Venom & Glory (Venom Trilogy Book 3)

by S Williams

  14

  GIANNA

  Dinner is quite simple.

  And by simple, I mean completely informal…and I love it. It’s not like how Draco would set it up, where butlers would bring our food out in an orderly fashion and bow before leaving.

  No.

  Aunt Minnie is a great cook, and she cooks for her family because she loves them.

  All the food is set up on the table, hot and fresh. Grilled mixed vegetables and grilled chicken on top of fettuccini pasta and creamy Alfredo sauce. The bread rolls are piping hot, the tea sweet at first sip.

  All the bowls are passed around, everyone talking amongst each other. I’m not quite sure how to slip into each conversation, so instead I sip my tea until the bowls come my way.

  “So, Gia,” Uncle Jack starts, placing the last bowl down and then picking up his fork. “I have a few rules I like to keep in place under my roof.”

  I meet his eyes, swallowing the chunk of bread in my mouth. “Yeah? And what are they?”

  “One of them is for everyone to get along. If there is ever conflict or misunderstanding, you go to the source and figure it out like adults. Everyone at this table is older than eighteen. I expect you all to act like it.”

  After he says that, I look over at Clark, who looks me over twice before biting into his Alfredo sauce-covered bread roll.

  “Okay. That sounds easy enough,” I sigh.

  “My second rule is if you ever need to go out, you let me know. Same goes for Minnie and Jen and even Clark. I need to know your whereabouts in case anything ever happens.” I glance at Clark, and he rolls his eyes, slouching back in his chair. “Our Nicotera name is always a threat to someone.”

  I nod. “Right.”

  “And my last rule: no guns under my roof. It’s plain and simple. If I see any trace of a gun, I will take it, and you won’t see it again.” He looks me hard in the eyes. “I have a place for guns that’s nearby, but it ain’t here. The only person that’ll be carrying guns around this home is the man paying the bills. In other words, your Uncle Jack.”

  I pick up my tea, nodding. “Sounds fair.”

  “It’s a bullshit rule,” Clark mumbles.

  “Clark, I’ve told you about cursing at the dinner table,” Aunt Minnie scolds.

  Clark digs into his pasta again, but his eyes are hard on mine. Like he knows something. Like I’m an enemy.

  “Other than that, you are free to do whatever you want. Free to roam, free to go for walks on the trails. Free to make use of the hot tub. Free to cook whatever you want. You can do anything you see fit, just as long as you clean after yourself and as long as you don’t set my house on fire by meddling with the fireplace.”

  Aunt Minnie and Jen laugh.

  “It almost happened once with Jen,” Uncle Jack chuckles, and Jen sucks her teeth.

  “It was one time, Dad, and it was only a sheet of paper that got caught on fire.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he laughs.

  “We’re really glad to have you here, though, Gia,” Aunt Minnie says with a soft smile. “We wouldn’t want you anywhere else. If there is anything—and I mean anything—that you need, it’s all yours. Don’t even hesitate to ask.”

  “Yeah.” I smile, doing my best to show my appreciation. “I’m glad to be here. Thank you, guys, again. I know having me around is a huge risk.”

  “We’re always at risk, sweetie,” she teases, waving a hand. “That’ll never get old. Why do you think we live out here, in the middle of nowhere?”

  Everyone at the table laughs—well, everyone except Clark. Clark smashes his lips together.

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Uncle Jack rubs his belly. “It’s quiet. Peaceful. Every room has a great view. Don’t plan on moving from here any time soon.”

  “I hear that.” Aunt Minnie stands, grabbing Uncle Jack’s empty plate. “Hope you guys have saved room for dessert. It’s my favorite walnut and caramel cheesecake from Heidi’s!”

  “Oh, I love that place!” Jen squeals, hopping out of her chair with her plate in hand. “I’ll grab more plates, Mom.”

  A hand grips my shoulder, and I tense up, looking up to see Uncle Jack hovering over me. He notices my reaction to his touch and pulls his hand away quickly. “Hey, you have nothing to be afraid of, Gia. You won’t get hurt again. Not on my watch.”

