Passion & Venom (Venom Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  I gasp for breath, struggling to sit up. My stomach is sore and my chest hurts like hell, but that pain doesn’t amount to the power I feel right now.

  I stare at Ronaldo beneath my eyelashes, dangling the pocketknife in front of me.

  When he sees it, his smile grows so wide I think his face might break.

  “Damn. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

  He’s surprised…

  He shouldn’t be.

  This is only the beginning.

  Chapter Seven

  Day 6

  Around dawn, the white haired man comes in with a tray of food. There’s something different about the food today. It’s not slop. It’s not cold or frozen. It doesn’t look like it will give me explosive diarrhea.

  It looks…delicious.

  There is enough for two people, and when he places it down on the floor, we inch in closer to see what it is exactly. Toast, a boiled egg, and slices of watermelon. Granted, the toast is dry, but that’s okay. I’ll still eat it.

  “Eat,” the man demands. “And don’t waste any of it.”

  He walks out without looking back, locking the door. Ronaldo and I look at each other with confused expressions, well I’m confused more than he is.

  “They’ve stepped up. They only do that when he’s returned,” Ronaldo murmurs. And then he cocks an eyebrow. “Are you ready?”

  I tap my left breast, where I have the pocketknife hidden. “I am.”

  After we eat the meal that honestly has made me feel like a brand new person, I kindly ask Ronaldo to turn away so I can pee. I’m not going back to that damn bathroom. I’d rather pee in this corner, which is exactly what I should have done from the start.

  It was rather hard for him to eat. I assumed he didn’t eat the food they brought because he couldn’t. With no hands, he had to bend forward and add weight to his nubs and bite into the food like an injured dog. His was practically eating from the ground. As for the drink…well, I helped him take a few sips. I didn’t want to know how he managed to drink anything with no hands.

  He rests on his back and then rolls over to his left side. “You know if this goes south, he’ll kill you himself.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You’re prepared to die?” His voice shifts, amused.

  “I don’t have anything else to lose. Death would be my pleasure.” I wince as I tug on the zipper of the dress. It’s chafing into my skin now.

  “Just make sure you do it right.”

  “I will. You don’t have to keep telling me.”

  Ronaldo rolls flat on his back and looks at me. His eyes are hard and serious, and without his hair on his face, he looks like a completely different person.

  “If you get lucky and he decides to bring you in,” he starts, sighing, “make sure you get me out of this place. I don’t want to die in here. Don’t forget about me.”

  I don’t blink as our eyes hold. He has been through so much already. I don’t know why he is here to begin with, but from what I know, I think he’s learned his lesson. And it can’t be as bad as being held captive and having your arms chopped off—suffering daily. No one deserves this kind of treatment but the men that put us in here. Ronaldo seems like a good guy. I’m sure whatever he did was a simple mistake that got blown out of proportion.

  “I will,” I whisper, stepping closer to him. “I promise.”

  We don’t hear much until sunset.

  It has been eerily quiet all day. Besides that one appearance from the white-haired man, none of them have come back to do their two-hour checks.

  We didn’t hear any loud laughing or boasting. Didn’t smell any cigar smoke or microwaved noodles.

  Today, things have shifted.

  But it’s as soon as the sun has set when we hear voices.

  I perk up, clutching the knife in hand. There is one voice reporting something in Spanish. It’s quick and deep. It sounds like the white-haired man.

  Something creaks, and various amounts of footsteps are coming down the hallway. I’m not sure how many there are. It sounds like a lot of people, though.

  With each of their steps, my heart is pounding in my chest.

  Thu-thunk. Thu-thunk. Thu-thunk.

  My sweaty palm is still wrapped around the knife, my eyes focused on the cell door. Ronaldo is in the very far corner, as far away from the door as possible.

  The footsteps finally stop. I don’t look up all the way, so all I see are their shoes through the iron bars. There are twelve sets. All of them are wearing black boots—all of them but one.

  That one is wearing very expensive leather dress shoes.

