Page 41 of Craving Venom

The conversation dies as the door swings open. A guard steps in tapping against his thigh like he’s just itching for an excuse to use it.

“Valehart,” he says flatly. “You’re coming with me.”

I don’t move. “Nah. I’m good right here.”

The guard sighs. “Not a request.”

“What if I say no?”

Mark shoots me a look. “For fuck’s sake, Zane.”

“This is serious, Valehart. Quit the attitude and follow me.”

I let the silence stretch. Devin rocks forward on his feet, watching to see just how fucking stupid I plan to be.

Finally, I sigh, shoving off the car. “You could at least say please.”

The guard doesn’t react. Shocker.

I flash him a grin anyway. “Fine, lead the way.”

He turns, and I follow, throwing Mark a lazy salute as I go.

The room they take me to is one of those sad little spaces that smells like burnt coffee and sweat. This is where important shit happens, apparently.

A lady is waiting for me when I step inside. Tight bun, sharp suit, the kind of woman who probably drinks her coffee black and thinks a smile is a sign of weakness.

“Mr. Valehart.”

“Mrs. Buzzkill.”

Her lips press together, debating whether or not I’m worth the headache. “Your father’s secretary called the prison. He has something important to discuss with you.”

My smirk vanishes.

For the first time in ten fucking years, my father has something to say?

I scoff. “Yeah? Tell him to send a postcard.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “He’s requested a call.”

I turn toward the door. “Not interested.”

I don’t care what my father wants. If he gave a shit, he would’ve reached out, oh, I don’t know, anytime in the last decade. Whatever this is, it’s not about me. It’s about him.

Just as I reach the threshold, something stops me.

A slow, creeping curiosity.

I turn back.

Mrs. Buzzkill is still sitting behind the desk with the phone number in hand.

“Actually, I think I’ll take that number.”

“Are you sure?”

I step forward, plucking the slip of paper from her fingers.

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