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There was a solid roof over my head in place of unpredictable concrete crashing down and killing some poor motherfucker sleeping, and a fortified stainless steel door to get through in place of too many entry and exit points.
We passed through the gate and drove a bit further up the grassy road where Maliki parked the truck between a few of the other Venom’ vehicles and cut the engine.
“Are we going to talk about what happened back there?” he asked quietly.
“You know what happened.”
“Z,” he protested.
I sighed, cracking my neck. There wasn’t any bullshitting Malik no matter how often I tried.
He was one of the only people on this rotting, shithole of a fucking planet that knew me—the real me.
He’d been by my side since the time I was locked away like a rabid dog inside a prison cell—to when I emerged from the underground like a fucking phoenix and slaughtered anyone who stood in-between me and was rightfully mine.
As everyone began to get out of the truck, we remained seated. Trix paused and gave me a questioning look. I waved her on.
“It wasn’t the time to put that plan in motion,” I explained now that we were alone.
“No shit, Z. You know that isn’t what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the way you must feel right now. You’ve been foaming at the mouth to devour this girl’s soul for a long ass time now.”
“You know I don’t do emotional talks, Malik. And if I did I’d tell you I’m fine as always. Five minutes isn’t enough to leave any lingering effects,” I added in a more serious tone, telling myself the same thing.
I liked logical explanations for shit, things tha
t made sense, like two plus two is four.
There wasn’t anything logical about my internal reaction to, Adelaide Deville, but that wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have right then. I couldn’t make sense of it, and it’d been a long fucking day as it was.
“Come on,” I told him, reaching for the door handle.
Once out of the truck, we started up the leveled dirt trail that ran between the shed-like houses we’d built for the other Venom.
We had just begun spreading our roots three months ago, but for those that chose to reside at the main base, there was no way in hell we would all fit inside the main property.
That sat at the very end of the trail, held above the entire piece of land by various wooden beams. From my balcony, you could see the treetops, and where they ended began stretches of pinkish tinged dessert.
The smell of bud and hooch lingered in the air. One of the units had music playing loud enough for everyone to enjoy. Those that weren’t taking a leisure day were working.
There was always shit that needed to be done—orders to be filled, maintenance to be up-kept, supplies to be replenished.
We may have been forced to adapt to a desolate wasteland, but we made sure we thrived in the process.
Everyone greeted the two of us as we passed, genuinely happy that we’d returned. This was why I had done all I had. Why I gave these people somewhere of comfort instead of a derelict reformatory like my father had resided in.
Why I refused to subject them to the shitty fucking subway I’d been forced to dwell in, eating the unfortunate critters that wandered too far down the tunnel.
They would have stuck by my side through all that with zero complaints, just so they had the sense of family and a place to call home, but I didn’t want that for them.
My people had food, clean water, and an actual purpose.
In turn, they helped me achieve, and hold, a position of power that I’d been born to claim.
It was their never-ending gratitude and devotion that motivated me.
Why one day the Savages, and everyone else would learn exactly why I wasn’t like my father.
I heard the whispers, how I wasn’t supposed to have survived the taking of Centriole, not when the devil had a marker on my head. I’d been cast aside, forgotten about, and written off as dead.
