Page 23 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

CHAPTER TWELEVE

THE MONSTER

I stand in front of the cracked mirror bolted to the wall, tugging at my tie with more force than necessary. The damn thing just won’t sit right, and I’m already grumbling under my breath when footsteps echo behind me.

I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

Mark.

Again.

I let out a low sigh, flexing my fingers before reaching for the suit jacket hanging off the bunk. “Should I start charging an entry fee?”

Mark ignores me, leaning against the doorway with that stupid grin of his. “You’re awfully cheery today.”

I arch a brow at my reflection. Cheery? The fuck does he know? I roll my shoulders, straightening the lapels of my jacket. “Got my reasons.”

Mark steps in. “Yeah? Care to share?”

I shoot him a look. “Not particularly.”

He huffs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Right. Well, either way… thanks for yesterday.”

I wave him off, reaching for my watch and strapping it on. “Don’t read too much into it. It wasn’t about you, it was about keeping up my reputation.”

Mark snorts. “Bullshit.”

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You could’ve just threatened the guy. You didn’t have to beat him within an inch of his miserable life.”

I shrug. “Didn’t have to. Wanted to.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

I finish adjusting my cuffs, ready to tell him to fuck off, but he beats me to it. “So, what’s got you in such a good mood?”

I smirk, smoothing down the front of my jacket. “Turns out I’m seeing Dr. Do-Gooder today.”

Mark frowns. “Dr. Do-Gooder?”

I give him a pointed look.

Realization dawns. His eyes widen, and then he lets out a low laugh. “Wait. That therapist Faith?”

“Wanna-be psychologist,” I correct.

He looks at me the way someone might if I’d just announced I was running for president. “You’re talking to her?”

“Yep.”

Mark shakes his head. “That’s not even remotely fucking believable. What the hell do you two even talk about? Therapy? Your feelings?”

I snort. “You think I’d waste my time on that shit?”

“Then what?”

I glance at him. “Hypothetical murder, mostly.”

“How the fuck are you even going to pull this off?”

I give him a flat look.

He blinks, then huffs a laugh, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Right. You’re a Valehart.”

“My last name had nothing to do with this.”

Mark raises a brow. “Then what are you doing?”

“You know Kyle?”

Mark scoffs. “The guard?” He shakes his head, a disgusted look crossing his face. “Yeah, I know that power-tripping asshole. He thinks wearing a badge makes him untouchable, but I swear to fucking God, he’s two seconds away from catching a beatdown.”

“Yeah, well, I cut a deal with him.”

“What kind of deal?”

“The kind where he sneaks me out of here for a few hours.”

Silence.

“No fucking way. You’re shitting me.”

I don’t respond, just meet his gaze and wait for the realization to hit.

It does.

His face drops. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“That’s the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard a lot of dumb shit in my time, but this? This takes the goddamn cake.”

“Didn’t ask for your approval,” I chuckle.

“You didn’t need to, dumbass. I’m giving it anyway.” He starts pacing, muttering to himself before looking back at me. “Zane, this is fucking insane. You think people aren’t going to call your bluff? You’re in prison. People don’t just walk out for a joyride.”

I roll my shoulders. “Have you ever heard the story of the lost keys?”

Mark frowns. “The what?”

“There was this guy, right? He had lost his keys one night out on the street. A neighbor saw him looking under a streetlamp, searching the ground. So the neighbor asked, “Hey, where’d you last have them?” And the guy said, “Oh, inside my house.”

Mark gives me a confused look. “Then why was he looking outside?”

“Because that’s where the light was.”

“Okay, what the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s all about perception, Mark. People focus where the light is. Where they think the truth should be. I just have to make sure the light’s shining somewhere else.”

Mark crosses his arms, skepticism still lingering. “So, you’re saying you’re setting up a distraction? Making them see what you want them to see?”

“Bingo. It’s not just about fooling them it’s about making them doubt their own conclusions. Once you plant that seed, the mind does the rest.”

Mark’s brow furrows, his mind working through the implications. “You’re counting on them underestimating you, then?”

“Always. People believe what makes sense to them, and I’m giving them a version of events that fits.”

His frustration starts to shift into something closer to admiration. “That’s risky, Zane. What if it backfires?”

I lean in, voice steady. “Risk is the spice of life. Besides, doubt is more powerful than deception. You don’t just control the narrative—you control the uncertainty, too.”

Mark is still processing, but I’m already moving on. I turn to the mirror, straightening my tie, tilting my head slightly as I inspect the reflection. “So, how do I look?”

