Page 112 of Craving Venom

“This situation?” I tip my head, gesturing vaguely to the hospital room, to the bed, to the beeping monitors keeping track of my still-recovering vitals. “Is temporary.”

“What the fuck do you mean temporary?”

I rest my head against the pillows. “I don’t plan on breaking out for good.”

Luke’s entire face tightens.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He steps closer, gripping the rail of the hospital bed hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

“You nearly died,” he whispers harshly. “You gave yourself an overdose, got electrocuted, had half the guards panicking their asses off, and you’re telling me this—” he gestures wildly at me— “isn’t an escape attempt?”

I shift slightly to get more comfortable. “Nope.”

“Zane, if this isn’t you escaping, why the fuck are you here?” Luke bristles.

“Unfinished business.”

Luke watches me carefully, trying to figure out why I’d risk everything.

But in the end, he doesn’t ask.

“Well, I hate to break it to you.” He turns slightly toward the medical cart, “but you’re not going anywhere tonight.”

I arch a brow. “You trying to keep me all to yourself, doc?”

“Shut the hell up.”

He’s moves and wraps his fingers around a syringe, flipping it over to check the dosage. He draws a clear liquid from a small vial, tapping the side before pressing out any excess.

“No matter how strong you think you are,” Luke continues, stepping closer, “your body isn’t. You might be breathing, but you’re still coming down from a very violent overdose, and I’m not going to be the asshole who lets you drop dead on the pavement because you’re too fucking stubborn to recover.”

His words barely register before I feel a sharp prick against my arm.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He pushes the plunger down in one smooth motion, injecting the sedative straight into my bloodstream.

A slow warmth spreads through my veins, dragging at my limbs. My muscles slacken before I can fight it, my vision already darkening at the edges.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE BEAUTY

The only reason I called Zane was to make this damn project easier. That was it. One call, a few answers, and I’d be done.

But instead?

Instead, he’s embedded himself under my skin, left me feeling all sorts of weird, and I hate it. I force my focus back to the case file in front of me.

His file is a mess. Half the details contradict each other, the evidence is flimsy at best, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think someone was deliberately trying to make him look guilty. The only thing that stands out is the fact that he confessed.

I chew on the inside of my cheek.Why?

A murderer who admits to killing his family but leaves just enough holes to make the whole thing suspicious? It doesn’t add up.

I shake myself out of my thoughts when my phone buzzes. I grab it and Tria’s name flashes across the screen.

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