Page 99 of Craving Venom

My lips move on their own, mouthing the words in the text.

What the fuck?

This isn’t a coincidence. Someone knew I’d be calling, knew exactly when I’d need this information. And the worst part? There’s only one person twisted enough to orchestrate something like this.

“Confirmed.”

Confirmed what?

“Scheduling the video meet for tomorrow at six p.m. One hour slot. You’ll receive a private link. Please log in five minutes early. If the call drops, it can’t be rescheduled for at least seven business days.”

Oh my god. I’m so fucking stupid. I opened my mouth when I shouldn’t have, and kept it shut when I should’ve.

“Wait, no, I didn’t mean—”

I didn’t mean to say it out loud.

I didn’t eventhinkI said it.

I never would’ve made myself complicit in a federal crime. Never would’ve tethered my name to this. Not willingly.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the receptionist interrupts. “Do you want me to schedule the meet or not?”

I stare at the screen as blood roars in my ears. I could say no, but this is my one shot at confronting Zane. So I say,“Yes.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE BEAUTY

Isit stiffly in front of my laptop, watching the grainy feed of the visitation room on the screen. It’s small. The kind of place where emotions get locked up tighter than the inmates. The walls are washed-out gray, making the whole place feel even more suffocating. There’s a bolted-down table in the center, two metal chairs on either side. No decorations. No distractions. Just an empty fucking room where people come to face the worst decisions of their lives.

My fingers hover over the trackpad. I could shut this down. Right now. Close the laptop, pretend I never made this call, pretend I never got that fucking message.

But I need answers.

And one video visitation won’t hurt me.

It’s not like he can filter through my laptop or reach through the screen.

I check the time. 6:10 p.m.

He’s late.

Good. Let him not show up. Maybe this was a bad idea anyway. The universe is throwing me a fucking bone, warning me to get out while I still can. And yet, for some goddamn reason, him not coming on the line is more terrifying than facing him.

The door swings open.

Zane plops into the chair with the same lazy arrogance he had the last time I saw him. “You miss me, good girl?”

I grip the edges of my laptop. “Why the hell am I listed as your lawyer?”

“Would you rather be listed as my wife?”

I narrow my eyes. “I’d rather be listed as your executioner, but they don’t offer that option, do they?”

Zane chuckles, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting the words I just threw at him. “You don’t need a title to tie me up and make me beg, I’m already yours to command.”

I don’t comment on any of that. Mostly because it sends something crawling under my skin. Butterflies, maybe. But they might as well be fucking crickets for how unwanted they are.

---