Page 180 of Venom Sweeter than Honey
My eyes flick briefly to Azrael who looks pensive. I can’t even begin to fathom who orwhata god of death needs to slay... and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to find out.
“So that being said, I was thinking there might be some merit in taking some time for ourselves beforehand to complete the other rituals…”
Violette’s smile is the warmest I’ve ever seen it. “I’d love that.”
A corner of Azrael’s mouth lifts. “I think that’s a beautiful idea, Levi.”
My stomach swoops with nerves.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
It’s nearlyten at night by the time we get close to the Airbnb I rented for us, but none of us have eaten. Violette and Azrael are slumped against one another, sound asleep, even as Violette’s hand holds mine in her lap. My heart gives a lovesick thump every time I glance over at them.How is it possible that looking at them together makes my heart squeeze?
I’m shaking my head at myself as I surrender to the fact I have no answer to that question. My truck rocks from side to side as we roll into the parking lot of a bar and grill. The sudden motion stirs both Violette and Azrael.
“You guys hungry?”
The momentwe step into the bar, my skin crawls with discomfort. And if Violette curling against my side is any indication, she feels the same. Azrael, on the other hand, looks as unperturbed as usual. The place is packed andloud, and I’m regretting the decision to stop here already, but it’s either this or a gas station because this tiny town outside the Catskills doesn’t leave us with any other options late on a Sunday night.
A football game illuminates the large flat screens mounted on the walls, and the entire place erupts in cheers as the New York Giants score a touchdown. An exhausted-looking waitress hurries up to us, grabbing menus from the hostess stand, and shouts over the crowd. “Three?”
I nod, tugging Violette closer against me. “Yes, ma’am.”
She leads us to a dirty but recently vacated high-top table, which she quickly wipes down. A large group of men wearing jerseys glance our way as the waitress sets our menus on the table. Immediately, their eyes hone in on Violette, whose gaze remains determinedly fixed on the menu as she sits down. My eyes, on the other hand, meet theirs.
All of them have mugs of beer in their hands. A man who looks like he never outgrew his frat-boy era opens his mouth. “You got a problem, Post Malone?”
Violette wears a look of confusion that says, ‘Who?’,as his friends erupt with laughter. If Gideon or Beau had made that joke, I’d have laughed, but this motherfucker has a sneer on his face, a lot of decorative muscle, and a delicate nose that tells me he’s never had it broken.
Inwardly, I have to remind myself that it wouldn’t only be an unfair fight, but there are far too many witnesses, and a police station just down the road.
A slow grin spreads across my face as their laughter diminishes.
“I do, actually. It would be in your best interest to stop eye-fucking my wife.”
Violette goes rigid beside me, and I’m not sure if it’s because I called her my wife or if it’s because she knows I’m trying to rein in my temper.
One of the men—boasting a gut that’s exaggerated by his too-tight jersey—snorts. “I mean, she’s kinda asking for it with her tits hanging out like that.”
The flames of my anger are stoked into a rage that has my hands curling into fists. It would betooeasy for me to hunt this guy down, hog-tie him, and feed him to the wolves.
“At least my tits are nice. What’s your excuse?” Violette snaps.
His friends erupt with more laughter. The man with breasts scowls, slamming down his beer just as Azrael stands, rising to his full seven-foot stature. He turns to face them, wearing a look I’ve only ever seen on a mother’s face—one of forced patience and compassion.
“Dale, why don’t I call you a cab? If you drive home tonight, you’re going to die in a car accident.”
All seven men go still. Dale’s face scrunches up. “What the fuck? Do I know you?”
Azrael grins in a way that is deeply unsettling—a grin I haven’t seen before on him. It allows some of the darkness inside him to peek out from behind the curtain.
“No, but I know you. Very well.” Azrael’s gaze passes over all seven of them. “I know all of you.” The elder frat boy rolls his eyes.
“Fuck off with that creepy shit, man. You don’t know shit. Dale probably changed your oil at AutoZone. Jackass.”
Azrael chuckles. Then chuckles some more. His head tips back in a full-bodied laugh.
