Page 3 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

CHAPTER TWO

THE MONSTER

I step into Alex’s room, my feet dragging a little as I cross the threshold.

The air smells stale, heavy, like something is rotting beneath the surface.

It’s not just the room—it’s everything. My gaze falls on Alex, sprawled on the couch.

His body’s too still. His face looks wrong, like all the light in him has been snuffed out.

I glance away, scanning my eyes over the room, catching on his baseball cap on the floor. The sight stirs something faint, something I quickly shove down.

Behind me, I hear Luke’s breathing pick up. He’s standing in the doorway. “Zane,” he whispers. “What… what the fuck happened here?”

I don’t answer him. I don’t even look at him. My focus is on the phone across the room. My steps are slow, steady, like I’ve got nowhere else to be. The phone feels heavier than it should as I pick it up, my fingers automatically dialing Mrs. Simmons’ number.

The line rings once, twice, and then a voice comes through. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Simmons,” I say flatly. “We need help. There’s been… there’s been an accident.”

Her response is immediate but I don’t listen to most of it. I already know what she’s going to say. Call 911. Stay calm. Don’t touch anything.

When I hang up, I finally turn back to Luke and Ella. Luke’s face is pale, and his hands are trembling at his sides. Ella’s got tears streaming down her cheeks, her lips pressed into a tight line as she stares at Alex.

“We have to call for help,” Luke says.

Ella nods, fumbling for her phone. Her hands are shaking so bad she almost drops it. She dials, holding the phone to her ear as her shoulders heave with silent sobs.

The sound of sirens cuts through the silence, growing louder, closer. I glance toward the window, catching the flash of red and blue lights against the walls.

I hear someone behind me gasp—Ella, probably—but I don’t turn around. Instead, I step toward the doorway, looking past the living room where my mother’s body lies crumpled on the floor. Her eyes are wide open, frozen in terror.

“Zane, man, this is... this is sick. What the fuck happened?”

I shrug. The gesture feels automatic, meaningless. “I don’t know, Luke.”

It’s not a lie. Not really.

Mrs. Simmons arrives before the paramedics, rushing in like she’s got the power to fix all this. She puts her arms around Ella, whispering soft reassurances. When she looks at me, her eyes are full of questions, but I give her nothing.

The paramedics burst in next, followed by the cops. The house is suddenly full of voices, commands, and questions thrown at us. I answer them all in the same flat tone.

When they start leading us out, I glance back at Alex’s room one last time. The shadows stretch across the walls, swallowing what’s left of him. My jaw tightens, but I don’t let myself feel anything. It’s easier this way.

The room’s freezing, and I’m not sure if it’s the AC or just the vibe. Detective Ray Jordan—stocky guy, mid-forties, with a permanent scowl etched into his face—sits across the table, staring at me. I smirk at him, dipping a fry into ketchup.

“So,” he starts, flipping open a file. “Zane, right? Zane Valehart.”

I nod, chewing slowly. “That’s what it says on my birth certificate, yeah.”

Jordan’s eyes narrow. “What were you doing at your house when we arrived?”

I lean back in the chair, balancing it on two legs. The cheap metal squeaks, which feels oddly satisfying. “Eating a cheeseburger, I guess. Maybe solving world hunger in my spare time.”

He sighs, slamming the file shut. “Cut the shit, Valehart. You were at the scene of a crime.”

“Yeah, so were you. Guess we’ve got that in common.”

Jordan’s jaw tightens, and I can tell he’s the type that hates being outmaneuvered. He gestures to the fries. “Enjoying yourself, huh?”

I pick up another fry, wave it around, then pop it into my mouth. “I’d offer you one, but I don’t think your cholesterol can take it.”

He slams his fist on the table, making the cola in my cup ripple. “You think this is funny?”

I set the chair down on all fours. “I think it’s a fucking tragedy, detective. Alex was my brother.”

His eyes study me, trying to decide if I’m lying or just a world-class asshole. Maybe a bit of both. “So you don’t know how he ended up like that?”

I shake my head, reaching for the cola. “Nope. Wish I did. I mean, it’s not every day your brother ends up... well, you know.” I sip loudly, the straw making that annoying slurp noise when you hit the bottom of the cup.

Jordans’ patience is wearing thin, and it’s kind of entertaining. “How’d you find him?”

I shrug, spinning the cup on the table. “I walked in, saw him lying on the bed and called 911. Standard operating procedure, right?”

“Did you hurt Alex?”

