Chapter 15
Anita
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W e only have an hour left before we are back in Hollow City. The majority of that time was spent brainstorming with the group developing different strategies and plans. Everyone giving their input on the best way to get to Jax and the kids. It’s basic, but we can never be too sure. I’m always particular about having a plan a, b, c, d, and z. You never know.
Eventually, we all break apart on the flight. Mal went to her cubby after changing her dressing and Boone the same. Bedford continues working on his laptop with his headphones on.
Once my brain began working like an engine running on fuel, I laid back. When it gets to the point that my mind is no longer functioning, then it’s time to relax and take a break.
However, Ronan doesn’t quit. He continues working, keeping an eye on the time, the GPS tracker or if anything suspicious comes up. And then, of course, reading through the emails he receives from the academy. He’s such a busy man, and I understand that all too well. I may not have a school, but I understand always being in a position where you can’t slack off because others depend on it.
I stare out the window, my palms running over my pants. The weather is shifting from a neutral sky to dim and gray hues, and my body...is uneasy.
I’m struggling with the concept that I’ll be a part of something completely out of my expertise. No one has ever needed me in a situation where I’m not killing anyone, but instead...saving them. The point of my job was to catch the person, bad...or good. I only knew I had a job to fulfill. I never questioned it again because the last time I did, let's just say POPOV being questioned didn’t please him.
I’m not proud about the things that I have done. If Ronan knew, he would be repulsed just looking at me.
Or perhaps he’ll give me that devastating grin and call me his bad girl.
A rustling snaps my focus away from the window. I look up to see Ronan sitting on the seat beside me with a white ceramic mug in his hand and a saucer plate with a fresh cinnamon bun on top with a fork stabbing the center of the pastry.
I adjust myself accordingly. After he’s comfortable, his arm brushes lightly against mine as he sits the plate on the opening table while extending the cup toward me. Steam swirls up between us with a tea string looped over the side.
“Tea for your thoughts,” he speaks low.
Right then my chest fills, busting open with those pesky butterflies flapping all over.
Calm down, heart.
A smile permits as I think of the night I attempted to do the same thing for him.
I blink at him, processing his sweet gesture. I should be disgusted by it, but my stomach is fluttering like a girl when she sees her crush.
“Thank you.” I sigh. My hand clasps around the cup, part of my fingers rubbing against his as I take it. An electric shiver runs up my arm from that simple touch, forming goosebumps on my skin.
I pull back, straightening my shoulders as I glance down at the cup, the warmth filming my palm. That’s when I notice the paper hanging from the thin string reads ‘chamomile.’ My stomach rolls and flips, causing my throat to a close like an allergic reaction.
“I couldn’t find ah-wanda. Wagana. I don’t fucking know.” His hand waves at the cup with exasperation.
“Ashwagandha,” I say coolly, not wanting to laugh because his fluency makes it hard for him to form the words. I dab the tea bag up and down in the hot water.
“Yes, her,” he grunts, threading his long fingers through his wavy hair. “I’m going to find her and force her to get a new fucking name.”
That's when I laugh. It shocks me and him. His brow scrunches as he looks me over with this gleaming expression. He still doesn't laugh along with me—because he’s being dead serious. I only giggle more, shaking my head as I remove the tea bag. Does he really not know it’s a herb and not a person?
I won’t tell him.
I gaze at him, bringing the cup to my lips, the vapors hovering in my eyes as I tip the cup back and let the heat settle on my lips and down my throat. Instinctively, my body sinks, allowing the healing properties to provide me some solace. I take another sip, enjoying the one ingredient I love the most. The honey.
He remembered.
I set my cup on the table before looking at him. He’s holding his gaze on me with a softened look, unlike before when he’s in headman mode. His eyes roam my face like a hawk until he's back at my eyes with a tilt to his head. “You have a beautiful laugh.”
“Do I? It doesn't sound like a donkey snorting?”
