Page 235 of Craving Venom

Behind me, I hear Bailey dragging his limp body toward the door. His gasps hitch every time he moves wrong, which is every time.

I set the bottle down, then smile.

The next sip isn’t for me.

I whip the bottle across the room.

It shatters against the wall in a spray of shards and golden booze.

Bailey freezes when I walk in his direction. I grab him by the collar of his shirt and drag him back across the floor, back to the velvet-lined circle where the couch still drips Nina’s stolen warmth.

He kicks weakly. I slam his head into the floor and his groan melts into the carpet.

“I’m tired of cutting men the old way,” I ponder. “You know how many assholes I’ve gutted? It’s getting boring.”

I grab one of the long shards from the broken bottle. Then I reach for the metal poker near the fireplace. I hold the glass over the flame, turning it slow.

“Do you know what happens to glass when it melts?” I ask softly, watching the edges soften. “It doesn’t just get hot. It gets hungry. It wants skin. It wants to sink in and stay.”

The curve begins to sag at the center.

“You’ve got one job tonight, Bailey. Talk.”

He spits blood. “Go fuck yourself.”

I smile. “We’ll start with your stomach.”

I press the softened glass into the flesh of his stomach, just left of center.

His screams echo against the velvet walls.

“Terry?” I ask into the comm. “Sound dampeners active?”

“Done. No one’s hearing a thing.”

He bucks under me, but I shove my elbow into his throat until he gags on his own panic. The glass sizzles into muscle and a blister forms instantly.

“Tell me about D.O.M.”

He wheezes. “You think you scare me, freak?”

I don’t answer.

Instead, I grab another shard and heat it. This one’s thinner at the tip. It trembles between my fingers before I press it just below his rib.

And then I sink it in.

“You don’t know how far it goes,” he chokes. “You don’t know who is involved—”

“I know exactly how far it goes.” I finish embedding the last piece of glass just above his navel. He convulses, trying to crawl, but I pin him down with one knee. “I know every name you’ve sold. Every girl you’ve processed. Every innocent life you’ve broken for your fucking Dominicus.”

I grab another shard, longer this time, and heat it until the edges pulse orange. Without hesitation, I press it against the right side of his stomach, just beneath the ribs. His skin sears on contact, a wet, gasping sob slipping past his cracked lips.

“Please!” Bailey finally screams, voice cracking. “Stop—I didn’t even want this!”

I push harder, slower, twisting the shard as it sinks deeper, fixing it into him.

“Then why are you in it?” I ask, watching the sweat gather in the hollows of his eyes. “Why did you sign girls over to be broken?”

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