  I swallow thickly.

  “I’ll be watching you, too,” Clark says. “There isn’t anything that can get past me. If they come here, they’re asking for a death wish.”

  I expect Uncle Jack to say something in disagreement, but he doesn’t. Instead, as I look back at him, he gives me a small nod. “The Jefe won’t touch you ever again.”

  See, months ago that comment would have given me hope, but instead, it only fills me with despair. Suddenly, I’m not hungry, but I force myself to eat Aunt Minnie’s favorite cheesecake anyway.

  As soon as we’re allowed to leave the table, I head back to my room, shutting the door, climbing on the bed, pressing my back to the headboard, and drawing my knees up to my chest.

  I want to cry, but I don’t.

  Instead, I think about ways to get back.

  Ways to fight.

  Ways to be there for him again.

  I’m at a loss. All of it will require help, and a plane ticket, and even a cellphone. All of that is traceable, and it will only put Uncle Jack in danger if he tries to come after me again.

  I need another way out.

  I need to get back to Jefe.

  By nightfall, the house is way too quiet.

  It’s not eerie. It’s not awkward.

  It’s just . . . way too serene. Though I know I don’t need to look over my shoulder every single second, I can’t help myself. Every little noise sends me into survival mode. Every creak, drip, rustle has me on edge.

  Sighing, I roll out of bed, turning on the lamp beside the bed and then going for my suitcases. I unzip one of them, taking out the black case inside of it.

  Opening the case, I take out the wads of cash and then draw out the small handgun. Inside the case is a note—one I couldn’t read earlier because I was interrupted.

  I pick it up and read it.

  Por si acaso. Just in case.

  I sigh, knowing the handwriting. He did promise me a gun.

  After counting the money from the case and the money in the large pocket of my suitcase, which totals to $350,000, I go to the vanity with the gun in hand, shutting the light off and then walking to the terrace, but not before grabbing the coat Uncle Jack gave to me. I wrap it around my shoulders, stepping barefoot onto the cold cement.

  The moon seems much closer.

  Crickets chirp and owls hoot.

  Like I said, too serene.

  I drop my gaze to the gun, studying it. It’s small, like a pocket gun. Fits my hand perfectly. I would have gone with something bigger, with way more power, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers. If Uncle Jack or Aunt Minnie knew about it, I’m sure they’d have taken it.

  My eyes prickle and sting, but the tears don’t bother reaching the surface.

  Because something clicks behind me and then there is something hard and cold pressing into the back of my head.

  15

  GIANNA

  “We have one rule,” the familiar voice says. “No guns in the fucking house. Went through your bags. You should have gotten rid of that gun as soon you saw it.”

  My heart doubles in speed, but not out of fear. A thrill—a rush I haven’t felt in a long, long time consumes me. A challenge.

  “That’s obviously a bullshit rule. You’re holding one to my head right now.”

  “Put it on the ground.”

  “No.”

  “Now,” he demands, pressing the gun into my head. “They don’t want you dead, but I don’t give a fuck if you die. Won’t shed a fucking tear. I don’t trust you. Put the gun down.”

  I sigh and slowly start to squat with both arms stretched. He pulls back just a fr
action, and that’s when I turn, pointing my gun in Clark’s face, just as he points his at mine.

  He smirks. “You don’t fucking listen.”

  I cock a brow. “And you’re easy to kill. Wouldn’t be the first time a gun was held to my head, either.”

  His eyebrows draw together. I notice he’s wearing all black, and I suspect he was planning this ambush, just waiting to sneak into my room and intimidate me.

  “Why the fuck did he let you go?” he snaps.

  “You don’t even know who he is.”

  “Oh, trust me,” he laughs. “I know who he is.”

  We both still have our guns aimed, arms straight.

  “Who is he, then?”

  “I watch the news. I’m updated on everything that involves a cartel, and he’s a fucking kingpin. Everyone is out for him, but they can never seem to find him. The whole world knows who the hell he is…and I bet you know where he is.”

