Chapter 37
Poison
Black shooting stars
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I don’t get nervous . Fuck that, I’m NOT nervous. I swallow a bit to lather my throat and settle my jumping nerves that can't seem to get a grip.
Alright, tonight I am. I’ll admit that. Ever since I saw her walk into that room, owning it with her eyes only on me kept me in a state where my heart can’t slow down for nothing, and my mind is about to collapse.
We step foot across the foyer, the warm breeze thawing my cheeks. An aromatic scent of cinnamon and pine needles fills the space.
Thankfully, the candles didn’t burn down the house. The smell is relaxing, but I wish it cooled down my racing heart. I hope she doesn’t notice. I’m playing it off like I’m not sweating bullets under this shirt.
“It is so beautiful,” she says with awe. I spin around, catching her viewing the home like it’s a museum. Her slender neck twisting and turning with a beautiful smile on her face. And to think before she wouldn’t dare form a twitch on her lips for me. Now it’s all she does. And I love every bit of it. “You wouldn’t think this would be tucked off in the woods.” She glides her fingers from mine, walking past me.
I stroll up behind her as she catches the set-up at the far end of the window. Her breath hitches only slightly, not enough to be audible. But the rise in her chest tells me she wasn’t expecting me to have a table ready with a set of black and white roses and a gift for her. I do have dinner, but from the way she looks, I’m not so sure if it’ll be food I’ll be feasting on.
She turns to me, her eyes glowing like two dark marbles under a light. “Who are you?”
I don’t know, I can't explain what I’m feeling. I want to see her smile, happy, and be with me.
“Ronan Alvarez,” I tease, easing the jacket from her shoulders. She switches the box around in her hands to pull her hands out of her jacket. I toss it on the hook by the foyer wall, then I guide her to the table, where it’s presented neatly.
“Sit and I’ll be back.”
“Yes, sir,” she says with a flirty tone.
I pause and glower at her with a possessive stare because that ‘sir’ only makes my dick grow harder. “If you want me to enjoy some dinner, then I’d suggest you to not say shit like that to me.”
She places her elbow on the table and leans into it, turning to look at me with that devious gleam in her eyes.
“Okay.” She rests her palm on her cheek. “Poison,” she drawls exotically.
I dig my teeth into my lip, and debate whether to say fuck this dinner or to stick with the script.
I point a finger at her. “Be good for once.”
Then I stormed out of the room before I let the other man down below do the talking, but I’m pretty sure I heard her snicker on the way out.
The kitchen has its own area that's blocked off by a door, and when I make it through, I’m on a mission. I grab the plates filled with Cajun pasta, smoked salmon, and salad packed with nuts, greenery, and vinaigrette for taste. I didn't personally make it, but one day, when I have the leisure time, the first thing I am doing is cooking for her. By the time I make it out, she’s poured the glass of red wine for us both, and the lit candle between the roses is flickering gently as she gazes out the window.
Her eyes catch mine with the reflection, and she looks back at me with that soft shimmer to her irises.
“Dinner has arrived,” I say while placing the dishes down like I'm some actual chef.
A subtle smile is still curled on her lips. “This looks scrumptious. I would say it's much better than my mushroom soup.”
I fold in my lips, sit down, and say nothing.
She huffs and looks at me with an astonished stare. “I thought you liked it!”
I tilt my head with a pinched expression. “I don’t like mushrooms.”
“Then why did you eat it?”
“For you.”
That settles her down; her shoulders drooping slightly and her eyes on me. I never told her I don't like it because why would I want to take away that priceless moment between us. I would eat rocks if that were all she had.
“I’ll eat whatever you have. I’m not a complicated man.”
Her lashes flutter, and she looks away before clearing her throat. “Next time, tell me. I would rather you spit it out than to suffer. Next time I’ll make sure to have something you like.”
Next time. Hope spread over me like a coat. Don't get too excited, fool, she never confirmed.
“You can also bring yourself. I like that very much.” I grin as I grab the stem of my wine glass.
