Sweet Venom (Crazy in Love #1)

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  “So, maybe it’s up to you to show him what he’s missing out on,” I tell her, causing her to not take the next swig of whiskey. “Maybe it’s your time to tread all over him and be one of the girls.”

  She looks at me from the corner of her eye before turning her entire head to my way. I’m using her own psychology on her, forcing her advice back onto her.

  “You’re right,” she says, pointing at me while getting a sly look in her eye. “Or am I right?”

  “You are,” I whisper and we both laugh. “I can tell Nate is into you, but his problem is he hangs around with a bunch of men who will be merciless with him over this.”

  “Isn’t Mardi Gras good for this?” I speculate.

  “Yes …” Tess starts, a teeth-baring grin magnifying on her face. “It is.” She turns quickly to look at me. “And you’re gonna take advantage of it with me.”

  “I am?” I gasp in horror.

  “Yes,” she says. “A little birdy told me you were caught in a compromisin’ situation last night,” she starts, her eyes glistening with the noise of gossip. “Okay, Liam told me, but still … it’ll be good for my brother to focus on somethin’ other than work, my dad, work.”

  “I’m not too sure that I’m that,” I apprehensively remark.

  “Why wouldn’t you be?” she asks, and I can see the alcohol is setting in by the second. “Lawson is a guarded man … if he was caught pinnin’ you against an elevator wall … and let me remind you it’s an easy place to get caught. Probably the easiest!” she pauses, giggling. “Anyway, if he can get caught there you’re clearly doing something right.”

  “He rejected me,” I tell her point blank.

  “Oh,” she says, almost sobering up at that moment. “Then get drunk and be one of the girls with me!” Her eyes go wide, and she looks at me with the gravest of expressions. “What if this doesn’t work?”

  “It’s Mardi Gras,” I state as if I know what I’m doing. “Isn’t it meant to be the time of your life?”

  “You know what?” Tess says as if something has just dawned upon her. She hands the bottle of Jack Daniel’s back as if to say she doesn’t need more liquor. “You’re right. You’re totally right. I can’t let a man ruin my evenin’ … and neither should you.”

  “Oh, I won’t,” I say, putting my hands up as if to promise.

  As she leaves, I stand, approaching the iron railing with the bottle still in my hand. I stare off absentmindedly, drinking neat from the bottle every now and then.

  “Hey,” Lawson calls, and I turn to face him, finding him a few feet away. “You looked a little lonely.” I give a small smile, not really feeling the loneliness here. “How are you enjoyin’ it so far?”

  I shrug. “So far I’ve drunk too much whiskey and dealt with a fragile heart.”

  “I guessed,” he says, looking over his shoulder at his sister. “You did a good job at fixin’ it for now it seems.” He turns back and gives me a smile. “I knew she wouldn’t come to me after some of the stuff I said to her.”

  “She will,” I admit, comforting him now. “She’s just feelin’ a little sore.” I look at Tess and grin. “She’s goin’ to enjoy her Mardi Gras,” I joke, giving Tess a head nod as she dances between the men.

  “My father would hate to see this,” Lawson quips, chortling at us all.

  “Why?”

  Coming to lean against the railing with me, Lawson stares off now, and I can see the tension invading his system as the mere mention of his father.

  “My father is a devout Catholic …” Lawson starts to say, not bothering to turn his attention to me. “He believes that Mardi Gras is an excuse to get drunk and get up to no good. He always used to make us partake in Lent and tried to make us look away from Mardi Gras. Every year we religiously gave up somethin’ that makes us a lesser person.”

  Now he turns to me, the devil in his eyes.

  “What are you givin’ up for Lent, then, Ashley?” Lawson asks, moving forward, pushing me into the corner of the balcony, trapping me between the metal and his aching body. “What’s the one thing you don’t see yourself with for the next forty days?”

  “Apparently my morals,” I grouse, my heart racing. “But I suppose I’ll never get them back.”