Mark snorts, shaking his head. “Like she’d fuck you and then walk straight into confession.”

The second I step onto Veridian University’s campus, I’m reminded why I hate Halloween.

It’s loud. Overrated.

I haven’t celebrated Halloween since I was three. Not because of some tragic backstory, but just because nothing scares me. Not the fake blood splattered on dorm windows. Not the inflatable grim reaper looming over the courtyard.

A plastic skeleton grins at me from the side of the walkway. I stare at it for a beat before throwing a casual punch. The fucker wobbles, then topples over, clattering onto the pavement.

Useless.

I make my way to the front desk. The girl sitting there doesn’t even look up from the computer. She’s too busy running her mouth on the phone.

“Yeah, well, what do you expect?” she huffs into the phone.

“Faith always does this. She was supposed to be here, but nooo, she just had to ditch for some stupid Halloween party. Like, bitch, we get it, you wanna dress like a slut and get wasted, just say that instead of pulling the responsible act.”

My jaw tightens.

She keeps going, still hammering away at the keyboard. “And now I’m stuck here doing this bullshit. I’ve spent six hours filing these goddamn student records because the system is garbage. I swear to God, if I have to redo even one more—”

I rap my knuckles on the desk.

Her eyes lift with irritation, but that softens the moment she gets a good look at me. Her fingers slip off the keys. Her lips part slightly.

“Uh—” She hurriedly pulls the phone from her ear and hangs up mid-sentence. “Hi. Can I, uh, help you?”

I lean in slightly, offering a slow smirk. “Sounds like you’re having a rough night.”

“Ugh. You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I do.” I nod at the screen. “Still not working?”

She groans, running a hand through her hair. “This piece of shit? Barely. I’m almost done filing these records, but it’s so fucking slow.”

I tap my fingers on the desk. “Maybe I can speed things up for you.”

“Wait, you know how to fix it?”

I shrug. “I’ve got a way with computers.”

That’s all it takes. She scoots her chair aside, practically presenting me the keyboard.

I angle toward the keyboard, fingers flying. She drifts nearer, closer than she needs to be. Her perfume hits me. It’s cheap and overly sweet.

She tucks her hair behind her ear. “God, if you actually fix this, I could kiss you.”

I keep my face neutral, but inside, I’m seething.

I flick through the student record system. Find what I need.

Collins, Faith. Room 307.

Gotcha.

Then, just because I am that petty, I erase everything she’s been working on for the last six hours.

I glance at her. “This system’s a mess. Should be running faster now, though.”

She clicks something and her screen flickers. She prompts a frown as she clicks again, but nothing happens.

Her brows pinch. “Wait… what the fuck?” She starts typing furiously. “Where—where the fuck did my files go?”

“Weird. Looks like they, uh… disappeared.”

Her eyes widen. “Disappeared?! I just spent six fucking hours.”

“Damn,” I say, like I actually give a shit. “That sucks.”

She stares at me, panic setting in. “Oh, no. No, no, no. What the fuck did you do?!”

I glance at the screen. “I fixed it.”

She gapes. “You erased everything.”

“It’s just a shitty system.” I shrug.

She makes a strangled noise. “I have to redo all of it.”

“Good luck with that.” I flash her a grin and turn away, strolling off while she’s still gaping at the screen.

I take my time getting to Faith’s dorm. Her door stands in front of me, locked.

I crouch, working the lock with practiced ease. A second later, there’s a soft click, and I push the door open, stepping inside.

The first thing that hits me is the smell.

It’s the scent of burnt vanilla, sweet, but charred at the edges, something once pure that’s turned decadent. Red wine laces through it in a way that slides slow and settles deep, staining everything it touches. It’s indulgent. Addictive.

But there’s something else beneath it, something heady, almost forbidden. It reminds me of midnight air after a storm, humming with something just out of reach. Or maybe it’s more like the ghost of a touch that never quite fades, the kind that lingers on your skin long after it’s gone.

Whatever it is, it fucking stays with me.

Then I take in the rest.

Her room is a goddamn mess.

Clothes are everywhere. They are on the floor, hanging off the chair, half-draped over the bed like she got distracted mid- change.

Books are stacked in a lopsided tower on the desk, more of them are shoved onto a tiny bookshelf.

Crumpled-up notes, empty wine glasses, an open laptop with at least fifty tabs running, a single shoe kicked under the bed.

I don’t know what compels me, but before I can think better of it, I start cleaning.