Page 36 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE BEAUTY

T he only reason I called Zane was to make this damn project easier. That was it. One call, a few answers, and I’d be done.

But instead?

Instead, he’s embedded himself under my skin, left me feeling all sorts of weird, and I hate it. I force my focus back to the case file in front of me.

His file is a mess. Half the details contradict each other, the evidence is flimsy at best, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think someone was deliberately trying to make him look guilty. The only thing that stands out is the fact that he confessed.

I chew on the inside of my cheek. Why?

A murderer who admits to killing his family but leaves just enough holes to make the whole thing suspicious? It doesn’t add up.

I shake myself out of my thoughts when my phone buzzes. I grab it and Tria’s name flashes across the screen.

“Miss me already?”

“You’re my favorite person in the world,” she rushes out.

“Uh-huh. What do you want?”

She groans. “Okay, so Xaden asked me out tonight, and—”

I grin. “Oh shit.”

“I know, right?!” she squeals and I swear my speakers crackle. “He just texted me, like, five minutes ago. He wants to take me out on a real date, not just grabbing drinks after my shift or whatever, but an actual date-date, and I can’t say no, Faith, I won’t say no.”

“So you want me to cover your shift.”

Tria gasps. “You get me.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

“So you’ll do it?”

I sigh, dragging it out. “Hmm, I don’t know. I was really looking forward to a night of reading case files—”

“FAITH.”

I laugh. “Yes, I’ll do it, you desperate little gremlin.”

She squeals. “I fucking love you!”

“Yeah, yeah. Now go freak out over what you’re going to wear.”

“Oh my God, you’re right. What do I wear?”

I chuckle. “Something that makes him regret not asking you out sooner.”

“You are my favorite person.”

“Duh.”

“Okay, I have to go. I need to raid my closet and possibly buy a whole new outfit in the next thirty minutes.”

I shake my head. “Go be hot.”

“I am hot.”

“Then go be hotter.”

She cackles before hanging up.

I set my phone down, sighing through my nose.

Tria is excited, and if it were anyone else, I’d be giving them so much shit right now. But Tria? I’d cover her shift a hundred times over if it meant seeing her this happy.

I pull my hair into a loose ponytail, adjusting my work shirt in the small bar bathroom. Corrine is already behind the bar when I step out, setting up glasses. She glances up when she sees me, flashing a knowing smirk. “Covering for Tria?”

I snort. “I got guilt-tripped into covering her shift.”

Corrine raises a brow. “You mean you agreed the second she asked?”

I roll my eyes. “Fuck off.”

She laughs, reaching for another bottle. “It’s cute how much you love her.”

“That I do.” I grab a rag, wiping down the counter while Corrine sets up the drink trays.

“Alright, grab this one. Table six.” She nods toward the far side of the bar. “You’re lucky. He tips like he’s allergic to small bills.”

I pick up the tray and glance at the table. The guy sitting there is in his late forties, the kind of man who probably owns half the city. He’s dressed in a charcoal-gray suit. His tie is loose, the top button of his shirt undone, revealing a hint of tanned skin.

Grabbing the tray, I balance it against my hip and make my way over. When I reach the table, the man looks up.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” I straighten, ready to turn away, but he speaks again.

“You new here?”

I glance back. “Just covering for a friend.”

He takes a slow sip of his drink as his eyes drop to my tits. I resist the urge to cross my arms. I’m not even wearing anything revealing. My shirt is tight, sure, but my cleavage is next to negligent.

Still, he stares.

I clear my throat. “Uh, well… enjoy your drink.”

“Hold on,” he says smoothly, lifting a brow. “What’s your name?”

I hesitate. “Faith.”

“Faith.” He rolls it over his tongue. “Pretty name.”

I force a polite smile. “Thanks.”

“What do you do, Faith?”

I hesitate again, for half a second before answering. “I’m still studying.”

“Oh? What are you studying?”

“Psychology.” I adjust my grip on the tray.

The lighting doesn’t let me make out all his features, but something about his face tugs at a thread in my brain. He seems familiar. Though from where, I can’t quite place it.

“That’s an interesting field,” he says, setting his glass down. “Helping people work through their problems. Understanding them. Must take a sharp mind to do that.”

I shrug. “Or just a fucked-up one.”

He chuckles. “Spoken like someone who’s seen a thing or two.”

“Something like that.”

“Any plans for after you graduate?”

“Not really. Still figuring that out.”

“That’s normal. The important part is knowing what you want out of life. The rest comes later.”