  “No, I don’t. And even if I did, why would I tell the person who’s holding a gun to my face?”

  “Because if you don’t,” he presses the gun into my forehead, “I’ll shoot you.”

  I don’t even bat an eyelash. “’Kay. Go ahead. I’m waiting.”

  His frown grows deeper, his finger wrapping around the trigger, the gun pressing harder into my forehead. I don’t waver. Don’t sway.

  He won’t do it.

  I know he won’t.

  He’s not stupid.

  He finally grumbles something and drops his arm. I lower mine too, but not completely.

  “Why did he let you go? He’s risking his entire life by having you out here after keeping you hostage for so long.”

  “He knows I wouldn’t snitch.”

  “What are you? His fucking pet?”

  I glare hard at him before stepping around him and going for my suitcase. “I am not his fucking pet.”

  “Then what are you to him? A spy? His sex slave? ”

  I roll my eyes. “Now you sound like a fifteen-year-old boy.”

  “Fuck you,” he bites out. “I need to know this shit! They don’t want to ask questions, so I will. I don’t trust you. I don’t believe he just sent you here without some kind of agenda. What does he want from us?”

  My eyebrows stitch together. I’m utterly confused by his paranoia. “He has everything he could ever want. Why would he want anything from you—or my family, period?”

  Clark’s finger wraps around his trigger again. He stares hard at me, nostrils flaring. “I know everything that happens, Gia. Every fucking thing. Even what happens in Mexico. Hernandez,” he says, and a chill hits me hard, my spine stacking. “I heard she’s taking over, and The Jefe is about to be in the dust. He’s losing people. Is it true?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

  “Oh, bullshit,” he scoffs. “I know you know. I heard he dropped everything just to get you back from her. I heard she killed his cousin.”

  I swallow hard, looking away. “How are you hearing this stuff?”

  “I have eyes and ears everywhere. I run a business, too, only mine is much simpler. Cleaner, although I don’t mind getting my hands dirty when I have to.”

  “Is Uncle Jack still involved in it?”

  He gives me an obvious look. “What? You think he’s selling cupcakes and cookies now? Once you’re in, you’re in. It’s hard to back out of something this big. He won’t work with the Mexican cartels anymore after what happened with Lion and the Ricci clan, but I’m willing to. I want to expand. Become bigger, with or without him.”

  “Do you have a jet? A plane? Anything?” I ask, stepping forward.

  “For what?”

  “If you have one—or anything that can get us to Mexico—you might be able to meet The Jefe. You meet him, talk things over, maybe expand your business. But only if you get me there—and only if I know I can actually trust you by the time we’re there.”

  Clark laughs, a deep laugh that grates my nerves. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve heard the stories about him. He’d kill me on the spot. You aren’t that important to him, otherwise he wouldn’t have sent you away.” He looks me over. “Did he give you a number to call? An email? Anything for you to stay in touch?”

  “No,” I mutter.

  “Then that settles it.” He walks to the door, twisting the knob and pulling it open. “You mean nothing to him.”

  I rush for him, pushing the door shut, not giving a damn if the slam of it is loud enough to wake the whole house up. I glare up at him as he hikes his shoulders.

  “You don’t know him,” I snap, getting closer to his face. “And you don’t know me. I can be just as lethal as him. Don’t think I can be stepped on or looked over just because I’m a woman. I’m not a fucking doormat. I need to get there, and you’re going to make it happen. Do you have anything to get us there?”

  “Why do you want to leave so badly?” he asks, suddenly annoyed. “Why put yourself in danger again?”

  “Because he needs my help. His head isn’t clear—he doesn’t trust anyone—and he’s not safe. He’s going to get himself killed if he keeps going down that path.”

  He gets closer to my face. “That man will never be safe. The best thing for him right now is to die. He’ll never be at peace, at the rate he’s going.”

  I’m getting annoyed now. I know he has a way out. Our family always does. “Find me a way out,” I say through clenched teeth. “Get me back to Mexico and help me find him. If he hears I’m back, he’ll show up.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  I take a step back. “I just know.”