  “Definitely not,” he utters softly yet surely bringing his lips to my ear. “Once you commit to The Firm that’s it. There’s no goin’ back. Likewise, once you’re committed to me, there’s no goin’ back.”

  My breath sharpens as my heart race now pounds each heartbeat.

  “Can you deal with that?” he whispers.

  He leaves me no room to answer as he starts to kiss my neck, causing me to gasp in delight. I feel his lips kissing, suckling, his teeth nipping at my skin. My body responds to his notions, committing to him unwillingly.

  “I think you can. I think you’re already givin’ yourself up,” he tells me, a hand coming to my waist pulling me closer to him. “You’re givin’ up everything you know, and you’re going to enjoy every single second of it. We’re not just killers … we’re real people, too. Ones that are driven by desire and need like any other normal human being. We’re just like all of them down there. We just live off the adrenaline of the kill.”

  Is the adrenaline always this sweet? I want to ask, but I don’t. I just force myself to look up at him with bright eyes and my lips parted.

  “So …” he pauses, running a hand up my jaw. “What are you givin’ up for Lent?”

  I match him, allowing myself to reach up to him, our lips merely parted.

  “Myself,” I say, without any thought, but every feeling I have.

  It never felt so right to give myself so wholly to the man I barely knew, but I’ve lived too many lives to let this one go. I’ve let life pass so slowly, caught in the shadows of men’s lives that I can’t bear to watch the same happen with this one.

  I don’t expect to change Lawson, but I’m willing to play the game.

  “Good,” he replies, taking the bottle of Jack Daniel’s off me as excitement lightens his eyes. “Enjoy this in your life ... you’ll never feel more alive.”

  I have no chance as he brings his lips to mine, sealing our deal entirely. With whiskey tasting lips, he withdraws, leaving me wanting more of that sweet taste. He winks, backing away from me before turning to his men and sister.

  “I say we continue this evenin’ with a lock-in at O’Reilly’s!” Lawson declares, holding the bottle of the liquor. “Who’s with me?”

  The entire balcony erupts in a cheer, and I’m left reeling.

  “You comin’, Princess?”

  I furrow my brow, feeling like we’ve quickly stepped out of one realm

  “Only if you don’t call me princess again,” I state, icily.

  A sideward grin twitches at his lips. “What do you prefer, beautiful?”

  “Just … anything but Princess.”

  “Found what I’m givin’ up for Lent,” he starts, jesting on the moment. “No more Princess after midnight, Princess. Now are you comin’ or stayin’?” he asks, putting his hand out.

  “I’m coming,” I say, taking his hand.

  I’m sure I’m falling into a similar trap that Tess did, but I can’t help myself. I take his hand, let him lead the way, allow him to pull me from the apartment and out of the building. But the moment we’re on the street, it changes, and I lose him to the crowd as we scatter. I follow, noticing them heading through the crowds and toward O’Reilly’s which is just around the corner. The throngs of people are thickening as the night rolls in, telling me that it’s going to be a long night.

  It doesn’t take long before I’m separated from the others, watching them weave and bob through the crowd away from me. I struggle, forcing my way through bodies, pushing back at those who don’t move. I find a space in the masses and fasten my feet, striving to get back to everyone. Not looking where I’m going I feel my body collide heavily with someone.

  “Sorry!” I exclaim, noticing a you
ng woman in a purple satin hooded cape. “I wasn’t looking where I was going!”

  “It’s okay,” she says, her voice delicate. “Flower,” she says, a small, polite smile lays upon her pink lips and she holds out a freshly cut pink orchid with a pink ribbon around it. “Treasure it.”

  I take it, mesmerized by the beauty of the orchid. I look up, but she’s no longer looking at me and starts to slip away. I grab her wrist before she can disappear.

  “Thank you,” I tell her, gratefully.

  “No,” she starts to say, a bright smile bears her teeth. “Thank you.”

  I let her go, leaving her to continue on through the groups of people.

  “Ashley!” Lawson yells above the crowds, and I look up to see him using a street light to get him higher than the crowds of people. “C’mon!”

