Page 161 of Venom Sweeter than Honey
It’s empty.
Drawing in a breath for patience, I clap him on the shoulder.
“It’s okay, bud. I’ve got this.”
Bud? I’ve never called anyone ‘bud’ in my entire fucking life.
Just as I move to step around him, a wad of hundred-dollar bills about two fingers thick appears within the pouch’s fold.
Wearing my best mask of indifference, my gaze lifts to his.
He gives me a lopsided grin. “My treat,bud.”
More than a little flabbergasted, I don’t bother to protest when he turns to pay the cashier. With a wink, he proceeds to offer the entire wad of hundreds. “Keep the change, Ethel.”
And now the whole fucking line behind is watching.
So much for inconspicuous.
Azrael moves to lead us to the exit, only to be stopped short.
“Now, just wait a dang minute.”
Something that must be akin to stage fright has heat crawling up my cheeks because now we’ve got just about the whole fucking store as an audience.
Azrael stops in his tracks to face her as she waves a counterfeit pen at him. “What-yew-think I was born yesterday? I’ve had the wool pulled over my eyes before, boy. Won’t happen again.”
Her aged, liver-spotted hand uncaps the pen with a flourish and proceeds toslowlyswipe the first bill before raising it in the air to inspect the streak of ink with narrowed eyes. She harumphs as her brows lift in reluctant surprise. Swipes another. Holds it up. She hums, gaze narrowing distrust despite the evidence before her.
There’s a line of people on either side of us, searing the likenesses of our faces into their memories.
Fuck.
Me.
“You have a good night, ma’am.”
With one hand on the small of Violette’s back and the other on Azrael’s shoulder, I guide them towards the door and to my truck, grinding my teeth the whole way.
Violette silently climbs back in the truck, followed by Azrael as I pump the gas, heaving a sigh of relief to see that his shadow is still seated in the back—glamoured to all but us.
LEVI
The scent of BBQ brisket fills the silent cabin of my truck as I get us back on the interstate. “You seem annoyed.” Azrael’s words are both a question and a statement, and for some reason, I feel a tiny pang of guilt.
“Not annoyed, just... anxious.”
Azrael passes me a brisket sandwich, followed by a water bottle. “Pray tell.”
Steering with the top of my thigh, I partially unwrap the foil-backed paper to reveal the meat and semi-soggy bun.
Still better than an MRE.
I take a bite, speaking from around a mouthful. “You remember when I mentioned something about us blending in and trying not to attract too much attention?”
Azrael frowns. “That woman’s arteries are lined with plaque, and she’s, at best, got another eighteen months to live. I just wanted to usher in a little relief for her in the meantime.”
My food is swallowed on a heavy sigh.