The way he stares at me makes me feel exposed, like with just one look he’ll know everything about me. Even my darkest truths.
“No, definitely not like that.” He chuckles lightly. He nods at the cup. “How’s that?”
“It’s wonderful. Thank you.” I give a faint smile, placing one hand under my thigh while the other remains on the cup. I’m not uncomfortable, per se. I’ve never had someone put me first, and it feels selfishly good.
The cinnamon bun sits looking lonely on the small table, so I inch it over to me with.
“What made you think I wanted another cinnamon bun?” Although I do, my belly rumbles in response to the glaze dripping off the side. I don’t indulge in sweets often; it’s a once in a black moon thing.
He hurries the movement, pushing it closer. “Let’s say I had a feeling.”
“I can’t say you're wrong.” I tip my chin, grabbing the fork like it’s my dagger. I’m seconds away from destroying this sugary load of carbs.
He chuckles lightly; the sound is a melody to my ears. “Of course, I’m not.”
I give a bland look with an eye roll. “You’re truly intolerable.” I point out, the smile doesn’t leave my lips.
He releases a breath, stretching his long legs out in front of him and crossing one foot over the other. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”
I place my fork down, facing forward and bring my cup back to my lips to avoid being put on the spot. That is uncomfortable. You don’t get through this job talking about your problems.
“Don’t ignore me.” He lowers my cup slowly. My first instinct is to snap at him and ‘ask why do you care?’ But I choose not to.
I tilt a brow at him, my finger circling the rim of the cup. “Why did you get into this line of work?” I shift it back to him.
“Another one of your twenty-one questions?”
I shrug. “Seventeen more to go.”
He sighs again, leaning back into his seat. “It wasn’t my plan. But once you’ve experienced what we have, I couldn’t sit back and do nothing. So, I tapped into a system where you’ll find only the best mercenaries, combat veterans, snipers, assassins—you name it. I inquired a lot, and through word of mouth. I was trained by a mercenary group for two years. Learning any and everything to protect myself. Because if there was going to be a devil lurking in the shadows, then it was going to be me.” He turns his head to me, his expression stoic. “I was part of a mission with a team that was fulfilling an order. They were looking for a group of men that owed another man money. Not my type of business, but I’m glad I went. Those men did dirty work and were also robbing people. Our team found them at a home, where you could say their money grew on trees. The parents were already murdered when we arrived; we got to the rest of the men and killed them. But there was a young girl there, hiding in the closet.” His jaw tightens, settling his gaze back at the table. “She had watched the entire slaughter happen.”
My eyes roam to the front where Mal resides. My heart sank like a ship. Although she’s already told me this, it’s hard hearing again from a different perspective. I don’t need to say her name to know who he’s referring to.
“I could’ve left. Left her there to fend for herself.” He plucks an invisible lint off his shirt as he sucks in a deep, exhausting breath, and then releases it in a loud blow. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. After that day, I left the group, funded my corporation, built the school, went a hunt to recruit the best of the best who had been wronged by the system and the rest is history.”
I glance down for a moment, then back at him. “You started because of Mal,” I say in a near whisper.
“Yes and no.” He clasps his fingers. “I didn’t give a fuck about anything else anymore, but the only thing that made me feel alive was when I took her from that disgusting scene. It was like my body woke up from this dark slumber that had no peace. At that moment, I knew I had a purpose. And that was it.” He leans his head back. “So, I promised her she’d never have to feel weak like she once did. And I’ve kept that promise,” he rasps, staring off into space with his jaw tightening and teeth grinding together.
“That's why she's so protective of you. You gave her another reason to live. Just like you,” I speak softly, clasping his hand.
I understand it's a hard topic for him, and the more he speaks about himself, the more I want to know about him. I also realize some part of it will give me the dose to be more comfortable with it all. It’s courageous to put yourself out there in the deepest depths of the hell's lair to help save others.
