Page 163 of Craving Venom

I glare down at it.

“Sign it,” the older one says. “Or we throw you in the hole anyway without any protection, and no one watching what happens next.”

I grab the pen with my cuffed hands, twist it awkwardly in my grip, and scrawl my name.

“Enjoy the week,” Clipboard Boy spews, grabbing the form and tucking it into a folder. “You’ll be in cuffs for all of it. You’ve earned it.”

The pen’s still warm between my fingers, gripped awkwardly in my cuffed hands.

I glance down at it.

Then I grin.

“You know…” I angle my head and press my tongue against the inside of my cheek while rolling the pen between my fingers. “You really should stop underestimating people with blood on their hands.”

Before Clipboard Boy can even ask what the fuck I mean, I jam the pen’s clip into the seam of the lock on my left cuff.

Click.

The cuff falls open.

Clipboard Boy stares with his mouth open and his folder is paused halfway to closing.

“W-What the—?”

I pop the other one the same way. There’s a bit of resistance, but nothing I can’t handle. I drop the pen with a clack on the table and flex my hands, rolling out the stiffness. Deep red lines groove into my skin where the cuffs bit down too long.

One of the guards steps forward, his hand brushing the baton at his hip. “Hey—what the fuck?”

“Relax, princess. Just proving a point.”

I take a slow step back from the table. No one moves.

“You got a problem?” I lift my arms and spread my palms open. “I’m right here. Unarmed. Oh wait, guess you thought the cuffs did that part for you.”

The older guard mutters under his breath, already regretting his entire fucking life. “We don’t have the special restraints, do we?”

The guy on the left grimaces. “Not ‘til tomorrow morning. Shirley said the order was still processing.”

“Well,” I chuckle, picking up the cuffs from the table, giving them a shake just to hear the chain rattle, “until you manage to get me those new cuffs, I guess you’ll just have to let me go.”

I walk toward the exit, and Clipboard Boy scrambles to gather his papers, clearly afraid that I might rip the folder out of his hands and staple it to his forehead.

I pause at the door. One hand extends back lazily.

“Here.” I drop the cuffs into the stunned guard’s hand. “Try not to lose these again.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

THE MONSTER

The hallway feels too fucking quiet.

Every eye I pass ducks away. Doors creak closed. Even the ones who like to run their mouths are silent. They know what I did. They know why. And no one wants to be next.

I slow down at the corner, turn left, and come to a stop in front of Mark’s cell. It’s cracked open enough to peer through. I don’t step in.

I settle my shoulder to the frame, staring at the scratched-up number plate. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not the comforting type. I don’t do soft, gentle, “it’s going to be okay” bullshit. That’s not me.

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