  Gradually, my line of sight pulls up, taking in the light brown dress pants covering strong, thick legs, and the black button-down shirt, barely hiding the strong arms and broad shoulders.

  The first two buttons of the shirt are unbuttoned, revealing the top half of his firm chest. He’s wearing a gold necklace with the crucifix hanging on the end.

  Finally, I lock on his face. His chin is strong, jaw chiseled with light scruff; his full, pink lips are sculpted to perfection. His nose is straight, with a sharp angle and those eyes…

  Those thin, dark-brown eyes are so hard to see through, yet they’ve ensnared me. I try to pull my vision away, but I can’t. I’m stuck…and I don’t know why.

  I should hate this man—hate his face and how he stands much taller than the rest of the men with his lean, athletic build—but I can’t seem to form hate while looking at him.

  If I look away, though, I know I will hate him all over again.

  He studies the cell very carefully, taking note of every small detail, but then he focuses on me. I know he can’t really see me. It’s not as bright in here as it once was.

  “Abrela,” he commands, accent heavy. Open it.

  Axe Man steps forward to unlock the door. As soon as he does, he walks my way with heavy steps, grabs my arm, and yanks me up. He starts dragging me towards the boss, but I yank away before he can pull me out.

  “Get off of me,” I snarl, backing away.

  Axe Man puts his eyes on me, grabbing my arm again and then slapping me with the back of his hand. “Stop fucking moving!”

  “Calm the fuck down,” the boss snaps, looking right at Axe Man.

  Axe Man looks at the boss and pulls away from me. When he drops his hand, I snatch out the pocket knife, fling it open so that the blade is pointed at him, and then charge forward, screaming as I stab him right below the ribs.

  He hollers out in pain, grabbing his side. The blade is jammed deep. Blood spills out, dripping down the handle of the knife and onto my fingers. I release it, staring at the pig, panting deep.

  Two of the men behind the boss curse and then rush for me, dragging my body towards him. One of them has his hand clutched around the back of my neck. The other has my arms. My nostrils flare as I breathe unevenly, prepared for whatever is to follow.

  The boss’s demeanor hasn’t changed. He isn’t frowning or smiling. He isn’t shocked or pleased. His face is just…blank. It reveals nothing whatsoever and for a split second, I think I’m fucked.

  He steps towards me, narrowing his eyes. My dark hair has tumbled all over my face, covering me up. I can see him through the strands, clearly enough to know he’s agitated.

  “Why the fuck would you do that to one of my men, right in front of me?”

  I don’t respond to him. I’m too angry. Too heated.

  He tilts my chin up so I can look at him fully. My hair slides back, and our eyes lock.

  When he sees me, looks into my eyes, that’s when his expression changes. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t say a thing. His blank stare turns into one full of disbelief.

  What the hell is he thinking?

  This isn’t the way I was expecting him to react at all. He seems…surprised to actually see me. As I stare back, I do find him familiar, but not familiar enough to ring a bell.

  I feel like I’ve seen him before, but of course being in
a cell for six days, being starved and dehydrated, can make one delusional.

  Perhaps I was building up the idea of him so much that I felt like I knew him already.

  “What the hell is her name?” he calls over his shoulder, still staring.

  “We…don’t know her first name, Jefe,” the white-haired man responds in his native tongue.

  “What is your fucking name?” he asks me in English, his voice gravelly.

  “Gianna Nicotera,” I spit at him. I know my father’s name holds weight. I used to be afraid to share it, but if this man knew Toni, then he has to know who my father was.

  His jaw clenches, and he finally snatches his eyes away from mine, stepping towards the white-haired man.

  “She’s a fucking Nicotera? Toni’s new fucking wife is Gianna fucking Nicotera? Why the fuck didn’t anyone tell me this shit?!”

  “Because we didn’t know, boss. We thought she was just Ricci or some bitch he found.”

  “Oh, you didn’t know?” He leans back, as if he’s truly asking them this question. “So no one thought about doing a little research before bringing her onto my fucking property, huh?” He looks around as if someone will answer. “No? No one bothered?” He holds his hands out, leaving the question up in the air. They all remain tightlipped and still. “All right, then.”

