Page 92 of Craving Venom

“You?”

Mark clenches his jaw. “Yeah. I need to be able to defend myself. I need to make sure no one lays hands on me again.”

I drag my tongue over my teeth, nodding slowly. “Alright, pretty boy.” I stand, rolling my neck until it pops. “You wanna learn how to throw a punch?”

“I want to make sure I never end up on the ground again.”

I chuckle, stepping into his space. “Fighting isn’t just about swinging your fists. It’s about knowing when to take a hit, when to roll with it, when to fucking break someone before they break you.”

Mark’s lips press into a thin line. “So teach me.”

I grin.

“Alright.” I crack my knuckles, the anticipation making my blood hum. “Hit me.”

Mark hesitates.

I smirk. “C’mon, Mark. You want to fight? Throw a fucking punch.”

His jaw tightens, then he swings.

It’s sloppy. Predictable. I see it coming a mile away. I shift, dodging easily, and before he can react, I grab his wrist and twist, forcing him off balance.

He stumbles, cursing, and I let go, letting him catch himself before he eats the floor.

“Not bad,” I murmur, tilting my head. “If your goal was to slap a fly.”

Mark glares at me, rubbing his wrist. “Then show me how to do it right.”

I shake out my wrists, rolling my shoulders before jerking my chin toward the equipment. “Alright, since your punches are shit, let’s start with the basics. Get on the bench.”

Mark hesitates before stepping forward, glancing at the barbell already racked with plates. I watch the way his throat bobs, the slight tension in his stance. He’s not weak, but he’s also not built for this.

“Think you can handle it, pretty boy?” I tease, smirking.

He glares at me before lowering himself onto the bench. His hands grip the bar, adjusting.

“Good. Now unrack it and bring it down slow. Control is everything. You let that fucker drop too fast, and it’ll crush your ribs.”

Mark exhales sharply and lifts the bar off the rack. It wobbles slightly in his grip before he starts to lower it. His arms strain, his muscles tensing under the weight, and I can already see that he’s struggling.

The bar dips too fast.

I reach out, gripping it before it crushes him, guiding it back up with ease. “Yeah, thought so.”

Mark huffs, glaring at the ceiling. “Fuck off.”

I leave my grip on the bar. “Nah, see, this is part of the lesson. Strength isn’t just about power, it’s about knowing your limits. And right now, your limits say you should be pressing something lighter.”

He grits his teeth, pushing against the bar with all he’s got. I let him struggle for a few more seconds before I take over. I grab the bar with one hand, and Mark looks at me like I might just drop the damn thing on him.

“Relax, pretty boy,” I mutter. “I’ve got it. Now, hands here—” I adjust his grip, making sure his fingers aren’t in a position to snap under pressure.

His shoulders are tight, but I keep my hand steady on it, supporting most of the weight.

“So, what got you in here?”

His eyes flick to me, then back to the ceiling. His arms tremble slightly under the weight. “I killed a man.”

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