Anita narrows her gaze with a sweet chuckle and takes her glass as well, the black polish matching the crimson liquid.
She raises her glass and watches me. “A toast. To utter chaos.”
A dark smile curls fully. “To mayhem.”
We clink our glasses. But then she looks at our joined glasses for a second before flicking her eyes back to me. “To GenCre.”
A silence falls between us, and I'm sure my tie is choking me again. I want to ask if she's going to stay so damn bad, but I’m nervous about her answer more than anything, and I've never been more afraid than anything in the past twelve years.
“To GenCre.” To us.
She smiles along with her eyes, and we take a sip, leering at each other over the rim. The candle's flame dancing between us, signaling the burn that's heightening our explosive connection. I want to flip this table and kiss her, but then the house would burn down.
I accept the taste of the wine as my gaze is piercing into her. It's not something I’d drink occasionally or ever again, but it's refreshing to finally let loose and do something besides go on missions, kill, and plot the next move. I feel relaxed for the first time, and the message from earlier is nowhere in my mind.
Seconds later, we cut into our food and ate in a comfortable silence; I watch her like a creep as her mouth chews and eats the penne pasta. How can she turn something so simple as eating into an erotic scene?
“This is way better than mushroom soup,” she adds with a snicker. “Did you make it?”
I shake my head, pointing at her plate. “No, but soon I’ll show you my mad chef skills.”
Her smile softens. “Yes, one day.”
She turns toward the open view outside. I wanted her to eat under the starry sky, but it's too cold for that, so I figured this will do. The view of the woods is eerie even with the little lights Mal strung up, the trees shift side to side, but the stars shine boldly with little specs and waning moon along with it.
“I’m still shocked you have a home here in the woods.” she says, looking back at me. “Why?”
I shrug. “I needed a place with my own solidarity. Until I found myself still at the school days on end.”
She eyes me with a tease. “Or perhaps to bring back something else for some privacy.”
“Dead bodies?”
Her face dulls.
“To torture?”
She snickers, then her expression shifts and it's serious this time. “No. Other lovers. Women to fuck.”
It's my turn to get serious. “No. You're the first woman I fucked in a while.”
Her brow lifts. “What's a while?”
“Five years.”
Her eyes widen, as if she's seen a ghost, then she squints, puckering those sexy pitch-black lips. “I find it hard to believe a man as gorgeous as you weren't getting some frequently.”
“Wait. You think I’m gorgeous?” I hood my eyes at her with a wink.
“Is that all you heard?”
“Yes. Because you're the one I’m fucking now and nothing else matters.”
She hums and lifts the wine glass to her lips. “I wasn't jealous or anything, if that's what you're thinking.”
Seconds roll over, and she eyes through the rim, then lowers it to the table. “So, what's her name, social, and address, and do you prefer I chop her up or...?”
Right then a chuckle from deep inside my chest comes out, and I’m laughing, a real laugh that I don't think I have experienced in what feels like ages. Anita clutches her chest, and she's giggling along with me.
It's a harmonious sound for the two of us, and when I look at her, it only makes me want to keep getting to know her. I want to know everything from when our worlds changed to the night she came back to me.
Our laughing dies down gradually. “Tell me more about you and your father,” I ask, stabbing my salad. That's one way to start it off. Bring up our fucked up parents and past.
Anita drinks her wine again. “Hmm. Another twenty-one questions?”
I curl my lips. “I guess it is.”
She intakes a slow breath. “What number is this?”
I don't have to think about it. “Six.”
Anita licks her lips, smacking them lightly from the wine. She quiets for a second before titling her head at me. “What happens when we get to the last question?”
The last question...Will I be able to ask her all the questions I can before she leaves? I remove the thought because it only makes me dread that moment. “I guess we’ll have to see when that time comes.”
She nods, holding her glass now lazily at the rim. “Then, what do you want to know?”
“How did you become an assassin? Was it because of him?” I remember her father very well, I saw him as dad more than my own, and to hear he turned on me the minute Carter died leaves a somber grip in my chest and a sick taste in my mouth. I hope he would forgive me, too.
