Page 35 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

I’m beginning to think you want to be punished. I was almost considering going easy on you, but remember, good girl you brought this upon yourself.

Yeah, sure. Just swing on by, why don’t you?

I let my head tip back against the chair. She thinks she can push me, poke the beast, throw out reckless little taunts without consequences just because I’m in prison.

I glance around, letting my gaze trail over the concrete walls, the metal bars. It’s meant to be a cage, meant to contain me.

But Faith should know better.

This place doesn’t make me weak. It doesn’t take my power.

It just makes me patient.

And when I do get my hands on her, she’ll wish she never fucking taunted me.

Though, I love that about her. I love the way she fights me because it makes it so much sweeter when I win. I type one last message and hit send.

I push off the chair, stretching my shoulders as I walk toward the sink. The pipes groan in protest as I turn the tap, the kind of delayed reaction that signals neglect, but it is an opportunity, in the right hands.

My hands.

The faucet sputters before water finally dribbles out, and I take a moment to splash the cool droplets over my face, feeling them trail down my jaw, soaking into my shirt. Then, carefully, I crouch, and slip my fingers beneath the base of the sink.

The metal panel is rusted at the edges, a flaw no one bothered to fix. A flaw I noticed the moment they threw me in here.

A quick twist of my wrist is all it takes for the panel to pop free, revealing a small bag of barbiturates , perfectly stashed beneath the sink, hidden from prying eyes.

I pluck it out, rolling the pills between my fingers, staring down at them with a detached kind of focus. They’re strong enough to knock out a man twice my size. Enough to kill me if I miscalculate. But I don’t need to die.

I just need to collapse. I need them to panic, to rush me out of here and straight into the hands of someone who doesn’t know what I am. Because the second they roll me into that hospital, I’m fucking gone. I brace myself as I unscrew the cap. I toss the pills back, dry-swallowing them all at once.

I rip my bedsheet, stuffing torn strips of fabric between my gums and inner lips. When my body starts shutting down, the guards will think I’m foaming at the mouth. They’ll think I’m dying, and they’ll act accordingly.

The dizziness hits fast, a sudden blow to the head that nearly knocks me off balance, and that’s good.

I wait another ten seconds, letting the haze settle in, before slamming my skull into the porcelain sink.

Pain explodes through my head, but I don’t stop.

I do it again, harder this time, and again, until the pounding in my skull matches the chaos I need them to see.

The sharp crack of bone against ceramic rings through the cell, and blood spurts, trailing down my forehead as it drips into my mouth. The metallic tang coats my tongue, mixing with the pills dissolving in my gut.

My vision wavers. My limbs tremble. My fingers twitch at my sides like my body is trying to fight the poison.

Almost there.

I stumble back, dragging my feet against the floor. My breath turns shallow, my chest tightens, and my muscles lock up like my body knows what’s coming.

Then, with the last bit of control I have left, I let myself drop.

The back of my skull smacks against the floor.

Pain shreds through me but I don’t fight it. I just let my body convulse. The static in my brain spreads, the sounds around me turning into distant, muffled echoes. But I still hear the guards storming in.

“Fuck, get medical!”

“He’s seizing, move, move!”

A fist slams into my chest.

I don’t respond.

I feel more hands on me, pressing against my throat, my wrists, checking for my pulse, something that barely fucking exists right now. Fingers pry my mouth open, yanking the soaked fabric from my cheeks. I groan and that single sound sends the guards into a frenzy.

“He’s still breathing, get the stretcher!”

Voices blur together, frantic shouts melding into one.

My stomach clenches as hands roll me onto my side, pressing hard against my ribs.

More hands shove a pen between my teeth, keeping my mouth open in case I start choking, but even as my body fights for air, even as the edges of my mind fray, I don’t care if I die.

If that’s what it takes to get one look at her?

I fucking will.

My brain registers a few muffled sounds.

That’s good. At least I’m not dead.

I let the noise filter in, slowly picking apart voices, tones, urgency.

“…Stable, but weak. His vitals are still fluctuating, and his body hasn’t fully metabolized the drugs yet,” a clinical voice says. A doctor. “He needs at least three days of monitored care before we can even think about moving him.”

“What drugs?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “We need to run a toxicology report and wait for the forensics team to analyze what’s in his system.”

“Are you saying he could’ve gotten his hands on anything? What if it was a goddamn poison? What if someone helped him?”

The first guard swears under his breath. “Fucking great. Just what we need, a high-profile inmate overdosing in our custody.”

