Page 291 of Craving Venom

The cops are screaming commands. “Drop your weapon!”

“Hands in the air!”

“Suspect is not complying!”

No shit.

Zane doesn’t comply. He eradicates.

Zane grabs a decorative pole from a broken banner and impales someone rushing at us. Blood sprays. I flinch. He doesn’t.

Another bullet zings past his ear and takes out a chandelier behind us. Crystal explodes, raining sharp, glittering daggers across the ballroom.

I cover my head.

Zane spins, using his body to block the worst of it. A few pieces graze his arm, but that doesn’t stop him.

Nothing does.

He reloads mid-pivot. Shoots without looking and doesn’t miss.

A bidder tries to drag one of the girls away. Zane puts a bullet in his spine.

The man doesn’t even get a scream out. Just folds.

“Zane!” I yell, loud enough to cut through gunfire and shattering glass. “Stop it!”

He doesn’t.

His head is turned, and his focus is locked on his next target. Blood spatters his mask before it’s ripped off. Shells hit the floor in a rhythm, constant as rain. He reloads again, and his body brushes mine as he lines up the next shot.

He’s not hearing me, and in a desperate attempt to break through, I do the only thing I can, I stand on my toes, grab the back of his neck, and yank him toward me with both hands.

I kiss him.

I kiss him like the world is ending because maybe it is.

His gun stays raised behind him, and I can feel the kickback as another shot rings out. He’s still firing. Still ending men while my mouth moves against his.

His hand, the one not gripping the trigger, grabs my waist and kisses me back. His mouth slants over mine as if he’s bleeding and I’m the only thing that can clot the wound.

I hear bottles shatter behind us. Someone screams. Someone else begs. A body crashes into a table hard enough to splinter wood.

But all I feel is him.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth, searching for something he buried there a long time ago, something sacred.

Freedom.

He’d once told me kissing me would taste like freedom, and now he’s kissing me like a man starving for it. And for me? It’s the opposite. His mouth feels like a prison I’d never want to escape. Kissing him feels like captivity.

I tug the back of his head to tear us out of the frenzy. “Zane,” I whisper against his mouth, lips brushing his as I pant, “Breathe.”

His hand slides from my waist and fists my hair in return, yanking my head back to make my spine arch. He bites my lower lip with a force enough to make me gasp and grinds his hips against mine like he needs this kiss more than he needs oxygen.

“I’ll fuckingdieif I breathe.”

I want to ask him what that means, but I don’t get the chance because he’s kissing me harder this time. I let him take my breath. I let his tongue invade my mouth, teeth scrape mine. His hips grind harder against me, cock rock solid and straining through his slacks. His hand stays in my hair like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. And maybe I will. Maybe part of me already has.

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