  He smashes his lips together and strolls into the cell. He walks in leisurely, but as he does he’s pulling something out of the pocket of his crisp, black shirt. He then turns at an angle.

  “You watching this, green eyes?” he asks me.

  I blink rapidly, utterly confused now. What the fuck is going on?

  The boss steps closer to Axe Man, and I realize he has placed gold brass knuckles on his right hand.

  “A few people made reports to me and they told me you pissed on her, Pico. You beat the shit out of her. And then you hit her again, right in my fucking face. Is it true what I’m hearing, Pico?”

  “Please, Jefe, I didn’t know who she was. I swear to God.” Axe Man clings to the knife, bleeding out on the floor.

  “You know what? I didn’t expect you to know, Pico. I honestly didn’t.” He rolls his sleeves up as he says this. His movements are so slow and his voice is eerily calm. He takes one more step forward.

  And then, out of nowhere, the boss becomes so livid that I hear his teeth chomp down and grit together.

  The strands of his smooth, wavy hair flies everywhere as he yanks Axe Man up by the collar of his shirt, reels his arm back, and repeatedly punches him in the face.

  I gasp sharply, jolting.

  More blood gushes across the cell floor, and Axe Man groans as he falls, but the boss doesn’t stop there.

  He punches him again.

  And again.

  And again.

  But, still, he doesn’t stop.

  He is relentless.

  And his face is so casual with each blow that it terrifies me.

  How can he not be showing any emotion—anger at least?

  He doesn’t quit punching until there is a puddle of blood surrounding Axe Man’s face. When he brings himself upright, he’s panting so hard and ragged that I shiver. He’s like a raging bull that finally pinned the aggravating human on its back.

  Deadly.

  “You see what happened?” the boss asks, huffing. “This is what fucking happens when you don’t know your shit around here. If you don’t keep yourself up to date—go that extra fucking mile to make sure shit like this doesn’t happen—then you will get fucked up. Just like this piece of shit right here!” He looks at all of the men standing in the hallway and then he drops Axe Man.

  Axe Man collapses on top of the pocketknife, but he barely moves. He groans and blood gushes out of his mouth, seeping down the corner, over his chin.

  The boss snatches out the handkerchief from the pocket of his shirt to wipe off the brass knuckles. He then slides the brass knuckles back into his pocket, tossing the handkerchief at the Axe Man.

  “Now get cleaned up, you sloppy piece of shit. You’re getting your blood all over the fucking floor.”

  The boss’s eyes swing over to me and he walks casually in my direction, as if nothing ever even happened.

  Horrified, I lower my gaze to the bloody man on the floor. His face is butchered, and he still has the blade jammed inside of him. For a split second, I feel terrible for ever putting it there.

  But then I remember him urinating on me, beating me senseless, and starving me. He deserves this. Actually…no. He deserves far worse than this.

  “Let’s not be so fucking stupid next time. Do you all understand me?” the boss demands.

  “Sí, Jefe,” they all say in unison.

  “Bueno. Patanza!” he shouts. The woman that let me go to the bathroom walks through the crowd of men.

  “Sí, Jefe?”

  “Take her up to the mansion. Put her in a nice room and make sure she is showered, fed, and in la arte galería a las nueve. No later.” I assume he says this in English so I won’t think I’m being dragged off to meet my doom.

  Patanza looks me over, flaring her nostrils. “Sí, Jefe.” She walks forward and all of the men step back to let her through. “Come on,” she commands lightly.

  She walks down the hallway and I start to walk with her, but not before looking back at the boss.

  He’s already watching me, his face smooth—clear of emotion. His dark eyes hold mine as I scurry down the hallway, and he doesn’t let up, not even when I make it to the door that Patanza is now holding open.

  I look away first. I know he won’t, plus I shouldn’t do anything to further upset him. Not after witnessing what just happened.

  When I’ve met up to Patanza, she shuts the door behind me and I follow her through the cramped gray room.

