Page 4 of Venomous as a Snake

I glide across my yard, one container of warm chocolate chip cookies left.

The only container.

The rest were sugar cookies that my neighbors happily accepted while we made small talk after introductions. Those were drug-free.

Lucky them.

I approach the black Mercedes parked in front of my house. It’s been a permanent fixture for the last forty-eight hours, so it’s easy to guess what they’re doing… And surprise. It’s the same thing they’ve been doing for the last twelve months.

The two men appear casual as they lean against the driver’s side of the car, but their eyes are twitchy as they stalk my movements. In all this time, I’ve never acknowledged their existence. Naturally, they’re cautious of the shift in my attention.

I would be too.

One bite from me, and they’re dead within hours. Unless there’s enough antivenom in the area. But even then, they’ll spend weeks out of a job while they lie in a hospital bed. Which is perfect for picking them off.

There aren’t that many animals who are immune to my venom. Bullets work just fine on them, though. Fighting is a mental game where I like to work smarter, not harder.

The closer I get, the stiffer my babysitters become. They’re both handsome men despite their tight grins. Two brunettes, four guns, and a three-inch height difference between them. They may look like college students to the untrained eye, but they’re wannabe gangsters in street clothes.

Clay probably promised them secure positions within the Snake Eyes organization like he has any right to speak for Fangs. The moment they step foot onto clubhouse property, the enforcer will put a bullet between their eyes.

And then he’ll call me, his voice layered with disappointment as he reprimands me for not doing it myself.

But I think he’ll like this plan.

My father prefers a clean kill or torture, though he’s not above drugging his victims to get them strung up when he needs to.

Bring-your-kid-to-work-day really influenced my future for the better.

“The neighbors didn’t want all my cookies,” I say to the thugs, a soft smile playing at my lips. “Thought I would offer them to you guys since you’re stuck out here, watching my every move, like I actually have a life.”

“Ms. Ayers.” The first guy acknowledges me by tipping his head. “We really shouldn’t.”

“Why? Does Clay also pay you to starve?”

The second guy frowns. “That’s—”

“I know, I know.” I shake the bowl. “Listen. Have some fresh cookies and come inside. Take a look around. Tell him what I’m doing.”

“Why?” the second guy—I’m going to call him Short Stuff—challenges.

“Honestly?”

The first guy—now dubbed Tall and Tan—nods, waiting for an answer.

“I need some help moving my dresser upstairs. I’ve tried, but it’s too awkward for me to lift on my own.”

I hang my shoulders a little as I hold the cookies out to them again. They exchange a glance before Short Stuff takes the container, pops the lid open, and sniffs the contents.

“Smells like fresh chocolate chip cookies.”

“Homemade,” I add. “They’re my favorite to make, but if you don’t like them, I can whip up some more sugar cookies. I think I have enough ingredients left.”

“These are fine.” Tall and Tan flashes me a small smile, though it’s still tight.

I snag one out of the bowl to ease their minds, and give them my back as I glide down the driveway to the sidewalk. With a quick switch, I move my empty right hand to my mouth and work my jaw like I’m chewing. I conceal the cookie in my left hand, safely out of view, as my arms sway in time with my steps.

Once I’m inside, I leave the front door open, knowing they’re following me. I can’t hear them enter, but I feel the vibrations they cause as they stomp through my home.