Page 167 of Craving Venom

I wave my arms wide. “Go for it, princess. Write it in blood. ‘Zane breaks out to see the woman of his dreams.’ See how far that gets you.”

He stands up and turns on me again. “She doesn’t want you. She’s just scared. And you’re so drunk on it, you can’t fucking see straight. You think it’s lust. You think the way her pussy clenches when you’re near means something.”

He steps closer.

“It doesn’t because she’ll scream the loudest when someone else fucks her first.”

The grin on my face dies.

“You shut your fucking mouth about her,” I snarl.

He laughs harder, even as blood pools in his mouth. “Why? Scared I’ll ruin her too?” He shoves against my chest. “You’re ondeath row, Zane. And I’ll be out in fifteen years. You bet your ass I’ll find her. I’ll pull her into some dark alleyway when she least expects it. I’ll shove her up against the bricks so hard she won’t even get a scream out. Then I’ll rape her and show her what a real monster looks like.”

My pulse detonates and my body moves before I think.

My fist cracks across his face. His head snaps sideways and collides with the wall behind him with a dull thunk. He slides but I catch him by the shirt and throw him onto the bunk. The mattress groans under his weight as he sprawls on it.

I’m over him before he can suck in a breath, my hand clamping around his throat. “If you ever mention her again, I won’t stop. I’ll make you beg to die. And I’ll take my fucking time.”

Mark’s cry cracks out of him. His hands don’t go up to stop me. His knees pull in, but he’s not fighting, he’s folding.

“Do it,” he gasps. “You have to do it, Zane. Just fucking do it.”

His eyes shimmer with something close to madness.

“I’ve got nothing left. At least when I walked into this shithole, I had something to hold onto. Now? I’ll die here. Alone. Just finish it.”

My grip tightens for a beat.

Then I let go.

He gasps for breath, rubbing at his throat as he curls sideways on the bunk, coughing.

I stay hunched over him, every shaky inhale is a reminder of how hard I’m fighting to stay upright. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to goad me into it. Using Faith as bait because he wants out. Wants a way to end it that looks like someone else’s choice.

But even in this fucked-up mess of trauma and broken will, I won’t let him use Faith. That line isn’t getting crossed. I don’t give a fuck how cracked he is.

He wants to spiral?

Fine.

But I’m not letting him disrespect my girl.

So I do the only thing I know how to do.

I take control.

I rise and grip the waistband of his trousers as he blinks in confusion, still panting. The mattress shifts beneath us when I straddle his thigh.

“What… what are you—?”

I tug his pants down. His cock’s soft, curled limp against his thigh. I grab his wrist and bring his hand to his cock and force his fingers around it. He stiffens, but I don’t let go.

“What’s her name?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer.

I squeeze his wrist and guide his hand to move with steady pressure along his cock.

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