“We don’t even know if it was an overdose,” the doctor replies. “It could have been laced—”

“It could have been an escape attempt,” Guard no. 2 cuts in.

“Look, I get it,” the doctor says, sighing. “You’re on high alert because of who he is. But right now, he’s not going anywhere.”

Guard no. 1 scoffs. “Yeah? You sure about that?”

“As sure as I can be,” the doctor replies flatly. “His vitals aren’t strong enough for him to be up and walking around. Right now, all you need to worry about is letting him recover.”

Then, from outside the room I hear a loud clatter.

“The fuck was that?” Guard no. 1 barks.

“Go check it out.”

“We’ve got movement near the west entrance. Possible breach.” Guard no. 1 confirms.

“This is exactly why he needs medical observation. You’re all so fucking paranoid that you’re jumping at every sound.”

“You don’t get it, doc. This guy’s not just some criminal—”

“He’s a fucking headline,” another interrupts. “The press eats this shit up. If anything happens to him, if he dies, if he escapes, if he so much as fucking sneezes we’re screwed.”

“He’s conscious?”

“Not yet,” the doctor lies. “But his body is responding, which means it’s only a matter of time.”

“Fine,” one of them mutters. “Three days. But the second he’s stable enough to move, he’s back in his fucking cell.”

“Of course.”

Footsteps approach, followed by the creak of a door and the faint shuffle of movement inside.

“Vitals first,” the doctor murmurs. Latex gloves snap into place. I feel the press of fingers against my wrist, the weight of them checking my pulse, then the cold touch of a stethoscope against my ribs.

I could open my eyes now.

Could say something.

But I don’t.

A low sigh leaves the doctor as he makes a few notes. “He’s holding steady.”

One of the guards grunts. “I still don’t like this.”

“You never do.” The doctor’s voice holds just a touch of exasperation. “Now, if you’re done breathing down my neck, I’d like to do my job without an audience.”

The boots shift once more, followed by subtle movement and the soft click of the door closing.

“You can stop faking it now.”

I smirk, cracking one eye open. “Faking what?”

The doctor raises his brows, clearly unimpressed.

I shift slightly on the bed despite the ache spreading through my ribs. “What?” I eye the white coat, stretching my fingers slightly, testing my limbs. “No hey, long time no see, no ‘how’s it been,’ no ‘missed you, asshole’?”

Nothing.

Not even a twitch of amusement.

I sigh dramatically. “Come on, Luke , you’re acting like Ella now.”

“Motherfucker.” Luke steps forward, pulling me into a hug.

I grunt, but I still let out a low chuckle, wrapping an arm around his back and giving him a hard squeeze.

“Missed me, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

I smirk against his shoulder.

Luke pulls back, shaking his head, eyes still flicking over me like he’s making sure I’m in one piece. “I’m happy you finally decided breaking out of that shithole. It was a long time coming.”

“Yeah… about that.”

His brows pull together. “What?”

“This situation?” I tip my head, gesturing vaguely to the hospital room, to the bed, to the beeping monitors keeping track of my still-recovering vitals. “Is temporary.”

“What the fuck do you mean temporary?”

I rest my head against the pillows. “I don’t plan on breaking out for good.”

Luke’s entire face tightens.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He steps closer, gripping the rail of the hospital bed hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

“You nearly died,” he whispers harshly. “You gave yourself an overdose, got electrocuted, had half the guards panicking their asses off, and you’re telling me this—” he gestures wildly at me— “isn’t an escape attempt?”

I shift slightly to get more comfortable. “Nope.”

“Zane, if this isn’t you escaping, why the fuck are you here?” Luke bristles.

“Unfinished business.”

Luke watches me carefully, trying to figure out why I’d risk everything.

But in the end, he doesn’t ask.

“Well, I hate to break it to you.” He turns slightly toward the medical cart, “but you’re not going anywhere tonight.”

I arch a brow. “You trying to keep me all to yourself, doc?”

“Shut the hell up.”

He’s moves and wraps his fingers around a syringe, flipping it over to check the dosage. He draws a clear liquid from a small vial, tapping the side before pressing out any excess.

“No matter how strong you think you are,” Luke continues, stepping closer, “your body isn’t. You might be breathing, but you’re still coming down from a very violent overdose, and I’m not going to be the asshole who lets you drop dead on the pavement because you’re too fucking stubborn to recover.”

His words barely register before I feel a sharp prick against my arm.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He pushes the plunger down in one smooth motion, injecting the sedative straight into my bloodstream.

A slow warmth spreads through my veins, dragging at my limbs. My muscles slacken before I can fight it, my vision already darkening at the edges.