Page 88 of Venomous as a Snake

And wait.

And wait.

At least ten minutes go by and no one ever comes for me.

So it’s time to go to him.

To give him exactly what he thought he wanted…

A very pissed off king cobra.

I slip my boots from my backpack and slide my feet into them. With my ballet flats tucked away, I check my gun once more before returning it to its holster.

I step onto the front porch, none too quiet as the soles of my shoes thunk against the concrete. I’m not here to fuck around or play with my food. There are only six lives inside this house that get to walk out.

Well, five will walk. Carol could slither, I guess. But I’d rather carry him.

The point is, I’m about to turn the tables on this delusional bird.

The knob twists with ease, unlocked and expecting company. I shove the door open, walking into Clay’s house as if it’s my own.

Because in less than an hour, it will be mine.

And I’m going to demolish it.

The front door swings open, giving us a good look at Kody. She’s speckled with blood, though I can smell that most of it isn’t hers. And the hottest of flames burn in the depths of her blue and purple irises.

Footsteps storm down the hallway, and Kody draws the gun from her waistband, firing three bullets into the dark. Three bodies fall.

I forget she shares her cobra’s night vision… Until moments like this.

Not that I’ve ever needed rescuing to this extent.

Clay steps over the bodies of his fallen minions, flanked by two more. Without missing a beat, Kody fires two more rounds, dropping two more shifters before they can react to her presence.

The swan acts as if he expected nothing less. He swaggers into the dining area, placing an anti-shift collar on the table.

I glance back at Kody and grimace as the unadulterated rage makes my petite mate seem ten-feet tall.

I’ve seen Kody mad before, but never this mad.

If I cared one ounce for Clay, I would urge him to run.

I don’t, though.

Let him fucking suffer for what he’s done to her.

Kody doesn’t speak as she enters the house, marching straight to us. She loosens the straps of her backpack and places it between me and Ali with a small grin playing on her perfect lips. But she makes no move to free us.

She and Clay stare at each other until he slides the collar across the surface of the table.

“Put this on, then we can talk.”

“You forget your place.” Kody smirks, pushing it back to him. “There’s a hierarchy in this world and within gang life. You’re not at the bottom, Clay. But you’re certainly not at the top. Fangs let you have your fantasy for far too long.”

“I forget my place?” He touches his chest, genuinely offended. “Your place is—”

“Wherever the fuck I make it,” she cuts in, her voice a low hiss as her cobra gets ready to strike.