Page 106 of Craving Venom

No response.

I narrow my eyes, pushing the door open. The second I step inside, I see him standing rigid in the middle of the room, glaring at me.

“I said—”

I don’t get the words out before his fist connects with my jaw. The impact snaps my head to the side, fire bursting through my skull.

My instincts kick in.

Before he can step back, I latch onto his throat, slamming him into the nearest wall. His head cracks against the concrete.

“What,” I murmur, “made you so fucking stupid that you thought that was a good idea?”

“Z-Zane—” He chokes.

I tighten my hold. Not enough to cut off his air completely just enough to make him feel it, to let him drown in the helplessness, to remind him exactly who he’s dealing with.

“Keep talking,” I spit out. “Or don’t. I don’t really give a fuck.”

“H-He said—” he stutters, coughing. “He said you…you turned on Terry.”

Mark recoils but keeps talking. The words tear out of him in a rush, desperate to escape before I shove them down his throat again.

“Frank. H-He said you l-let him die.”

For a long second, I just stare at him, watching the way his pupils blow wide, the way his body trembles under my touch and then I let go. Mark nearly collapses, his hands flying to his throat as he gasps for air.

I turn on my heel.

“D-Did you?”

“I did what I had to,” I say smoothly. “Tosurvive.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. I don’t give him the chance to.

I step out of the cell, leaving him with those words, with that single truth that he can twist in his head however he fucking wants.

Because the reality?

Survival has never been clean.

Terry’s cell is empty. Not in the literal sense, his shit is still here, the mattress still has the dents from where he used to sleep, the faint scent of cigarettes clings to the air. But it feels empty.

Like the prison itself has swallowed him whole.

No one’s been allowed in here since it happened. Since we both got caught, and I let him take the fall alone.

I run my fingers along the far wall, the one closest to the ground. This is the weak spot. The walls were reinforced over the years, but the foundation beneath? The one connected to the basement? That’s still the same. Still compromised.

And Terry?

Terry was the only one I trusted with this information.

I close my eyes and let the memory flood back.

I pull a folded sheet of paper from my waistband and spread it out on the small metal table in the center of the room.

It’s covered in symbols. Markings that make sense to no one but me.

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