreciate him listening to me and taking my advice.
“Yes. Exactly.” I brush my hair over to place the ear bud, but my hair keeps catching it. I knew I should’ve gelled it down and put it in a ponytail.
“Here. I’ll help.”
