Page 139 of Venomous Desires

His cane tapped rhythmically as we walked, his sunglasses shielding his unreadable eyes from the world, the prettiest and perfect illusion of blindness.

Ask me, I’d write his tales with a better pen.

I didn’t know why he bothered to bring me along.

Kyle trailed behind us, stiff and silent like always, with guards I didn’t recognize shadowing our every step. My ankle throbbed faintly, a dull reminder of the price I’d paid for being careless. But the pain was manageable—nothing compared to the six feet four inches bastard that tower over me like a storm cloud.

We were escorted to the private dining area. What caughtmy sight first was the large table at the center, surrounded by men. Lavish and refined, the room felt like the very essence of wealth. A slow Russian sonata played in the background, the soft music lulling the air into an eerie calm. Waiters stood by, motionless, like soldiers awaiting orders.

I’d rather stay with them than associate myself with these dangerous men.

My gaze flickered to the men sitting around the table. Some of the faces were familiar, shadows from that fateful night. Except for one face—Dontello—whose ghost must be lingering nearby. An icy shiver crawled down my spine as I remembered him. He was dead. Judas killed him. And yet, here he was—or rather, the memory of his lifeless eyes still haunted me.

I was jolted from my thoughts when a hand brushed my back, snapping me back to the present. “Little lion,” one of the men—Carlo, I thought—greeted Judas with a smirk, but his eyes cut to me.

I stole a glance at Judas. His lips twisted in that wicked way they always did when he was about to tighten the noose. He tugged me closer, as if claiming me in front of them. The room stilled, the air thick with power plays and unspoken threats.

Carlo pulled out a chair for Judas. But I couldn’t help but notice there was no chair for me. Just a cold, vacant space between two men.

I would not sit there.

I hesitated, my stomach clenching as I wondered where I was supposed to sit. Judas, of course, didn’t miss a beat. His cane tapped once on the ground, the sharp sound cutting through the silence.

“Sit beside me, Ptichka.” His voice, smooth as silk, held an undertone that sent a ripple of unease through me.

I turned to him, my heart pounding in my chest. There was no seat. I was about to open my mouth to protest when he pattedhis thigh. “Or my lap.”

The words fell like a nail in the coffin, and my breath hitched. The men around the table watched with interest, but none dared to speak. I could feel their eyes boring into me.

Adjusting the bodice of the dress, I wished they would stop staring at my chest.

I swallowed hard, every nerve in my body screaming against what he was asking. But there was no escape. Not here. Not now.

Slowly, I lowered myself onto his lap, feeling the hard muscle beneath me. His arm slid around my waist like a serpent coiling around a bird.

My skin crawled as I sat there, trapped between his body and the table, exposed to the gazes of these men who saw me as nothing more than Judas’s plaything.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear. I could feel his smirk, the satisfaction radiating from him like heat off a flame. He lived for moments like these—moments where his control over me was absolute.

Carlo leaned back in his chair, his gaze flicking between us. “I see you’ve trained her well, Romanovski.”

My chest tightened.

Judas chuckled softly, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on my side as I dared not to flinch. “She learns fast,” he said, and then his voice lowered with amusement. “Doesn’t she?”

I clenched my fists in my lap, fighting the urge to pull away. I felt like a lamb being led to slaughter, but Judas was no shepherd—he was the wolf. And the men at this table, they were his pack.

The conversation continued, but it felt distant, like I was watching a play unfold from the sidelines. Judas’s fingers moved up to my neck, lightly brushing my skin. Every touch was a reminder—he held all the cards.

He never shied or hesitated to touch me, even in public. Likeit was his right to invade my vicinity and make me feel uneasy.

The food was soon served, and I had no appetite unless the monster behind me grumbled in my ear.

“Eat,” Judas said softly, pushing a plate toward me. The command was clear, even if his tone wasn’t harsh. Obedience. That’s what he expected.

Fight. That’s what I wanted to give.

Unless I had the mood for some spanking.