Page 148 of Craving Venom

Mark grins, ripping the paper open. “I’ll do it for you, then. Who knows, maybe it’s a love letter from Faith.”

I snort, the edge of my mouth curling as I set the knife down. “After what I put her through last night?” I shake my head, grabbing a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it up. “I doubt it’s anything but a restraining order.”

Mark laughs, shaking his head as his eyes linger on me.

I raise a brow, exhaling smoke. “What?”

“You’re smiling. She gets to you, man.”

My smile widens as I turn back to the pan, saying nothing when I hear the rustling of paper unfolding, followed by complete silence.

It lasts a beat too long, then another, and when I finally glance up, Mark’s face has lost its usual lazy amusement. He blinks, eyes scanning the page once—then again, slower this time. His breath hitches, his hands tighten, and without warning, he slams the paper onto the table.

“What the fuck is this?”

I take a single glance and it’s a court ruling. A death sentence.

I wipe the blade clean on my sleeve and pick up a skillet.

Mark, on the other hand, is losing his fucking mind.

“Zane. Zane.” He shoves the paper toward me. “This says you’re getting executed.”

I toss oil into the pan. It sizzles on contact, filling the room with the smell of something rancid burning.

“Are you even fucking listening?”

I glance at him once, raising a brow. “What do you want me to do? Cry about it?”

Mark makes a sound between a laugh and a guttural snarl. “You—you don’t even fucking care, do you?”

I flip the chicken, watching it sear to perfection.

Mark rakes his fingers through his hair, pacing beside the table. “This isn’t a fucking joke, Zane! You didn’t even do it! You’re seriously going to let them execute you for something you didn’t fucking do?”

I shrug. “The court says I did.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking insane.”

“That’s what they keep telling me.”

“You have to fight this.”

I set the spatula down, leveling him with a look that makes his mouth snap shut.

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“You’re really going to die for this?”

I take the chicken off the heat, setting the pan aside.

Then, finally, I look at him and give him a smile.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

Mark lets out a frustrated breath as his grip tightens on the paper before he shoves it under his arm. “I’m talking to my lawyer. There’s a way out of this.” He mutters the words mostly to himself, already halfway out the door before I can bother to respond.

I pick up my plate, cut a bite of chicken, and eat in silence.

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