Page 1 of Venom & Vanity

CHAPTER ONE

SNOW

“Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the filthiest whore of all?” I grit my teeth and close my eyes, trying to rein in my temper. For days these bastards have terrorized me. They like to hurl insults and make jokes.

I wish that was the real reason I’m so pissed off.

I keep my face blank. These sons of bitches have no idea who they are dealing with and they should think themselves lucky that my hands are chained above my head. I’m dangling from the rafters like a pig ready to be flayed and served on a platter.

I open my eyes and glare at the three assholes, at the bright red masks they wear to cover their entire faces. They remind me of apples. It’s crazy, I know, but picturing them like that makes them appear less daunting. These guys aren’t small by any means, they are tall, muscular and carry an air of dominance around them.

I don’t know where I am, have no idea how I even got here, but I don’t plan to stick around for long. The second I get the chance, I’m running.

“Her beauty is rare.” I grind my teeth so hard my jaw aches as they stalk forward and stand before me, in black jeans and boots that seem like they have seen better days. There’s a black soot that covers their exposed forearms, almost like they have been inside a coal mine.

“Her lips are as red as a rose,” the one in the middle says.

“Hair black as ebony,” the one on the left adds with a groan. I shoot him a scowl.

“Skin as white as snow,” the fucker on the right tacks on.

“And a right hook that could rival a heavy weight champ,” I hiss through clenched teeth. The three of them chuckle but it’s strained. The one in the middle steps forward, then grips my waist in a punishing hold. The feeling of his bare hands pressed against my exposed flesh has heat surging inside me.

I’m wearing a red and blue cropped tee, that hangs off one shoulder, dark wash jeans and a pair of tennis shoes. I know, it’s not the outfit of the crown princess, but I’ve never been one to follow the rules. I’m not into doing my hair and makeup, I’d rather be outdoors: hunting, fishing and practicing my axe throwing.

I’m what you would call a tomboy.

I’m not ashamed of it, I know I’m hot. I have eyes and look at myself in the mirror every day but I’m not obsessed with my looks or anything like that.

He glides his hands up my sides, making me stiffen. His touch leaves a trail of heat. When he reaches the band of my bra, he glides his hands behind my back and unhooks it, making me gasp.

A spike of fear flows through me.

He moves his hands, grips the front of my top and lifts it, then pushes it behind my head. My bra has lifted and just covers my nipples—any slight movement and my girls will be exposed. I may not be a typical girly girl, but I know I have great tits. They are large, plump and perky as fuck.

The bastard in front of me meets my stare, the look in his piercing blue eyes has my breath hitching. The ravenous look in those eyes has my pussy clamping down on air. I shouldn’t be turned on. I shouldn’t want this, but I fucking do.

Am I going to escape? Yes.

Will I enjoy myself before I do? Well, yes. I sure fucking will.

Being a princess means every male back home is too chickenshit to even look at me for fear of my father coming after them. His name may be Happy Frost, but nothing about my father is happy these days. He’s ill and bed ridden. His scornful bitch of a wife—The Evil Queen as I call her—has made my life hell. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was the one who orchestrated this whole fucking thing.

She wants me out of the way so she can rule over my island.

The cunt is addicted to looking at herself in the large hand-carved mirror in the grand room of the palace. She even speaks to herself and asks the fucking mirror if she’s the prettiest bitch on the island.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a switchblade, causing my eyes to widen of their own accord. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound as he raises the blade. I wait for him to slice me or bury the blade in me, but he does neither. He cuts the straps of my bra instead.

The second the garment hits the stone floor everything goes still, so silent you could hear a mouse skitter up a clock. All three of them have their gazes focused on my tits, my nipples hard and begging to be touched.

He stows the knife back in his pocket, then makes me gasp in shock when he covers my tits with his hands, making me jerk in my chains.

“So soft,” he murmurs. The other two step forward. I dart my gaze between the three of them trying to keep my wits about me, but the moment he flicks the pads of his thumbs over my nipples, my mind blanks and a sharp cry escapes me. I’m engulfed by heat when the others glide their hands over my body like they have every right.

Their touch is so sure, controlled and masterful.

A sharp cry escapes me again when he twists my nipples to the point of pain. He releases them and I suck in a ragged breath. I may not be able to see his face, thanks to the mask, but I can tell from the look in his eyes that he’s smiling.