She sucks in a light breath and places her elbows on the table with her fingers clasped. “Was your father a good man?”
I feel my chest tighten in a way that it hasn't since the night started. I blink, losing my focus for a second, then I look back at her. I admit honestly, “No. He chose to speak with his fist, his words, and other objects.” The back of my hands tingle with phantom sensations at the mention of it.
Anita tilts her head, studying me. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head slowly, swallowing my food. “Me too.”
She sighs. “With me, I enlisted in the marines after being sent to an all—exclusive military bootcamp. My father was head of it because he was in the special forces and connected to the CIA.”
Damn, I knew nothing of that. To me, he was a generous older man that treated me like his own and gardened with his wife.
“When Carter died, he sent me there quicker than I could blink. He didn't want to lose another child, and he needed me...resilient, able to defend myself. For two years I trained. I was beaten and thrown around just to become stronger.” Her eyes flicker away for a moment before looking back at me. “My father trained me until he died.”
The stiffness in my shoulder relaxed. Now it's my turn to say it. “I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “Don't be. He lived a great life. Me, on the other hand, I was taken away from mine to become a warrior. A killer, taught to never show any signs of weakness. Without my father, I knew nothing more than rage and death, so I completed my service in the marines and was offered an opportunity to join an underground group that specializes in getting rid of very dangerous people. Least that’s what I thought.” She steadied her focus on me when she said that, probably searching for judgment, but she’ll never get that from me. “I never asked questions, I only did as I was told and completed the job. Until one day my thoughts did something. Something that it's never done before.”
I notice the crease in her forehead deepen slightly. “What was it?”
Her brows rise then fall as she shakes her head. “I asked a question.”
My head cocks. “What's so wrong with that?”
“You never ask, you only do. Asking questions results in punishment. Something I was aware of, but I couldn't hold back my reservations, I felt...wrong. Although I know it was my job and at that time, I was becoming good at it. Something just didn't sit well with me.” She lowers her glass. “So, I asked who the target was and what they had done. I found out they weren't as bad as I thought, and I didn't want to complete that mission.” Her eyes lands on mine with a dim light. “POPOV didn't like that. So, he ordered five of the sisters to beat me to a pulp as he watched, then threw me in an underground pit.”
Rage engulfs my chest, and I’m clenching my teeth so hard that it's bound to break. “For how long.” I managed to get out.
Anita inhales and thick breath, then sighs it out. “One week. It didn't help that it rained half of that either, so mud and everything...” She waves it off like it's just your typical conversation on a Sunday sunny morning.
That damn prick. I need to find that asshole.
She continues, “The mission was completed, and with or without me, those people died. It was that moment that I realized everyone dies at some point, and it was no point in avoiding the inevitable. Fighting for a cause that I could never solve. So, I never asked again. And when I felt myself edging to that part, I just shut it out as much as I could and finished my job.” Her voice lowers to a somber undertone, and my chest tightens.
I keep imagining every time she spoke out, any time that fucker POPOV punished her, makes me want to leave this dinner table and hunt him down. Then, deliver his head to her for a New Years gift.
I picture the sweet young girl that I used to know in the mud getting kicked and beaten to the bone just to become stronger than steel. The image makes my blood boil uncontrollably.
My jaw stiffens. “You didn't deserve to be taken from your life, you didn't deserve any of that.”
Her gaze flickers away. “No...but I don't have any regrets. It made me who I am today, even when I missed the girl I was.”
I stop eating and give her my attention. At that same time, she looks back at me. “If you were to change your path now, what would you do?” From the time leading into now, all my thoughts and hope would be geared to her staying here with me. But after hearing her story, I want her to be as free as she can be...and as happy as she can be. Whether that is here or elsewhere. It hurts so fucking bad, not being selfish.
“Speaking of that.” She fidgets with her wrist. “One of your students asked if I can be the new Combat teacher.”
A dark cloud of optimism surfaces above. “Who asked?”
“It's classified.”
I purse my lips into a smile. “Alright. Then.” I clasp my fingers on the table and leave forward slightly. “What is it that you want?”
