Page 10 of Venomous as a Snake

The if at all part still hangs in the air… though it doesn’t concern me. They aren’t my guys. They show me no loyalty.

“What did you name this one?”

“Short Stuff,” I answer, handing him more zip ties.

“And what happened to Tall and Tan’s nose?” he inquires, more amused than curious. “Did you punch him?”

I shake my head. “He fell.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He did. When the drugs kicked in, he tipped right over.” I frown at the restrained, unconscious men with their hands and feet bound together in one cluster of ties. “I’m surprised he didn’t get blood on my carpet.”

Ali drags Tall and Tan by the ankle, disappearing into the garage. I make to follow him with Short Stuff, but a shouted curse flows through the open doorway.

“You motherfucker,” he barks.

My cat struts into the kitchen, fluffy white tail held high. He stops at the food dish, taking a single bite before peering up at me. We make eye contact; me with the ankle of a restrained and unconscious man in my hand… And Pimp with his judgy glare and twitching ears.

The Maine Coon is the bane of my existence, but I love him when he’s nice.

Which is almost never.

He’s especially rude when the sun is up.

Or the moon is shining.

Basically, he’s the opposite of a werewolf. The two days of the new moon are the only days anyone can trust the feline nuisance.

Pimp is my cat’s name… Because a friend of a friend sarcastically suggested it while we were trying to pick out the right name. That was the only one the damn kitten responded to, so… You know. It stuck quicker than burs in your fur.

When I say nothing, he meows obnoxiously, drawing the sound out like he’s got an issue with my current situation, but has no proper suggestions to make it better. This causes Hooker to bound down the stairs, bumping into the walls, like the psycho found an open door at the asylum.

There’s some hissing and growling as Pimp chases Hooker into the living room, but all falls silent when they knock over a box.

I sigh in exasperation as I wait for Ali to come back inside. The thought of Pimp and Hooker giving him and Drew hell for the last week makes me smile until my cheeks ache. Those two don’t listen to anyone but me, and even that is a dodgy statement. I bet they drove the honey badger to the edge of murder on multiple occasions.

As I stare at the unconscious Short Stuff, I decide to send my thanks back with him. In a way.

I scribble across a piece of notebook paper, scrawling handwriting large enough to read from the other side of the room. The note is for Clay, but the only way I can ensure he gets it is if I know he’ll see it… That poses the next dilemma.

How do I get it to stick to Short Stuff?

I’ve found no tape while unpacking.

But what I do happen across while rifling through the unlabeled boxes in the kitchen is a sleek, rose gold stapler.

So I staple the shit out of that note.

To Short Stuff’s chest.

Ali stands behind me, his chortle rumbling up my spine as he reads aloud. “Great threesome material. Thanks for not coming too.”

“I almost wrote: stop sending people to stalk me.” I roll my eyes at myself. “That would make him send more, though.”

The Komodo dragon wraps his thick arms around my waist, tugging me to lean against his chest. Indulging in his touch is all too easy. He makes me feel incredibly delicate in his grasp without making me feel as though I’m precious prey.

Because I’m not.