Page 119 of Darling Venom
We were drawing attention with all the noise. The alarm blared. People peered out of windows. A maître d stood in front of an overpriced Italian restaurant, hands planted on his hips, glaring at me.
Yeah, buddy, I disapprove of me, too.
Someone hopped onto the creaky fire escape of an apartment. “Who the fuck’s car is that?! Some of us have work in the morning!”
I sloped my head skyward and yelled back, “Mind your fucking business.”
Charlie pushed past me, leaving me alone to deal with the crime scene.
I followed after her.
“Tell me about Kellan,” I demanded again, leaving no room for disagreement.
“No,” she said simply, and apparently, there was room for disagreement.
I went to repeat myself about the same time I realized her jacket wasn’t silver. It was all-black leather, littered with silver chains, and it was Kellan’s.
She was wearing Kellan’s jacket.
Why the hell was she wearing Kellan’s jacket?
I looped a finger around the thickest chain, forcing her to stop. “This is my brother’s.”
Charlie’s cheeks flamed. She peered down at herself, brows pushed together as if she just realized what she had on.
“Plenty of people own leather jackets.”
“It’s Kellan’s.”
I held up another chain, fingering a charm on it. Half snake. Half compass. The implication being: Tate Marchetti is a snake without a moral compass.
Well-played, Kel.
When she didn’t deny it, I pointed to the left shoulder. “There’s a tear there that he covered with Sharpie. A hole in the inner lining, caused by yours truly. He also added a chain to the jacket each time I tried to toss it.” There must’ve been at least thirty on there. “And this,” I flicked a metallic snake, “is the first charm he put on it. Tell me again that it isn’t Kel’s. I’m waiting.” Silence. “Oh, and while you’re at it, tell me again how you and Kel were just friends.”
Once the words met the air, once I verbalized what we both knew, the fuck-buddy offer withered to the ground and died a lonely, flaccid death.
Charlie stayed silent.
She kept her eyes fixed on the sidewalk, and she’d better not be thinking of a way out of this.
Spoiler alert: there wasn’t one.
According to Kel, persistence was my worst personality trait, and Charlotte Richards was about to get a heavy dose of it.
“Tell me about Kellan. And no bullshit this time.”
“Fine. I was outside the bar, and I saw you. But Tate,” she sloped her chin up, pinning me with her full attention, “you didn’t turn to me once. How did you know I was there?”
I spent most of my days fielding Terry’s questions regarding the whereabouts of Darling Venom. I didn’t feel like fielding her questions, too.
And yet…
I tugged the oversized bow on her head. “You make it obvious.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means nothing. Tell me about Kellan.”
