Page 159 of Venom Sweeter than Honey
“Just wait a minute.”
Levi climbs out of the truck and opens the rear passenger door to begin rifling through his duffel bag before climbing back into the front seat and passing us a pile of clothing.
“Can you magically put those on or something?”
With thumb and forefinger, I lift a garment from the top of the pile. It is a threadbare bit of cloth peppered with a few holes, stains, and two short sleeves.
“What is this? A vintage nut rag?”
Levi snatches it from my pinched fingers and tosses it at Azrael.
“It’s just an old shirt, fancy-pants. I was gonna sleep in it, but now I guess it’s Azrael’s.” He grabs a slightly less threadbare shirt from the pile and unfolds it for me. It’s black, plain cotton.
I slide my gaze to his. “And what, may I ask, is so wrong with my current ensemble?”
Levi’s mouth hints at a smile. “Nothing is wrong with yourensemble.”
He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead before sitting back and passing his eyes over my silk trousers, low-cut blouse with a feathered neckline and cuffs, emerald necklace, and velvet slippers.
“It’s just that this is a gas station in the middle of nowhere, and you look like you’re ready to attend the Met Gala. You need to look casual. They’ve got security cameras everywhere. We need to be indistinguishable from the general public.”
A scoff escapes me. “Says the man with tattoos on his face. These are mypajamas,mortal. I dressed for the occassion—being stuck in a vehicle for hours on end and prepared toslumber when possible. I’m not sure how much morecasualI can get.”
Levi gives an encouraging squeeze to my thigh. “I’m gonna need you to trust me on this, princess.”
As if the universe was determined to prove his point, the passenger door of the truck parked beside us swings open on a screech to announce a male dressed in a pair of denim trousers that appear to have had their pant legs torn straight off.
By what beast, I cannot fathom.
The male’s hair is a wild red color. The cut of which makes it abundantly clear that his barber must harbor a personal vendetta against him.
The flesh of a rather formidable-looking paunch hangs from beneath his t-shirt, which, like his trousers, has also been relieved of its sleeves.
His shoes are in a similarly violated state.
The man in question releases an odious belch, punctuated by another scream of his truck’s door hinges before it slams shut.
He then proceeds to waddle towards the market with a lumbering gait so wide it would suggest that the testicles dangling between his legs are too tender to permit his thighs to graze them.
“Akash in Heaven... What travesty has befallen that poor man?”
Levi’s resonant chuckle is a warm sound that I can feel in my soul. “Life?”
Azrael gives a foreboding laugh as he unbuttons the front of his shirt. “Not for much longer.”
LEVI
Of all Violette’s outfits, I’m certain my favorite is thet-shirt and sweatpants of mine she’s wearing now. They’re way too big for her, hanging off her like she’s dressed in a tent, but my cock thickens in my jeans regardless, and I’m forced to readjust myself the moment she begins sauntering like a cat towards the Buc-ee’s entrance.
Azrael gives me a knowing smirk as he walks beside me. I have to suppress the urge to reciprocate because, for some godforsaken reason, the more time I spend in his presence, the harder it is to hate him and ignore our too-numerous-to-name commonalities.
Violette claimed to haveglamouredhis near seven-foot form closer to my six-foot-four height to those around us, though to me, he still wears my t-shirt and gym shorts like a sausage casing cut too short.
I catch up to her before she reaches the door so I can open it for her. She arches a brow at me as she passes through the threshold. “Thank you, human.”
A few of the men in the nearest check-out do double-takes, but for the most part, no one seems to be paying us any mind.
That is, until Azrael walks in behind us and every woman in the place rubbernecks to gawk at him. A handful of them throw me a cursory glance before they resume drooling at the God of Death with his clean-cut, dark Mediterranean Superman looks.