  There are small screens on one of the walls across from me, and on one of them I see the boss and the rest of the men standing in the hallway. He is pointing fingers and shouting at each of them.

  I’m surprised it’s in my defense.

  There were cameras in there the whole time?

  How in the hell didn’t I notice?

  I spot Ronaldo on another screen and he’s sitting in the corner, trying to hide in the shadows. Now I believe him when he said the boss is crazy. I believe that the boss really did that to him.

  What I saw in that cell was inhumane. It was scary—a good cause for nightmares.

  Patanza leads the way towards a tall brown door and pushes it open.

  “Keep up,” she snaps.

  I pick up my pace, delighted to be outside again. Freedom rings, but only for a short while. I do myself the liberty of enjoying this moment. My friends, the gulls, caw loudly, as if they’ve been awaiting my presence.

  I inhale the salty air, and then I look towards the beach. It is just as I imagined—if not, better. The turquoise water is clear, shimmering beneath the pinkish sky.

  The sand is white—almost spotless. The setting sun is breathtaking. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the warmth on my skin.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “Don’t ask any fucking questions. Just because this is happening, it doesn’t make us friends or you in the fucking clear. He’s not done with you.”

  I stare at her, focused on the long, black hair beneath her black cap and the dimples on her lower back. The clothes she wears… How can she wear them around these brutes? Belly shirts and low riding camouflage pants. I wonder if she’s always been a bitch. Why the hell does she even work for him?

  She’s the only woman I’ve seen down there, and she’s not ugly at all. She’s stunning, really. How can she stomach any of what we just saw?

  When we walk up a set of stone steps, I see the mansion come into view. It’s made of a cream-colored stucco, the roof dark, offsetting the overall appearance. It is so amazing that I almost stop walking just to take it all in.

  Gold spotlights illuminate the house from the ground, revealing it for what it truly is.

&nbs
p; A beautiful residence.

  We walk across a short wooden bridge, and there is a garden of various colored frangipani flowers that look like they have recently bloomed. I can smell them from where we are. Sweet and fresh.

  As I study each aspect of this home, I wonder how a man like him can live in such a lovely place. Surely he doesn’t deserve any of this.

  Not after knowing what he does to people in those cells.

  Not after witnessing him switch from rational to a complete maniac in a matter of seconds.

  Patanza enters a code on the box at the gate and when it buzzes open, she walks past a wide, oblong shaped pool. A small waterfall drifts down from the far corner of it, the lounge chairs decorated in white and black cushions.

  She jogs up the steps and reaches for the doorknob. Once the door is open I’m greeted by a large chrome and black kitchen.

  There is an older woman standing in front of the oven, waiting for something to finish baking.

  She looks over and frowns at Patanza. Patanza rolls her eyes, muttering, “This way,” to me before looking away.

  The woman sees me and her eyes grow wide. She’s older, with her silver and black hair pulled up into a tight bun, and a sharp nose, just like the boss’s.

  “Patanza, who is this?” she asks. “And why is she covered in so much blood?”

  “I don’t know,” Patanza snips. “Ask Jefe.”

  The woman thins her eyes at Patanza before looking at me again. I pick up my pace, knowing it’s best to keep walking. I know I look and smell hideous right now. I definitely don’t look like I belong in a home like this.

  I look down and there is fresh blood on me. First Toni’s blood was on my dress and now Axe Man’s blood is.

  Jesus.

  We are up the stairs before I know it. Patanza walks down the hallway and takes a left. We pass six doors before she finally stops and grabs a doorknob. She pushes it open and then walks in.

  I cautiously follow her inside. When she steps back and looks towards the bed, I know she won’t try anything. She’s no fool. She won’t disobey her boss’s orders.

  “Clothes are in the closet. All sizes, so you should find something that fits you. Soap and shampoo is in the bathroom. When you’re finished, I’ll be waiting out in the hallway so you can eat. You have two hours to do all of this before we meet Jefe. Better make them fucking count. They may be your last.”