Poison Touch (Monarch Vipers #1)

Prologue

KINSLEY

I’ve always been drawn to recklessness. Tonight is no different.

Faceless, restless men surround me. Masks hide their manic expressions and salivating mouths.

It’s like being in a fucked-up funhouse.

Clowns and ghastly faces are everywhere I look.

The energy in the air is a cocktail of rabid savagery and unrelenting greed.

On the brink of climax, their desperate need to fall into its grasp escalates as they scream at the two fighters in the octagon cage.

My father is one of those fighters. He has no idea I followed him here and snuck into the illegal underground fight, as I do every time he fights.

Every few weeks, you can find me here.

Every few weeks, thousands of dollars slide through greedy hands.

Every few weeks, a fighter is dragged away, bloodied and bruised.

I was five when I started training to fight. Since then, my father has repeatedly said, “Never put yourself in a position where you have to fight for your life.”

The exact moment I know his words are the absolute truth is the second his opponent sends a hard strike to his temple, and my dad’s body crumples to the mat.

My hands fly to my covered mouth as his words echo like a bass drum in my head.

The constant thrumming of syllables reverberates with a fierce warning as the masked figure descends over his unmoving form.

He lies on his back with his arms limp at his sides.

As I stare at his body, willing him to get up, I’m terrified as hell that my dad didn’t take his own advice.

Blood splatters the dragon tattoo on his forearm.

Unnecessarily, the fighter, who calls himself Python, pins my father’s wilted body to the ground.

He looks up into the crowd, scanning the masked faces of the audience.

His eyes are wild and unsettled, like a rabid dog as he searches for someone specific.

It’s all too easy to lose your sense of surroundings in the octagon.

His amped-up fans are too hyped with the scent of blood and sweat in the rancid air to notice.

They roar for him to finish off his prey as I silently beg him to have mercy.

I scan the crowd to see who or what he’s searching for. The fighter’s gaze finally settles on a group of men in the far corner. Venom.

Tonight’s illegal event is being hosted in an abandoned warehouse.

Anyone invited or involved in the festivities is required to hide their identity behind a mask.

The suited men in the corner are no different.

What makes them stand out is that they all wear the same mask, featuring a green striking viper.

I drop back into the shadows. My attention ping-pongs from the fighter in the ring to my dad to Venom.

The man heading the group, with his arms crossed over his chest, nods slightly to Python.

The nod is all for show, a way to hype the fans, increase the bets, up the odds, and raise the stakes.

It’s only a savage game, after all. May the best man win.

Fighters get the shit beaten out of them, their faces swollen beyond recognition, and some even end up unconscious.

That’s the risk they take as soon as theystep insidethe cage.

But no one has ever been killed—at least that I know of.

Tonight feels different. There’s an intensity building that leaves chills snaking across my heated skin.

I rub my arms through the sleeves of my hoodie.

Nothing in that cage is staged or an accident.

Nor would my father act as if he were unconscious just to put on a show.

It’s clear Python has already won, so why not announce him as the winner?

Something’s off, and it isn’t good. The air becomes heavier with each breath I drag into my lungs.

The fighter in the cage returns the simple gesture to the suited man with a slight nod.

That one silent command is anything but good for my dad.

The tattooed snake slinks down the side of the man’s torso, its open mouth revealing large fangs and a forked tongue—very similar to the ones on Venom’s masks.

The fierceness in its inked eyes echoes that of the fighter.

I stifle the scream on the verge of freeing itself, threatening to expose my presence. Furious tears spill over the rims of my eyes, soaking the edges of my black mask.

The eyes of the six men of Venom flash with determination and dollar signs.

Even the hosts of the event know it’s safer to remain anonymous behind their masks—especially when the ringleaders are playing dirty games and making indecent deals.

It’s as if they decided to use my father as a pawn in their sick game tonight.

As stupid and dangerous as it is, I can’t stand back for another second.

