Page 12
The story starts in Chapter 12 of "Tempting Venom": So I tried again with, āYour mama rode the right dick but didnāt finish the... Donāt miss it!
So I tried again with, āYour mama rode the right dick but didnāt finish the job. Thatās why youāre with the rats instead of being here. So sad.ā
Yes, told you Iād go there. I go every-fucking-where.
He stillsmiled.
But then he checked me so violently yet cleanly, I almost lost my fucking teeth.
I focused on another teammate, going so deep inside his head, I sent him to the box enough times to have him removed from the rink.
And we won. Of course. All thanks to my genius.
After that game, however, he stole my girlfriend. Okay, so she wasnāt my girlfriend, since I donāt do those, but she was the girl I fucked at the time, and he had no business having her wrapped all around him in her fucking stories.
Not that we were exclusive or anything, and Iāve totally forgotten the girlās name, but itās theaudacityfor me.
Tonight, however, Osborn isā¦hmm. How do I put this not so nicely? He has too much arrogance. Itās everywhere. From the way he carries himself, to how he speaks, to how he looks.
His helmet is tilted back just enough to reveal sharp angles, a mouth that looks like itās permanently smirking, and dark-gray eyes that donāt blink like normal peopleās do. They just watch. Assess. Like heās collecting data for the best way to piss me off.
Iām so annoyed that he stopped me from wrecking his teammateās fragile ego. No one ever steps between me and chaos. Especially not some Stantonville rat who crawled out of the gutter and decided to grow cheekbones sharp enough to commit crimes with.
The only break in all the sharp lines is a scar that slashes over the edge of his thick eyebrow.
Heās taller than I remember, built like he crushes bones and doesnāt lose sleep over it. Taller than meāthe motherfuckerāand Iām 6ā3ā. Heās like, what? 6ā4ā? 6ā5ā? Who the fuck needs that much height? Giants?
He runs a hand through his messy black hair, then pulls the helmet down on his face, his mouth tipped in that same lingering, taunting curve. āHi, fairy prince.ā
I release a sound thatās similar to a ātsk.ā I have no fucking clue why he calls me that. I mean, yeah, sure, Iama prince, thank you very much. Itās what they say in the papers, too.Armstrong, the leagueās princethisand Armstrong, the leagueās princethat.
But this degenerate makes it sound like heās mocking me in that annoying deep voice of his.
āWe meet again.ā The way he speaks drowns out the noise, demanding attention.
But you know, two can play that game.
āWho are you againā¦? The nameās on the tip of my tongue, but I canāt quite remember. Hmm.ā
āForgetfulness at your age is a real issue, Armstrong. May I suggest seeing a doctor?ā
This motherfucker.
I truly donāt like him and the way heās always waving and smirking and nodding at me as if weāre old friends.
āRight, Osborn!ā I ease a smile into place, then start to circle him; itās how I disorient them. āYouād better have dealt with those mommy issues of yours, because Iām going there again tonight.ā
āWhat about your own issues, Armstrong? Ready to hold my hand and talk about it? Because Iāll also go there.ā
I falter, and his hand fists my collar, hauling me to a stop as he yanks me toward him. The pull is so sudden and forceful, it knocks the breath from my lungs, leaving me stunned.
Because what the actual fuck?
My face is practically pressed to his helmet, only a breath between us, and Jesus fucking Christāare those blue flecksin his eyes? Like shards of sky caught in storm clouds. They flicker, almost alive, almost extinguished.
Thatās when I realize something.
Iāve always found Osbornās face annoying, and now I know itās because I canāt read his eyes. Zilch. Nada.
As someone whoās extremely good at reading others, gauging their reactions, getting a figurativeāand sometimes literalāhard-on at the rage and anger in their eyes, I currently canāt findanythingto feed on.