“You’re scaring the prospects,” Ink said, his voice light enough to be a joke.
“Good,” Venom growled.
Ink snorted and leaned his elbows on the fence, staring at the fog like it offended him. “You feel it too?”
“Yeah,” Venom admitted.
“Cyclops says Lee’s men might be sniffing around for leverage. Wanting more territory and trying to find our weak points.” Trixie Lee’s father was dead now, but the threat was farfrom over. She and Cyclops went back to town only to discover that someone had taken over her father’s business, and they wanted blood for his death—Trixie’s blood. So, they came back to the compound, and most of the brothers had been living there with them ever since—Venom included. It worked for him because he had nothing and no one to go back home to.
“Let ’em sniff,” Venom muttered. “See how many don’t make it home.”
Ink blew out a breath. “Clearest sign something’s wrong is that you’re quieter than usual.”
Venom didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The shift inside him wasn’t something he’d put into words. It was more animal than thought—an instinct that curled his spine and sharpened his senses.
Ink pushed off the fence. “I’ll tell Razor to double the rotation.” Venom didn’t acknowledge him, but then again, Ink didn’t seem to expect him to. They usually understood each other in silence. Out of all the guys in the club, he felt closest to Ink.
When Ink walked away, the fog seemed to thicken, curling around Venom’s boots like the ground was exhaling. Then it hit him. It wasn’t a sound or a feeling. Someone was here. Venom straightened and moved toward the perimeter. His boots barely made a sound on the gravel as he passed the outer floodlight where the fence ran closest to the road. And there she was.
A woman stood on the other side of the chain-link fence, her silver car idling behind her. Her posture was rigid as her hands gripped the fence, as though she needed it to stay upright. She wore a dark coat buttoned too tightly over her body and a scarf wound around her neck as if she didn’t want anyone seeing beneath it.
Fog swirled around her boots. Her hair stuck to her cheek. Her eyes were wide, haunted, and if he wasn’t mistaken, had abit of a stubborn streak hiding behind them. She locked onto him the moment she noticed his movement, and she froze, but Venom didn’t.
“What are you doing out here?” His voice came out low and even. A challenge and a warning all mixed up in one question.
She tried to speak—he could see her mouth move—but the words didn’t come. She swallowed hard like she had to force air into her lungs. “I need help,” she finally said. That wasn’t an answer people usually gave to him. Venom didn’t do help; he did consequences.
He scanned her—shaking hands, uneven breathing, the way she kept glancing toward the dark road like something might crawl out of it. He’d seen hunted people before. This woman looked like she didn’t just know fear—she’d lived in it.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Juniper,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“Do you have a last name?” he asked. She hesitated too long, and he didn’t miss how her shoulders tensed, and her fingers dug into the fence.
“I don’t remember.” That got his attention. Not because he believed her, but because something in her voice said she hated not remembering more than he hated being lied to.
His eyes dropped to the scarf again. The thick fabric was tied too high and too carefully. “Take off the scarf.”
Her chin lifted, and he could tell right then that she was going to defy him. “No.” Venom took a step closer to her, but she didn’t back up. That was new. Most women saw his size and were a bit intimidated by him, but she didn’t seem to be.
“You walk onto Road Reapers' property,” he said, “and you think you get to tell me no?”
“I didn’t come here to be bossed around,” she shot back. “I came here for help.” There it was—the spark that he first sawbehind her eyes. She wasn’t afraid or angry. She was just trying to survive.
A slow, dangerous smile carved across his mouth before he could stop it. It was his first in days. He couldn’t figure out if she was bold, brave, or just plain stupid. He hit the gate release, and the sound cracked through the fog. “Get inside,” he ordered.
She flinched at the sound of the gate, but didn’t move. “What if you’re the ones who are trying to hurt me?” she asked, voice trembling but steady enough to mean she’d thought about it.
Venom stepped right to the fence; eyes locked on hers. “If we wanted you dead,” he said quietly, “you’d already be a memory.”
Her breath hitched, and then, slowly, she stepped through the opening. She didn’t run and didn’t dare look away from him. But most importantly, she didn’t hide the fact that she was terrified. Venom respected the hell out of that.
Ink, who must’ve doubled back, approached from behind him. “She ours?” he murmured.
Venom didn’t answer. His focus stayed on the stranger walking deeper into Reaper's territory, like every step cost her something. She was a woman with no memory. She wore a scarf, probably hiding a wound. And spoke her name as though it was a question. Something dark stirred low in his chest, and he knew this wasn’t a coincidence. This was the kind of moment the universe threw at men right before everything went to hell.
Venom stepped beside her, matching her pace. “Stay close,” he said.