He turns to face me, hooding his dimmed honey eyes at me. “Now you. What's wrong?”
I don’t move my hand from his, instead I leave it there and shift in my seat facing him, raising my leg to bend it on the seat. Once I’m comfortable, I sigh before speaking.
“I-I’ve never done this. I was always a part of missions that involved getting rid of some corrupt politicians or ruthless criminals. Some...” An inexplicable knot fills my throat. “Good? Maybe? I don't know.” I look at him when I say it, expecting him to narrow at me, but his expression stays the same. Calm.
I continue, “What I’m saying is, it was never something truly life changing. Something that was...” My voice trails off, trying to find the right word. He doesn’t try to finish my sentence, he lets me have the floor without becoming irritated at my inability to figure it out.
My eyes diverted back to his shoulder then back at him, finally getting the word. “Something that was bigger than myself.”
He sits upright waiting for me to continue. My heart pounds with a vicarious pace, that part of me screaming to stop being weak.
My chin dips. “I’m not meant for this world, your world. What if I do something wrong or forget about a kid, and they’re left behind? Or Victor is there and I...” I stop myself as the panic festers. “I kill and move on. I’ve never saved a soul before.”
He cups my chin with his finger, raising it to face him. I don’t look him in the eyes, I feel shame for rambling off.
“Look at me.”
I hesitate before gazing at him.
“You saved Mal, yeah?” His eyes soften. “You saved me even when you hated me.”
I cover my hand over his wrist. “That's different.”
“It’s not. A multitude of things can go wrong, but that'll never happen. You have me.” He grazes the pad of his thumb over my chin. “Don’t doubt yourself, little snake. You're ruthless, but not as cold-hearted as you think you are. I’ve seen you in action. I've saw how you handled yourself with Victor. You could’ve said fuck it and killed him. But you didn’t.” My shoulders sag as I glance down again. He nudges my chin again to keep my eyes on him. “You have no idea the capabilities that you possess, the fucking willpower.” His fingers glide to my nape, stroking it tenderly.
I tilt my head toward his touch, relishing his hands on me. “Will it be enough to rescue twenty kids?”
“All you need is the strength and resources to safely get the children back home. And you have that, we have that. I have no doubt in you, so why do you?” He grazes his fingers across my brow, pushing my bang back.
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. A blockage over my chest begins to open like a sore wound. I think back to the general, back to POPOV.
My father trained me for one reason and one reason only. Initially, to get revenge and kill Ronan. Nothing else mattered. Until he passed away, and I think a part of me finally felt...free. But I was so deep into the rabbit hole that I used my skills and military experience to get me further and become stronger. To be recruited by POPOV and answer to his ways.
I lick over my lips. “I’ve always been used as a weapon to put an end to cruelty and hold no remorse as I was trained to do. That’s why I’m Venom.”
He roams over my face as his hands twist down through my curly strands. He gazes into my eyes with a wicked stare. “ You’re not only Venom. You’re Anita. And this is where you belong. You’re meant to be here. By my side fighting this war with me,” he tells me in Portuguese.
He grips the back of my neck, and his eyes darken. “Because what’s a snake without her poison?”
I gaze at him as stars burst from my eyes and my chest opens like a rose blooming as I take in his encouragement. I put aside everything I told Wicked earlier, how I felt this morning, and I allow him to tug me closer until his warm lips touch mine. My body melts instantly, a sigh of relief escaping me like a cast being torn off.
His kiss quiets the voices in my head, pulling me back into his own black hole, the place I feel the most at peace—safe.
A throbbing heat pools between my thighs like a dam breaking open, begging to be closed, and filled with something strong, thick, lengthy.
My heart stutters against my chest as I work my hands up the curves and dents in his arms, reveling in the bits of him that I can get. I should be somewhat worried about one of the team members waking up, but currently, I’m not thinking about it.
All I want is him.