I nod, licking my lips. He sounds like someone who gives advice over Sunday breakfast, like the kind of guy who sits at the head of the table and makes sure everyone eats before he does.

Not the type to eye-fuck a bartender.

I glance toward the bar. Corrine is watching from a distance, pretending not to listen in, but I see the way she’s tracking the conversation. The man shifts slightly, pulling his wallet from his jacket. He slides a cheque onto the table, pushing it toward me with two fingers.

I glance down and nearly topple in my heels.

That’s… ten thousand dollars.

“What—” I snap my gaze back to him.

“This is a tip.” He grabs his drink. “Don’t think too hard about it, Faith.”

And with that, he lifts the glass to his lips, watching me over the rim as he takes another sip. I stand there for a second too long, staring at the cheque like it might combust in my hands. Ten thousand dollars. For what? Bringing him a drink? Making small talk?

It sits there while the man sips his whiskey, not sparing me another glance.

I pick up the cheque and tuck it into my apron. Whatever the fuck this is, I’m not about to question free money. I turn on my heel and head back to the bar.

Corrine raises a brow when I set the tray down. “Well?”

“Not the type to eye-fuck a bartender, apparently.”

Her brows furrow, but I don’t explain. I just pick up another order and keep working.

The rest of the shift passes without another glance from Mr. Ten Thousand.

By the time my shift ends, my feet are killing me, and my brain is fried. I shrug out of my uniform the second I step into my apartment. I toss the shirt onto the couch before collapsing onto my bed in just my bra and shorts.

My phone buzzes, lighting up with Tria’s name.

Date’s over ;)

Tria only sends a wink-face emoji when she’s genuinely happy, and right now, she definitely looks like it. It’s wild how we’ve learned to read each other’s moods through emojis alone.

That good, huh?

That good.

If there’s one thing about Tria, it’s that when she finally gets what she wants, she gets it. I’m happy for her. My fingers hover over my screen before I sigh, backing out of our chat and opening my browser instead.

Zane’s name fills the search bar before I even realize I’ve typed it.

My eyelids grow heavy as I scroll. My body sinks deeper into the couch as exhaustion starts pulling at my limbs.

I tap my pen against my notebook, barely registering a single word Dr. Harrington is saying. Industrial psychology is dry as hell, and if I have to listen to another lecture about employee satisfaction and corporate efficiency, I might bash my head against the desk.

Maybe I’m just bored. Or maybe it’s because I haven’t sat in this damn lecture hall for over a week, and now, I feel like a zombie.

Beside me, Tria nudges my arm and gives me the look, a quick raise of her brows and an exaggerated nod toward the front, silently telling me to focus.

I roll my eyes but straighten up, gripping my pen like I actually plan to take notes.

I last about five minutes.

Then my gaze drifts to the hallway outside, where students pass by, moving from one class to another. I barely glance at them until I see a man covered in a hoodie and a mask.

I almost brush it off because students wear hoodies all the time, and with the way flu season’s been kicking ass, masks aren’t exactly rare. But something in my brain tugs, and my brain registers those eyes.

Zane.

My head snaps back toward the hallway, but it’s empty.

A chill crawls up my spine. Goosebumps prickle along my arms, and my fingers tighten around my pen.

My phone buzzes against the desk.

I glance down. UNKNOWN NUMBER.

My stomach dips.

Swiping the screen open, I barely get a glimpse of the message before it vanishes.

What the fuck?

Dr. Harrington calls my name, snapping me out of my trance.

I look up, my mind scrambling to figure out what the hell he just asked. “Uh… sorry. What was the question?”

A few students snicker. Tria sighs heavily beside me, probably resisting the urge to strangle me.

He gives me a long look before continuing his lecture, but I don’t hear a fucking word of it.

I don’t dare look back at the hallway.

But minutes pass, boredom creeps in again, and my focus slips.

My gaze flickers to the entrance once more and I find those same eyes staring at me. This time, I know it’s not in my head. I shove up from my seat, grab my bag, and storm out of the lecture hall.

“Faith.”

I don’t respond to the panic in Tria’s voice.

“Faith?” Tria calls after me again, but I don’t stop.

By the time I reach the hallway it’s empty.

Again.

My fingers itch to hit something. Instead, I pivot and push my way into the nearest washroom, locking the door behind me. I grip the sink with both hands, my knuckles white as I stare at my reflection.

I look wrecked.

My hair is a mess, my skin pale, my eyes shadowed with exhaustion. The weight of Zane, his presence, his existence, is sinking into my bones, into my goddamn pores. I can’t fucking breathe without feeling like he’s right there, waiting for me, watching me, taunting me.