“Mmph,” Crutch grunted. He hadn’t had a cigarette since they snatched Donny from outside his apartment building. Lack of nicotine always made Crutch uncommunicative.
And speaking of snatching Donny, it had been ridiculously easy. The reporter had been fumbling with his keys, distracted by the glowing screen of his iPhone and trying to juggle a steaming cup of coffee, when Venom and Crutch pulled up beside his prissy Prius to drag the squawking little runt inside their SUV.
“I said,” Venom snapped, shoving the barrel of his pistol so tightly against Donny’s head that the reporter winced and choked behind his gag, “shut the fuck up!”
“Easy,” Crutch cautioned.
“Seriously, though,” Venom snarled. “I did not sweat my ass off in that damned Iraqi desert for the likes of him, tadpoles who would rather suck a dick than grow a pair of balls.”
Venom was going to love watching the lights go out in Donny’s eyes when he eventually strangled him. A bullet was too good for Donny Danielson. Real men died by lead. Snot-nosed lady-boys died by having the life strangled out of them while they looked into the eyes of a real man.
But he couldn’t kill Donny yet. He might need to use the sack of shit to make Samantha talk. Nothing loosened a person’s tongue quicker than watching someone they cared about suffer. He’d learned that lesson in Albu Bali.
“Look.” Crutch pointed out the window. “She’s coming.”
Venom turned in the direction of Crutch’s finger. Sure enough. Samantha and Termite hustled through the building’s front door, Termite steering her toward the waiting SUV with a hand at her elbow.
Venom’s heart began to pound. His breath caught at the back of his throat. Even though her eyes were wide and unblinking, her cheeks pale with fear, she was still prettier in person than in any of the pictures he’d seen online or in the paper.
Anticipation swirled low in his belly, making his cock twitch. “This is gonna be fun,” he said to no one in particular.
* * *
Samantha knew the taste of fear when she slid into the second-row seat of the black SUV. It was sour, like a pickle. It thickened her spit, making it impossible to swallow.
“You okay?” she asked Donny, taking in his red eyes and disheveled hair. His ankles were duct-taped together, as were his wrists. A length of the stuff was slapped over his mouth.
He gave her a jerky nod, and relief rushed through her so quickly that she felt dizzy. Or maybe that was terror making her head spin?
“I’m so sorry I got you into this,” she told him.
“How touching,” came the voice from the phone.
She turned to find a mountain of a man dressed head to toe in black. He wore a ski mask. It covered everything but his mouth and eyes. When he flashed her a smile, she was surprised to see his teeth were straight and white. In contrast, his eyes were as black as night. Looking into them, she felt like she was falling into a soulless abyss.
John George Peabody III, a.k.a. Venom. She would bet her life on it.
“Good job,” the guy in the driver’s seat said, drawing her attention when Janitor/Not Janitor climbed into the front passenger seat. The driver was also dressed head to toe in black, with a ski mask obscuring his features.
Samantha waited for the locks to reengage as Janitor/Not Janitor closed the door and pulled on his seat belt. But they didn’t.
She wasn’t sure she really thought about her next move. She just did it. Leaning over Donny, she grabbed the latch on the unlocked door and threw it open. Using both hands and one foot, she shoved Donny out of the vehicle. Because his hands and ankles were tied, he landed in the street in a heap.
Desperate to follow him out, she made a swipe for the handle on her door, only to hear the locks click into place. A split second later, the barrel of a pistol was pressed tight against her temple. “You bitch!” Venom snarled.
“Help him!” she yelled through the open door just as Janitor/Not Janitor jumped out and rounded the front of the vehicle to make a grab for Donny. Adrenaline made her brain buzz. “Help him!” she screamed again, fully expecting Venom to send a bullet crashing through her temple.
Three men in suits carrying Chipotle bags heard her second yell. They turned toward the commotion by the curb. When they saw Donny bound and kicking at Janitor/Not Janitor, one of them yelled, “Hey! What the hell are you doing?”
“You bitch!” Venom hissed again, grabbing a fistful of her hair and jerking her head back. Her scalp stung, especially the area Bulldog had tried to bash in, and she assured herself that was the cause of the tears that sprang to her eyes. “You stupid, fucking cunt!” Venom added, because apparently bitch wasn’t enough of an insult.
The guy in the front seat yelled to Janitor/Not Janitor, “Leave him, damnit! Get in the car!”
When the side door slammed shut, Donny still out on the curb, Samantha began to smile. She’d done it. She’d saved Donny.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” Venom whispered as Janitor/Not Janitor hopped in and the SUV peeled away from the curb. The biker’s mouth was close to her ear, his breath stinking of stale coffee.
“Doesn’t matter what you do to me now, asshole,” she said, and Venom pulled her hair tighter. “Donny’s safe, so I win.”