I push my way through the crowd. All of them scream for blood, for my father’s life tobe snuffed outfor sport and extra cash in their pockets.

The fighter raises his arm and pumps his fist into the air, giving his fans their money’s worth.

The onlookers chant his name. “Python! Python! Python! Python!” The long, drawn-out pause between the Y and the Tmakes the single word sound like two separate words.

Streams of sweat run down the fighter’s face through splatters of blood, turning it pink. Python takes one last look around, soaking up the energy of the uproar in the overcrowded, stuffy room. Any second, his fist will come down onto my father like a sledgehammer.

Body odor and blood fill my nostrils. Ignoring the nauseating scent, I grasp the chain-link cage and call out to my dad by his stage name. “Slayer! Get up! Slayer! Slayer!”

The metal bites into my palms, but I hardly feel the rough edges slicing into my skin. The only hurt is the aching in my chest, the heaviness of guilt and helplessness weighing me down like a massive anchor.

Nothing. There’s no response from my dad.

I’m shoved to my left, then into the wall of the cage.

The side of my face smashes against the fence.

The jarring pushes my mask out of place.

Pain bursts along my cheek. The corner of my lip snags along the rough edges of the metal.

I lick away the wetness along the scratch.

Holding on to the fence for my life, I refuse to move as a fight breaks out behind me in the crowd.

Their hollering saturates my own as I continue to call out to my dad.

Finally, his eyes flutter open as though he’s waking from a deep sleep. Blood from the gash along his brow seeps into his unfocused gaze.

“Stay with me!” I scream. “Slayer!”

He doesn’t—or can’t—hear me. I can barely hear myself.

Over and over, I call out to him. My throat feels like it’s on fire, but I don’t stop.

His head lolls to the side, facing me. I can save him if I can get him out now.

His right eye is swollen shut. His split lips slowly part as he finds the strength to open his one good eye.

God only knows how badly he’s bleeding on the inside.

With no other option, I raise my leg, bracing the toe of my boot through the fence, and pull myself up. I begin to climb up the side of the octagon cage. I’m only a few feet from the top when someone grabs my ankle and yanks me down. I try to kick the asshole loose, but his grip only tightens.

“Where the fuck are you going? Get down. Let Python finish the loser!”

The second he jerks me away from the cage, my feet hit the ground, and I stumble.

Catching myself before I fall, I round on the guy who pulled me away from getting to my father.

He’s already disappeared within the messy brawl, leaving a hundred other crazed fans who look just like him, their faces hidden behind a mask and their eyes possessing the same heated hunger and rage.

Movement in the center of the ring grips my attention. Python’s balled fist is cocked and ready. It’s too late.

I’m too late.

I scream as his fist slams into my dad’s face.

Again and again, he repeats the drone-like beating while the ref stands over them and does nothing.

I scream until my throat is raw and the taste of metal coats the inside of my mouth.

No one hears them, though. Nothing can be heard over the crowd chanting, “Finish him!”

The collective demand shoots straight to the center of my chest. I press my hand over my heart, trying to calm its fierce pounding.

It’s no use. Caught up in the glorified frenzy, they have no idea what they’re begging for.

To them, my father is a plaything, an actor in their game.

He’s not a man with a daughter and a wife, someone who has an actual life.

Begging for death would be the last thing they would be doing if it were someone they loved under the hammer of Python’s fist.

A gunshot goes off in the warehouse, the sound ricocheting off the concrete walls.

Panic becomes a living thing as everyone crouches, waiting for another shot.

Heavy breathing and panting are the only noises for several seconds.

Then, as if the entire warehouse counted to five to move, all hell breaks loose. The room begins to spin.

In a whirlwind,I’mswept away with the mob. I try to fight against them, but it’s useless. Seconds ago, these same crazed spectators were chanting for death. Now, all of them race toward the exit to save their own ass.

Like salmon going upstream, I fight my way in the opposite direction, back to the cage.

