Page 123 of Craving Venom

I squeeze my eyes shut, tight enough that colors burst behind my lids, bleeding into one another in flashes of red, yellow, white. I turn my head to the side, exposing my throat in a desperate attempt to get away from the knife, to make myself smaller, but it’s useless. “Please put the knife away.”

He ignores me, dragging the blade lower until I hear aRiipppp. I crack one eye open, bracing for the worst, only to see fabric parting under the blade.

Relief seeps in, but only barely. I open my other eye, glancing down to see Trevor’s jersey split in half, the two ragged pieces dangling uselessly before falling to the ground.

“Are you fucking serious?” I slap his chest, pushing him back, but he doesn’t move.

“You were wearing Travis’s name,” he says pocketing the knife.

I grit my teeth. “It’s Trevor. Not Travis, you dumbass.”

“And who’s going to care,” he murmurs, “when he’s gone?”

“What now? Are you going to kill him too?”

“Of course, I will. But killing him would be merciful. I’ll make him beg for it first. What do you think of that, good girl?”

I scoff, forcing down the coil of fear twisting through me. “I think you’re—” I swallow. “I think you’re a lunatic.”

“Lunatics don’t plan. I do.”

“You’re sentenced to life in prison,” I hiss. Anger burns through my veins, pushing past the fear. “I’ll happily testify against you and make sure they sentence you to death.”

From what little space I have between him and the wall, I try to step past him. My fingers twitch first, then my arm. It’s the only part of me I can shift, so I go for it, trying to angle my body just enough to slip away.

I don’t make it an inch before Zane catches my wrist mid-movement. He slams my hand against the wall, pinning it there. A sharp sting shoots up my arm. I gasp, a curse biting into my tongue as the rough brick scrapes against my knuckles.

“Six feet under doesn’t sound half bad.” The way he says it... it’s not fear. Not regret. It’s temptation. A confession. “Especially if it promises those mere six inches from your lips.”

His gaze zeroes in on my mouth, consuming every shallow breath I take.

“Life’s just a different kind of prison, Faith.” The blade of his nose traces just along my cheek, the sharp exhale of his breath hitting the corner of my mouth as his grip tightens, enough to make my head tip back an inch. “But those lips?” His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist in slow circles, soothing a pulse that he’s the one making frantic in the first place. “That’s the kind of freedom I’d slit throats for. It’s a thrill, trading the endgame for a shot at heaven on the way down. Death has its appeal, but damn, the idea of those lips on mine is like a live wire to my heart, ready to electrocute me long before my body gets its turn.”

My legs won’t fucking move.

I should scream for help, but I’m frozen in something so darkly intoxicating it sends a riot of confusion and need tearing through my body.

I hate him.

I fear him.

But some part of me wants him to make good on every single fucking threat.

Zane finally releases my wrist, but before I can even think of moving, he reaches for my throat instead. His thumb brushes over the bite mark he left behind.

“Does it still hurt?” His voice is quieter now, but that only makes it worse because it makes it feel more intimate.

I barely nod because my throat is too tight to force out words.

Zane’s fingers tighten on my hip before his lips press against the mark.

It’s soft, a direct contrast to how he put the wound there in the first place. The way his lips drag over the skin, smoothing over the damage, it almost makes me dizzy. My fingers press against the wall behind me as my breath shudders out of me.

“Relax, good girl,” he soothes against my skin.

He drags his mouth lower, his breath seeping through the thin fabric of my camisole as he noses along my collarbone. His palms ball around my tits, squeezing just enough to make my breath hitch. I try to swat him away, but his hands keep roaming down my waist.

His fingers slide around the swell of my ass, kneading, before his hand drifts lower, his knuckles grazing against my pussy through the tight denim of my jeans.

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