  I feel him looking at me. When I meet his eyes, I can see a million questions in them, but instead of asking them, he says, “We have a jet, but the men around here report everything to Big Jack, aka your Uncle Jack. If we take the jet, he’ll know, and he’ll send someone for us.”

  “Then we’ll make sure he doesn’t find out right away.”

  “How?” he asks, brows drawing together.

  “Just take me to the pilot. I’ll convince him to take us.”

  16

  DRACO

  We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.

  The wheels of the SUV dip into potholes, running over large rocks and branches on the dirt road. I stare out of the window, a gun tucked in my waistband, a smaller one hidden under my jeans, strapped around my ankle.

  The sun set a long time ago.

  It’s dark now.

  I got a lead from someone I know and trust. As soon as he sent me the location, I made a plan: catch her by surprise and kill her. My men have worked hard for this. I have worked hard for this.

  My driver continues driving for nearly ten minutes before coming to a stop. I draw my gun as he shuts the headlights off.

  “Ve allá,” I tell him, pointing to a darker area, surrounded by trees. Go over there.

  It’s pitch black. About a mile ahead of me is a small brown house, the lights on inside. Two cars are parked in front of it, flashy. Expensive. They belong to her. I know it.

  One of my men, Sebastien, looks back at me from the passenger seat for assurance.

  I bob my head, and he and Guillermo open their doors, sliding out and shutting them quietly, their dark clothes blending into the shadows. We watch them hustle ahead with newly imported AK-47s in hand, searching the area.

  My eyes shift from them to the house.

  A figure walks by the window. I can’t make out who it is.

  I look back at Patanza. “I’m going in. You wait here with Diego. If I take longer than ten minutes, you leave.”

  “But Jefe—”

  “Do you understand, Patanza?” I demand. I tell her in English. So she’ll know. I trust her the most, out of all my guards.

  She narrows her brows, eyes intense, but sighs and says, “Sí, Jefe.”

  “Good. Hand me an AK.”

  She looks to her left, at the cart of guns, and picks one up to hand to me. I take it, turn
ing the safety off while I look for the two guards I sent.

  Sebastien is beside a tree, waving a hand, the signal that the area is clear.

  I don’t glance back at Patanza, who I know is dying to come. She wants her revenge too, but I want mine more.

  My black boots hit the ground, my gun held high. I shut the door behind me quietly, and then walk down the path that leads to the house. My boots crunch on the gravel, nostrils flared, back straight, eyes right on the fucking prize.

  I want to lift my gun and blast the house with bullets. I don’t give a fuck who I hit or who dies. Anyone associated with her gets no mercy.

  But I don’t.

  If she was just a person who owed me money, maybe I would. If she’d stolen from me, then maybe I would make it that easy. But that isn’t the case.

  She’s done much worse, and for that she will fucking pay. I want to watch that puta die—shoot her once then feel her blood running through my fingers as I choke the rest of the life out of her.

  Sebastien and Guillermo trail close behind me, their guns aimed forward. I lift mine, aiming too, walking right up the stoop.

  If they betray you: Move fast. Think quickly. Take them the fuck down.

  My father’s motto. The Molina motto.

  And it will be followed.

  I rush up the stoop and kick the door in. A lamp falls over and someone screams. A naked woman is kneeling in front of two guards who are seated on the sofa. I raise my gun and shoot the girl, blood spraying the walls, some landing on the guards in front of her.

  They shove her lifeless body away, scrambling for their guns, but my men put an end to them in a millisecond, blasting them several times. Their bodies hit the floor, crumpling over, blood leaking onto the dingy hardwood floor.

  “Search the house,” I command in Spanish.

  I lift my gun higher in the air, pointing at every opening. A door creaks open to my right, and I shoot at it before anyone can step out. Something thuds to the ground, and I go for the door, rolling it open with one finger, my gun aimed inside. There is only one guard in this small room. Now he’s dead.