I’m supposed to be a professional solider; I don't go back to a man after a one-night stand. But was it really a one-night stand?
He groans lightly as I sweep my tongue deeper into his mouth. He reciprocates by gliding his tongue in a perfect swirl around my slick mouth.
Pulling back, he presses his forehead against mine. He breathes fans against my bruised lips.
“Little snake, you are tempting. I’d advise us to stop now, or I’ll have to drag you into that bathroom and do some awful things to you. Then again, I’ve been needing a taste of your sweet pussy, anyway. I didn’t have a taste of it last night, among,” his nails dig into my hair, “everything else that happened.” His voice is deep, husky, and full of desire.
My pussy aches even more for two reasons:
I know he’s serious about dragging me in there.
I've rarely allowed a man to lick or taste me there.
Only once and he was so terrible I never tried again. It’s such an intimate, delicate thing, and I’ve always just brushed past it, knowing that most men probably have no clue what the hell they're doing. So, I will fuck you, and that is all.
The thought of Ronan licking my cunt, really rouses my blood. I clear my throat gently.
“We can’t; there are people here.”
“You think I give a fuck?”
“I don't allow men to eat my pussy,” I say bluntly.
His face contours into confusion, and it's the sexiest expression I’ve seen on him thus far. Then they dim with lust, and I can tell it's full of filthy thoughts. “You’ve never had it done?”
“I have. Only once. Most men, know shit when it comes to pleasing a woman.”
“I think you know by now I’m no ordinary man. I’ll please you properly.” He grins and I can see the challenge in his gaze.
Images bombard my mind. Ronan pinning me down, hiking up my legs, and licking my clit until I'm withering in a puddle of my own mess. I don't mean to nip my lip and squeeze my thighs together, but I do.
He closes the gap again, and I shiver with no regard. “Let me show you,” he whispers in my ear. “I’ll even let you guide me on how you want it. Although you won't have to because I’ll make you feel so damn good you won’t even remember that wimp who had no proper training. I’ll be your first. And only.”
And only .
I swallow. “Your team is here.” I dart my eyes warily, but Ronan doesn’t seem to give a shit.
Pulling me to his lips, he gives me another hard kiss. “Our team. Your family.”
The muscles in my stomach swirl uncontrollably, and I couldn’t control it if I tried.
Family.
I give him one last savory kiss but nudge him away by his shoulder—even though there are things I would love to do to him right now or him to me. Instead, I grab at the fork.
“Are you going to at least enjoy this cinnamon roll with me?”
He groans, adjusting the bulge in his pants. I don’t stare too long, or I might just forget why I didn't ride him right here.
“It’s not as sweet as your pussy. But it'll do for now,” he says with a tantalizing smile, baring his dimples and devilish gaze.
I point the fork at his lips. “You have no idea how I taste.”
“Let me find out, and I can tell you,” he challenges.
I ignore the sparks between my thighs and the thump in my chest. Cutting into the cinnamon roll, I bring it to my lips. I can feel his hard stare zoned in on my face. I smirk deviously as I put it in my mouth. My taste buds tingle with delight as I chew slowly. I cut another piece and put the fork up to his mouth. His face scrunches with reluctance, eyeing the pastry.
“It’s rude to watch someone eat,” I say, edging it closer.
“How is it rude when I’m enjoying it? Maybe you shouldn’t eat it like that.” He examines it like he's never had one before. I can’t help but chuckle at his lack of confidence in eating a piece of cinnamon roll.
“Try.”
He looks at me blandly for a moment, then back at the bun before parting his lips and eating it. I lower the fork, studying the way he chews it.
“You don't eat sweet foods too often, do you?” I ask, looking at his lips, then back at him.
He chews loosely. “No. But I’ll do it for you.” He sits upright, taking the fork from my grip and cuts another piece. His stare is fixated on me, as if he's searching for a lighter to create a flame. “I’ll do anything for you.”