Her head shakes slightly as she stares at the flowers. “I don't know.”
“You do.”
She looks at me, shocked. “I've never had a clear path. I’ve—”
“Anita,” I say firmly, causing her to wince at me. “What do you want?”
She swallows and at this second her eyes sink into mine. Her lips open then close. A second later, she says, “I want to be free.”
Her brows pinched as if she's stunned that those words tumbled from her lips. A gleam glazes over her brown eyes.
“I want to have a life of my own. I don't want to be controlled and used as a weapon anymore or answer to anyone who doesn't have my best interest at heart.” She looks back at the roses and her fingers begin to graze over the petals. “But who am I to live a normal life? There's no such thing as normal for me. For us.”
My head cocks back. “Normal? Who’s to say you need to be normal for these things? Only for you to feel some sense of humanity. If you enjoy knitting, then do it. You like to do nails? Go for it. You want to be a wedding planner, fucking do it.” I narrow my gaze at her. “Or, if you want to put your real talent to use, you can become the new combat teacher. Your options are endless. You can try your best to be normal, and I bet it’ll be one of the most excruciating moments of your life.”
I lean forward and slide a black rose from the vase and slowly lower it toward her. “Normalcy is only an illusion, amor. A simple fixation people crave with no sense. That leaves them afraid of what they don’t know, lost in a world of brutal savages. The difference between us.” I shift the rose back and forth between us, tilting my head, watching her listen to my words closely.
“We understand the pain, the suffering. The reality. What’s normal to us is chaos to them.” I slide my hand into hers and flatten her palm out. “You want it? Then create your own normality. Why settle for simple when you can be ruthlessly extraordinary.”
Anita's eyes don't leave mine, and I place the rose into her hand. “Maybe if people opened up their eyes, they’ll see that the darkness is beautiful. And you can have it all if you like.”
“I can?” she whispers, sucked into my vortex of shameless sin. I nod, closing her hand with the rose in it.
She looks at her hand for a moment, then she peers back at me. “Then I want to live, Ronan. Really live. ”
I know exactly what she means by that. My heart sinks as her words drown me. Fuck. Realization hits me, understanding that after our next mission may be the last time I’ll ever see her. Nodding at her, I swallow the brick in my throat.
“Alright.”
She tilts her head. “And I want to stay here, with you.”
All my blood rushes to my head, so quick and heavy that my breath catches. I squint at her beautiful face that's watching me so intently that I know if she had the power, she would find the way my soul is reacting to her.
I breathe harder. “You want to stay?”
She nods.
“Why?”
A sly grin curls on her black lips. “What's Venom without her Poison?”
My dick hardens instantly, stretching the zipper painfully. He’s ready to break free and sink into her warm, tight pussy.
I don't want to waste any more time. My heart is racing, and I need to worship her like she has done to every part of me. My best friend's little sister has become a major piece of my life, the piece that brought me back to life.
She...She owns me.
My hands are tingling as I stand and grab her gift from where I left it on the table.
“Come,” I say softly.
She rises, and I open the small box. I fill the gap between us and reveal a silver necklace with a black and red rose engraved, diamonds shining on the edges of the petals if you look close enough. I lift it from the box and place the empty container down.
“Carter wanted to gift you a present for Christmas, and I remember vividly that he wanted to get you a rose necklace, he showed me the design, then we took it to someone. He said something in the lines of ‘her attempt to draw a rose was complete shit.’” I smile, and she snickers with a sniff. I look up and see her eyes shining with unshed tears as she gazes at the necklace. “And I know besides a daisy you love roses. So, after tracking down the original designer, he still had the necklace layout.”
Her eyes widen at me in disbelief, then I rocked my head slightly. “I may or may not have threatened him to remember the design or else I’d hang him from his building.”
“You're insane.” Anita laughs quietly with more sniffs. She touches the chain as I dangle it in front of her. “It's so beautiful.”
“Let's make shine with it on you.” My hand brushes over her left shoulder, and she turns around for me.