  I look once more behind me, noticing the blond’s gone. I face toward Lawson who urges me to get to him, and I listen. I keep the flower close to me and make my way through the masses. I catch up, the flower protected against my chest as I try to get passed people without damaging it. I make it to the front of a shop where everyone’s waiting, and as I fall before them, I allow the flower the breathe.

  “That got crazy,” I say, exhaling heavily. “But got given this,” I mention, putting the flower out.

  A white tag declaring MARDI GRAS falls from my palm and I look proud with this collectible.

  “By who?” Lawson barks, stepping forward to grab my hand. “Who gave you this?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, looking at the orchid. “Some girl … she had a hood up, but she was blond. Why does it matter?”

  Lawson says nothing but takes the flower from me. He’s gentle with it, delicately touching it as if it’s the most fragile things he’s ever been given. I watch him pick at the ribbon with the tag on it. His face pales, and he returns his gaze to me.

  “It’s got your name on it,” he states, and he spins the Mardi Gras tag to show my name in clear, curly red lettering.

  My heart sinks.

  “What?” I ask, reaching for it. “How is that possible?”

  “Where is she?” he asks, his voice taut. “Which direction did she go in?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell him, trying not to let fear get a grip on me. “Back toward our balcony, I guess. Who gave me this?”

  I can see that Lawson doesn’t want to reply. His jaw becomes tight, and he wets his lips, shuffling on his feet. I also see his effort not to run in that direction making the situation even harder to understand.

  “Lawson,” I say, trying my hardest not to sound frightful. “What the fuck is going on?”

  My question only makes him more curious, so he’s looking over his shoulder at everyone behind him. It’s now I see that they all hold the same solemn, bereaved look he did when he saw the pink orchid. Slowly, he turns back to me with a severely grave look in his eyes, and he seems to have entered a trance as he looks back at the orchid. Gradually, he brings his eyes from the flower to mine, and I see fear in them.

  “She’ll rain down petals before she rains down hell,” he whispers, reluctantly giving me the flower back.

  “What?” I ask, feeling my brow tightening. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Ashley,” Lawson starts, trying to steady his voice as his eyes fall once again onto the flower in my hand. “That’s the mark of death.”

  She’ll rain down petals before she rains down hell.

  It’s good to know I haven’t quite lost my touch.

  Even better to hear him say it.

  With confidence in me, I master the crowds, getting in no one’s way, choosing wisely how to get lost in the masses of people that line Bourbon Street. I need to get far enough away before I look back to make sure he can’t find me, but I want to watch the fallout.

  After all, this is one I’ll take sweet delight in.

  I force my way to the side of the street, finding an empty chair and drag it toward a lamppost so I can stand steadily and look at where I came from. No one pays attention to me, too drunk to care, and I look down the road. I can just see him – tall, dark, handsome, and looking anxious as fuck. With hands to his head, tearing at his hair, I’m happy to see the little ripple I’ve created.

  “Hey hot stuff!” a man says, standing in front of me, blocking my way down. “You look lost. I can help you find your way to my hotel if you want.”

  Tilting my head, I look innocently down at him, playing with his clearly caring nature.

  “No, no, I found what I’m lookin’ for okay, Suga’,” I comment, bending down and using my hand on his shoulder to get down elegantly. “Now you, however, seem to think I might give you a chance.”

  “Well,” he starts, smirking. “Got to take a chance … you’re not wearing many beads.”

  “No,” I remark. “But you’re wearin’ too many.”

  “Clearly not drinking enough to have fun in order to get them,” he quips, trying to joke.

  “You couldn’t afford what I’d be drinkin’, handsome,” I tell him, grinning at him so hard he doesn’t even take the insult. “Unlike the majority of these girls here, I don’t need alcohol to enable me to flash my boobs at you. Believe me, if I were desperate for them, I would go to any length, but sadly, I’m just not that bothered.”

  “Why are you here?” he asks, an antagonistic attitude flares up in him. “You seem like a boring bitch.”