I shove and push as if I’m not even there.

I slowly make my way through the crowd until I’m in a small clearing.

I jump up to see over the heads of the crowd and into the octagon.

No one is standing in the cage. Python and the ref are gone.

Only my father’s body lies in a bloody heap on the mat.

Before I reach the cage, another fight breaks out, andI’mshovedtoward the same dark corner from where I began watching this hellish nightmare.

I need to get back to my dad. Tears blur my vision as I try to fight my way through the stragglers.

A white-hot pain like I’ve never felt before splinters through my side just above my hip.

I grab the area, and wetness coats my hand. “What the?—?”

I double over. My breaths become short gasps as I try to remember to breathe through the piercing pain.

The only thing I can concentrate on is the searing throb.

I close my eyes, tuning out the surrounding chaos.

When I catch my breath, I stand. Even in the dingy light of the warehouse, I can see blood coating my hand.

My father isn’t the only one in trouble.

“Get out of here,”a deep voice rumbles next to me.

A masked figure stands before me. The snake’s fangs on his mask are only inches from my face.Venom . His dark, arresting eyes are his only visible feature. Like me, the rest of him is shrouded by a dark hoodie pulled low over his brow.

I’m unable to focus on him, too overcome with the chaos around me and the unbearable pain shooting through my side.

My entire existence feels taken out of context, as if I slipped into another realm and I’m watching a different version of myself, a version of me who’s helpless and frail.

She’s so unfamiliar because I’ve never been either of those things.

The masked man stands at least a head taller than I do. I catch sight of his hands to see what he stabbed me with, but they’re empty. Confused and reeling with pain, anger, fear, and grief, I do the only thing I know how to do. I lash out. He quickly catches my wrist before I’m able to strike him.

His gaze is drawn to my hand, covered with blood. “What the fuck?”

Shock or concern causes him to reach for me, then he jerks back and stares at me as if I’m some new species.

Too confused and scared for my dad, and now for myself, to decipher what’s going on, I yank my arm free.

He reaches up to tug my hood down. I move to stop him with my free hand, but it’s too late.

My blonde hair spills out. Several people, their masks a blur, run past us to their freedom, back to their safe, sheltered lives.

As he takes me in, the stranger’s eyes darken to a deeper shade of night. I should be scared by the fury igniting in them. I’m not. If my dad weren’t on the verge of death, then there might be a slight possibility I would be, but not tonight.

“I need to get Slayer out of here,”I rasp. I’m losing blood and precious time standing here with this greedy killer.

“It’s too late for him. He’s already gone. But you need to get out of here. If they get a hold of you”—he jerks his head toward the rapidly approaching sirens—“you’redone for.”

By his low, heated growl and the uneasy way he looks around, I don’t think the cops are the only ones he’s warning me against. When he faces me again, the gaping mouth of the viper on his mask sparks a renewed, vibrant anger deep in my core.

“No! You’re the reason he’s— I won’t leave him.”

“Let’s go. Now!”someone yells over the surrounding chaos to the masked figure standing with me.

“I won’t leave him!”I shout again as a thunderstorm of hysteria overtakes me. None of this was supposed to happen.

He grips my shoulders. “You don’t have a choice. Leave now and disappear,”he hisses.

Why is this stranger so hell-bent on my escaping the danger on its way? I’m no one but the daughter of the man who lies dying only twenty feet away from me. I try to fight against him to get back to my father. He’s the only one who matters right now.

The moment the stranger’s grip loosens, I take advantage of the split second I have, spinning around and escaping his hold.

I turn to run back to my dad. Something slams into the back of my head before I take two full strides.

An explosion of pain erupts inside my skull.

The room tilts. My body sways on its own accord.

As if I’m walking into a tunnel, darkness closes in around me.

Dad… He’s the only thought I have before the black hole of defeat drags me under in its unbreakable embrace. Yet, somehow, I know this is only the beginning of the hell that’s coming for me.