“And then, I wake up choking,” she whispered. She opened her eyes and noticed that Venom hadn’t moved at all. But his expression was different now. She didn’t see pity in his eyes, nor shock, but something tighter and sharper. It was almost protective in a way that scared her more than anything else.
“You didn’t get that wound on your neck from falling,” he said. “That was a kill strike. Whoever did it meant to do it.”
She shivered. “I know.”
“Someone tried to finish the job,” Venom murmured. “And someone else stopped them.”
Her breath caught. “What do you mean?”
“If you woke up alive,” he said quietly, “someone dragged you out of that ditch.”
Her heart thudded painfully. She hadn’t let herself think that much about it because it was easier to believe she’d crawled out of that ditch by herself. She liked to think that she had survivedbecause she fought to stay alive. But there were gaps in her memory large enough to swallow a person whole.
Venom leaned closer—not by much, but enough that she felt the heat of him, enough that her pulse tripped and her lungs tightened. “Whoever saved you,” he said, “knew you. Or knew what killing you would start.”
Juniper’s hands trembled again, and Venom seemed to notice. This time, he didn’t comment. He just reached into a drawer, pulled out a clean glass, filled it with water, and placed it in front of her. No theatrics, and no questions. Just an unspoken peace offering. The gesture shouldn’t have meant anything. But it felt intimate. Dangerous in its softness. She drank the water as Venom watched her in a way that made her skin heat, like he was studying her but also cataloging every shiver, every breath, every flick of her gaze. Slow-burn didn’t even feel like the right word. This was something rawer and had a kind of gravity.
She set the glass down with shaking fingers. “What now?” she whispered.
Venom straightened, his muscles shifting under leather and tattoos. His eyes were darker now, and certain. “Now,” he said, “we figure out who wanted you dead.” He stepped closer. “And why you came running to me?”
Juniper forgot how to breathe because she didn’t know the answers to his questions. But some part of her—a deep, quiet, terrifying part—suspected Venom might be able to help her figure the answers out.
Venom (Road Reapers MC Book 7) Universal Link->Coming soon!
What’s releasing next from K.L. Ramsey? You won’t want to miss Tempest (Dark Chaos MC Book 1). It’s guaranteed to spice up your Kindle!
TEMPEST
Tempest parked her bike behind the old sugar warehouse downtown and pulled off her helmet. Her inner wolf was itching to burst free, and that usually meant danger wasn’t far behind. She had learned to trust not only herself but her wolf as she made her way in the world, and her wolf was telling her that something was waiting for her inside that warehouse—something that she wasn’t going to like. But as Prez of the Dark Chaos MC, she knew that most of the situations she walked into were going to be dangerous.
No one wanted her new club in Baltimore. Hell, the mayor herself tried to stop them from starting their charter in the city, but she fought and won the battle for her club to be there. Tempest couldn’t go back on all that hard work now and give up. If she was right, the Prez of the Silverfang Brotherhood MC was waiting for her inside the old sugar factory. She had heard through the grapevine that they had encountered some trouble with the D.C. club and needed some help. The question was, would she be willing to put her club in danger and lend a hand, or would she tell Howler to get lost?
She put her helmet on her handlebars and looked back over her shoulder at the bay. She usually hated the smell of fish down at the harbor, but today, it was so cold that there was no smell. The water lapped against the concrete wall, and she shivered, tugging her leather jacket tighter around herself. Tempest rolled her shoulders like she could shake the cold straight through her bones, and then started toward the warehouse.
The old sugar factory loomed like a dead giant at the edge of the water. The bricks had blackened with age, windows were punched out, the wide loading doors had half-collapsed into the entryway, and were hanging crookedly. The city had tried to forget that this place existed, but that didn’t mean it was empty. In fact, she knew for a fact that it wasn’t.
Her boots crunched over gravel and broken glass. The air tasted like rust, old molasses, and something sharper beneath it—wolf. Not hers. Tempest’s inner wolf lifted its head, hackles rising. She could smell him—Howler. He was dominant, and if she wasn’t throwing darts in the dark, agitated. And if she could smell his wolf, he’d be able to smell hers.
“Yeah,” she muttered under her breath. “I smell you too.”
She didn’t reach for the knife that she kept in her jacket. She didn’t need to. Tempest was a weapon—one with a patch and a purpose. Still, she slid her hand under her jacket and made sure the knife at the small of her back was exactly where it should be.
It felt like the warehouse swallowed her as soon as she stepped inside. Shadows clung to the corners of the room, making her feel jumpy and unsure of herself. Part of the roof was ripped off, allowing the wind to move through it like a sigh, carrying the faint clink of chains somewhere deeper in the building. Her footsteps echoed across the concrete as she walked to the back of the warehouse, searching for Howler. Tempest paused to let her eyes adjust to the darkness as she walked further into the building.
There were lights, but they were only battery lanterns that were set low, their glow creating an island of visibility in the middle of the vast darkness. And standing in the ring of light were two men. One leaned against a rusted pallet jack like he owned the place. The other stood straight with his hands loose at his sides, and his head angled like a predator watching its prey.
Tempest didn’t slow. She walked right into their light and stopped just out of arm’s reach.
“Evening,” she said, her voice flat. “If this is a trap, it’s not a very good one.” She knew that taunting them might not be her finest move, but if Howler needed her help, she was going to have a little bit of fun first.
The man against the pallet jack smiled with too many teeth. “You always this friendly, Tempest?”
Her gaze stayed on the one who hadn’t spoken yet. He was tall with broad shoulders and had his silver hair pulled back at the nape. His hair wasn’t that color due to age, though, because wolves didn’t gray the way humans did. It was a mark—a distinct warning to those around him. His eyes were pale—almost the color of ice, and she knew exactly who the man was who was staring her down.
“Howler,” she said.
His mouth twitched like it wanted to be a smirk, but didn’t. “Prez.”