  I cock my head, looking at him with a look of total disbelief. Now, this is what I hate about the male population. Those testosterone ridden men whose penises are just too small that they make up for it with male ego. They become Neanderthals like the one before me – one flick to the ego, and they lash out.

  “Why are you here?” I ask him, repeating his own question. “Because it seems to me you’re just here to exploit girls and lead yourself toward alcohol poisonin’.”

  “Isn’t that the point?” he asks, squaring up to me. “Excess alcohol and seeing a bit of skin.” He starts to toy with the hem of my sweater. I allow him it. “Go on,” he says, lifting it up, so the cold air rushes against my skin. “Get your first beads, little lady.”

  I huff on a laugh, starting to bite my lip as he teases the sweater away further up, this time his other hand comes to touch my bare skin, pushing its way up my stomach, fingers mere inches from touching my bra.

  “Okay,” I remark finally, seeing his face lighten up. He takes that as my invite, and as my sweater lifts more, I ram a ring riddled fist into his kidney, causing him to become instantly winded. He releases my clothing as his knees become weak and on his way down I make sure my knee meets his crotch. “You’re lucky I don’t make you pee through a straw for the rest of your depraved days for even darin’ to touch what isn’t yours,” I remark leering down at him. “Do you know that the colors you’re wearin’ mean somethin’? Other than indecent exposure from us girls,” I ask him, plucking off three different ones. “Purple for justice, gold for power, and green for faith,” I educate him, putting the beads over my head. “Now, people will do anythin’ for any one of these because they don’t care about the true meaning of Mardi Gras. Just like you.”

  I put the beads on, over my head and flick my hair out from under them. He watches me, wincing as he continues to hold his manhood.

  “Now, do I look more like I give a shit about Mardi Gras?” I ask, plastering on a fake smile as I allow sarcasm to take control.

  “You’re a psycho bitch,” he insults me, his voice taut with pain.

  “A pretty one, though,” I say, giving an honest smile. “Enjoy the rest of the weekend with those blue balls.” I pat the side of his face before turning to walk away.

  “That was assault.” He accuses.

  I stop dead in my tracks, turning back, I now find him standing, using the lamppost as his main source of support. I stalk back to him; the devil aroused in me. He notices, and I enjoy the fear it brings to life.

  “And what you did to me wasn’t?” I ask, w
atching him fall off the sidewalk and into the street to get away from me. “You men think you have some upper hand in this world and can manhandle us women, however, the hell you fucking like. Then act like the victim when the girls fight back.” I huff, reminding myself to climb back from the edge. “You’re so fuckin’ lucky I’m on my best behavior tonight.”

  “Why?” he asks, finding a new bravado. “What would you do?”

  The derogatory tone that he uses against me nearly breaks my resolve, but I remind myself that I made promises and I set boundaries. Both of which I don’t want to break.

  “I’d have taken great delight in watchin’ you cry, Baby,” I start to tell him. Thankful that everyone’s so heavily caught up in the festivities to pay much attention to us, most too drunk to even care. “That’s a bit of the fun really … makin’ men like you cry.”

  He scoffs, not even remotely believing the fact.

  Oh, what a fool he is.

  I roll my eyes. “You’re not even worth my time,” I tell him, backing away again. “You even so much as think of tryin’ your luck with me and I’ll make you regret ever thinkin’ Mardi Gras was a good idea.” I can feel my jaw clenching, my hatred for this stranger palpable. “Do I make myself clear?”

  He doesn’t even flinch.

  “I’d say yes, pretty boy because believe me, the things I could do to you in the blink of an eye make even the devil cower,” I threaten, keeping my voice so sweet and poised. “So … do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes,” he says, gulping hard.

  “Good,” I respond, allowing my anger to recede and place my happier face back on. “Now, run along.”

  I watch him do as I say, disappearing into the crowds. I look around, notice those who were staring now no longer care and I straighten myself up, pulling my sweater down as an afterthought of his actions and step back before fleeing in the direction I was heading two minutes ago.