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venom compressed Prescott’s chest, then Prescott choked, water spilling over blue lips. Relief flooded Flex as they rolled Prescott to the side so he could vomit the ocean water.
    “Your boy’s going to be okay. You’ll need to keep a close eye on him for a couple days,” the venom said from behind him.
    Flex nodded and turned to focus on the guy. “Who are you?” His voice came out as a rasp, his jaw aching from clenching at the pain.
    “Name’s Silver. I’m anti-venom and second-in-command of Fiesta Island Territory.” Silver smiled down at him.
    “But...” Flex eyed Silver’s body, “you look venomous.”
    “Just consider us your angels of the sea.” Silver winked. “Come on, we’ll get you to Mission Territory. Boss wants to talk to Kalder.”
    Flex’s head flopped as he was lifted. “I can walk.” Mills picked up Prescott next to him as the two anti-venoms began walking toward Mission Territory.
    “In a bit, when the damn venom is sucked out of you. Their venom worked on you like a paralysis, meaning this swarm of man o’ wars were more potent. Most would just leave you with one hell of a scar. Still have a lot of venom to suck out of you,” Silver huffed out.
    “Suck?” Flex eyed Silver, growing weary of the man carrying him even though he noticed they were careful to keep Prescott in his view at all times. That was twice the anti-venom said suck like he was a damn vampire or something.
    “Yep. All territories have their secrets, and you’re about to find out about the blue angels of Fiesta Island.”
     

Chapter Eight
     
     
    Prescott woke up feeling like he’d had the shit kicked out of him. His chest hurt, and his body ached. God his head was pounding. He felt a hand brush his hair and slowly opened his eyes to see Flex staring down at him.
    “What?” Prescott croaked out. Jesus.
    “You’re safe now. We’re in Mission Territory.” Flex bit his lower lip. “I’m sorry. If we hadn’t gotten help...” Flex shook his head and didn’t go on.
    Prescott tried to recall what happened. His brain was sluggish in catching up. They were traveling to Mission, went for a swim and...oh. Oh shit. “Are you okay?”
    Prescott scanned Flex’s arms and noticed several angry, long, thin open wounds.
    “I’m fine. They’ll heal. Just worried about you.” Flex leaned over and kissed Prescott’s hand, which he was holding.
    “I can survive venom bites and stings.” Prescott was anti-venom. It was in his genetic makeup to be able to resist venom. He had a hell of a healing process, but anti-venom were always able to fight off even the most toxic bites.
    “But not drowning,” Flex rasped out.
    “No,” Prescott murmured. Definitely not that. He didn’t want to even think about it. It was bittersweet that he let his guard down, and in that moment, they were attacked.
    Prescott sighed and rolled to his side to sit up. He glanced down at his wounds. They appeared as angry, long whip-like injuries. His head and chest hurt a hell of a lot more than the marks on his flesh. Prescott turned his attention away from his own wounds to peer at Flex’s. Like him, there were marks on Flex’s arms and legs. Prescott reached out and brushed his fingers along the edge of one of them on Flex’s leg, which appeared to already be healing.
    Flex grabbed a hold of his hand. “They don’t hurt. Look, I wanted to tell you...” Flex began.
    Prescott held up his hand. “I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want you apologizing.”
    “You were right.” Flex’s hand clenched over his.
    “No, I wasn’t,” Prescott murmured.
    “We were caught off guard and attacked. It wouldn’t have happened if we weren’t fucking around near Venom City.”
    Prescott stared at their hands and blew out a breath. What Flex said was technically true but... “I need that,” he whispered.
    “What?” Flex grabbed a hold of his chin and lifted it so their gazes met.
    “I need you just the way you are,”