“No,” I say flatly. “I didn’t.”

“Did you see who did?”

“Nope.”

“Zane, we’re trying to piece together what the hell happened here. The evidence is pointing us in your direction.”

“Evidence?” I cut him off. “Look, Detective, evidence can be a slippery little bastard. Sometimes it’s solid, and sometimes it’ll screw you over. You might want to double-check your sources.”

His lips twitch. It’s not a smile—it’s the kind of twitch that says he’s trying not to snap. I brace my elbows on the table, locking eyes with him like I’m daring him to make a move.

He adjusts in his chair, straightening up. “Zane, we’re here to get to the bottom of this. Your cooperation—”

“Cooperation?” I let out a sharp laugh, leaning back so hard my chair tips on two legs. “Detective, I’m an open fucking book. Ask me whatever you want. But fair warning—you might not like what you hear.”

“Fine. Let me ask you something I might like to hear,” he counters.

“Shoot, Detective.”

“Who has access to the key to your grandfather’s house?”

“My Family, house staff. No one outside the usual suspects.”

“And did you notice any unusual behavior from anyone? Inside or outside that close circle?”

“Nope. Everyone seemed peachy to me. Maybe it was a stranger. Ever think about that?”

Jordan lets out a sharp exhale through his nose, the kind that says I’ve just hit a nerve. “We’ve done our homework, Zane. It wasn’t a stranger.”

“Oh, you’ve done your homework, huh? Gold fucking star for you.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait, but his jaw flexes. “The locks weren’t picked. The alarms weren’t triggered. And in a house as big as your grandfather’s, breaking in isn’t exactly child’s play. Whoever did this knew the layout. Knew how to get in. That narrows the list down to someone on the inside.”

“So what are you saying, Detective? You pointing fingers at me now?”

“You’re about to acquire the Valehart estate as your family’s inheritance, aren’t you?”

“It’s already set to be in my name. Few months from now, on my 17th birthday. Not that it’s any of your fucking business.”

“That’s a lot of pressure for a teenager. A lot of money. A lot of responsibility. I imagine some people wouldn’t think you’re ready for it.”

“Oh, so now we’re psychoanalyzing me? Is this where you tell me I’ve got daddy issues and secretly hate my family?”

“Watch your mouth, kid. I’m giving you the chance to explain yourself here. Your reactions tell me a lot, Zane. Maybe more than you realize.”

“You see, Detective, the truth is often obscured by the fog of perception. What you perceive as indifference might just be my way of protecting myself.”

“Zane, you’re playing with fire here. The fallout from your choices could be hellacious. Think about that.”

“I’m always prepared to face the consequences of my actions. But remember, you’re the one who approached the flame.”

Detective Jordan tightens, his grip on his pen, betraying his mounting frustration. He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine for any hint of vulnerability.

Finally, he leans back, his expression a mixture of resignation and determination. “We’ll continue this conversation, Zane. The truth has a way of revealing itself, no matter how well it’s hidden.”

The view from my window isn’t bad.

Sure, it’s nothing like the rolling estates I grew up with, but for a place that prides itself on crushing your soul, it’s decent enough.

Razor wire glints under the sun, looped so meticulously it’s almost art.

The watchtowers stand tall, their blackened windows hiding eyes that think they’re watching me.

They’re not.

The yard below is a patchwork of cracked asphalt and scrubby dirt.

A few guys cluster around the weights, grunting like they’re lifting mountains, while others play cards at a splintered table that looks like it’s seen one too many shank fights.

A handful of new fish keep to the edges.

Smart. They’ll last longer if they don’t act like they’ve got something to prove.

A crow lands on the fence, its beady eyes scanning the yard like it’s looking for trouble. It squawks once before flapping off into the sky. This bird is better than inmates because at least it knows when to stick around and when to leave. A lot of people here could take a lesson from that.

The door to my cell opens with a metallic groan, and I don’t even bother turning around. Only one person would walk in uninvited and expect me to give a shit.

“Breakfast time, Zane,” Kyle announces.

I smirk, finally glancing over my shoulder. “Did you bring it to me, or do I have to mingle with the locals?”

He sighs, holding up a tray. “You’ve got to stop skipping meals.”

“I eat,” I reply, pushing off the frame and sauntering toward him. “Just not your slop.”

He sets the tray down on the table and crosses his arms, clearly trying to look intimidating. It’s cute. “You’re lucky, you know. Most guys in here don’t get special treatment. But then again, most guys don’t have a grandfather who practically built the place.”