Page 188 of Craving Venom

“Oh, really?” She gestures toward the grave. “Then why are you so damn bothered? You’ve buried plenty before.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Why?” She steps closer. “Because this time it wasn’t someone you killed?”

My teeth clench. “Because this time it was Mark.”

She waits, but I’m not giving her anything else.

“Face it, Zane,” she presses. “You’ve spent the last seven years killing prisoners—”

“Rapists.”

Seven years.

That’s how long I’ve been moving from prison to prison. I’ve buried a lot of men in here, but none of them were innocent. They deserved it. Every. Single. One. Rapists don’t belong in the same category as murderers. Murder has a reason, a purpose. You take a life because someone crossed a line, because revenge demands it, because survival leaves no other fucking choice. But rape? There’s no reason. No excuse. It’s pure fucking evil.

And that’s why I don’t hesitate.

It’s why I made it my mission to clean this place out, one rapist at a time. They think they can hide in here, surrounded by walls and guards, but I don’t play by the rules. I never have. I don’t kill for sport. I kill because it’s justice. The kind of justice no one else has the balls to deliver.

“...like it’s a fucking hobby. But suddenly, putting one in the ground has you acting like you’re carrying the weight of the world. I’ve seen you covered in blood without so much as a blink. What makes Mark so different?”

“Because Mark wasn’t a rapist.”

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t argue. She never does when it comes to that.

“You’re slipping,” she reminds me instead. “That’s what happens when you get attached.”

“I’m not attached.”

“Then why are you so pissed?”

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t fucking know.

“You done?” I wipe my hands on my jeans. “Or are you here for a therapy session too?”

She shakes her head. “Just stay out of sight. And try not to traumatize the students.”

“No promises.”

Shirley turns and heads back toward the cell block while I watch her go. She’s convinced she’s seen it all and knows exactly how I work.

But she doesn’t.

No one does.

I walk away without looking back because no amount of dirt will bury it. I head toward the cell block when I should be going straight to my cell and keeping my head down like Shirley fucking suggested, but I don’t.

I go to Mark’s cell instead. And I’m not the only one there.

There’s a girl crouched by Mark’s bunk with her head down and shoulders trembling, her long dark hair spilling around her face to hide it, but I don’t need to see her eyes to know she’s crying.

Khloe.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve.”

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